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diff --git a/268-h/268-h.htm b/268-h/268-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..62743d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/268-h/268-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,24983 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Octopus, by Frank Norris + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Octopus, by Frank Norris + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Octopus + +Author: Frank Norris + +Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #268] +Last Updated: March 11, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OCTOPUS *** + + + + +Produced by John Hamm, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE OCTOPUS + </h1> + <h3> + A Story of California + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Frank Norris + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>BOOK 1</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> <big><b>BOOK II</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_CONC"> CONCLUSION </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + BOOK 1 + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Just after passing Caraher's saloon, on the County Road that ran south + from Bonneville, and that divided the Broderson ranch from that of Los + Muertos, Presley was suddenly aware of the faint and prolonged blowing of + a steam whistle that he knew must come from the railroad shops near the + depot at Bonneville. In starting out from the ranch house that morning, he + had forgotten his watch, and was now perplexed to know whether the whistle + was blowing for twelve or for one o'clock. He hoped the former. Early that + morning he had decided to make a long excursion through the neighbouring + country, partly on foot and partly on his bicycle, and now noon was come + already, and as yet he had hardly started. As he was leaving the house + after breakfast, Mrs. Derrick had asked him to go for the mail at + Bonneville, and he had not been able to refuse. + </p> + <p> + He took a firmer hold of the cork grips of his handlebars—the road + being in a wretched condition after the recent hauling of the crop—and + quickened his pace. He told himself that, no matter what the time was, he + would not stop for luncheon at the ranch house, but would push on to + Guadalajara and have a Spanish dinner at Solotari's, as he had originally + planned. + </p> + <p> + There had not been much of a crop to haul that year. Half of the wheat on + the Broderson ranch had failed entirely, and Derrick himself had hardly + raised more than enough to supply seed for the winter's sowing. But such + little hauling as there had been had reduced the roads thereabouts to a + lamentable condition, and, during the dry season of the past few months, + the layer of dust had deepened and thickened to such an extent that more + than once Presley was obliged to dismount and trudge along on foot, + pushing his bicycle in front of him. + </p> + <p> + It was the last half of September, the very end of the dry season, and all + Tulare County, all the vast reaches of the San Joaquin Valley—in + fact all South Central California, was bone dry, parched, and baked and + crisped after four months of cloudless weather, when the day seemed always + at noon, and the sun blazed white hot over the valley from the Coast Range + in the west to the foothills of the Sierras in the east. + </p> + <p> + As Presley drew near to the point where what was known as the Lower Road + struck off through the Rancho de Los Muertos, leading on to Guadalajara, + he came upon one of the county watering-tanks, a great, iron-hooped tower + of wood, straddling clumsily on its four uprights by the roadside. Since + the day of its completion, the storekeepers and retailers of Bonneville + had painted their advertisements upon it. It was a landmark. In that reach + of level fields, the white letters upon it could be read for miles. A + watering-trough stood near by, and, as he was very thirsty, Presley + resolved to stop for a moment to get a drink. + </p> + <p> + He drew abreast of the tank and halted there, leaning his bicycle against + the fence. A couple of men in white overalls were repainting the surface + of the tank, seated on swinging platforms that hung by hooks from the + roof. They were painting a sign—an advertisement. It was all but + finished and read, “S. Behrman, Real Estate, Mortgages, Main Street, + Bonneville, Opposite the Post Office.” On the horse-trough that stood in + the shadow of the tank was another freshly painted inscription: “S. + Behrman Has Something To Say To You.” + </p> + <p> + As Presley straightened up after drinking from the faucet at one end of + the horse-trough, the watering-cart itself laboured into view around the + turn of the Lower Road. Two mules and two horses, white with dust, + strained leisurely in the traces, moving at a snail's pace, their limp + ears marking the time; while perched high upon the seat, under a yellow + cotton wagon umbrella, Presley recognised Hooven, one of Derrick's + tenants, a German, whom every one called “Bismarck,” an excitable little + man with a perpetual grievance and an endless flow of broken English. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Bismarck,” said Presley, as Hooven brought his team to a + standstill by the tank, preparatory to refilling. + </p> + <p> + “Yoost der men I look for, Mist'r Praicely,” cried the other, twisting the + reins around the brake. “Yoost one minute, you wait, hey? I wanta talk mit + you.” + </p> + <p> + Presley was impatient to be on his way again. A little more time wasted, + and the day would be lost. He had nothing to do with the management of the + ranch, and if Hooven wanted any advice from him, it was so much breath + wasted. These uncouth brutes of farmhands and petty ranchers, grimed with + the soil they worked upon, were odious to him beyond words. Never could he + feel in sympathy with them, nor with their lives, their ways, their + marriages, deaths, bickerings, and all the monotonous round of their + sordid existence. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must be quick about it, Bismarck,” he answered sharply. “I'm + late for dinner, as it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Soh, now. Two minuten, und I be mit you.” He drew down the overhanging + spout of the tank to the vent in the circumference of the cart and pulled + the chain that let out the water. Then he climbed down from the seat, + jumping from the tire of the wheel, and taking Presley by the arm led him + a few steps down the road. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he began. “Say, I want to hef some converzations mit you. Yoost der + men I want to see. Say, Caraher, he tole me dis morgen—say, he tole + me Mist'r Derrick gowun to farm der whole demn rench hisseluf der next + yahr. No more tenants. Say, Caraher, he tole me all der tenants get der + sach; Mist'r Derrick gowun to work der whole demn rench hisseluf, hey? ME, + I get der sach alzoh, hey? You hef hear about dose ting? Say, me, I hef on + der ranch been sieben yahr—seven yahr. Do I alzoh——” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to see Derrick himself or Harran about that, Bismarck,” + interrupted Presley, trying to draw away. “That's something outside of me + entirely.” + </p> + <p> + But Hooven was not to be put off. No doubt he had been meditating his + speech all the morning, formulating his words, preparing his phrases. + </p> + <p> + “Say, no, no,” he continued. “Me, I wanta stay bei der place; seven yahr I + hef stay. Mist'r Derrick, he doand want dot I should be ge-sacked. Who, + den, will der ditch ge-tend? Say, you tell 'um Bismarck hef gotta sure + stay bei der place. Say, you hef der pull mit der Governor. You speak der + gut word for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Harran is the man that has the pull with his father, Bismarck,” answered + Presley. “You get Harran to speak for you, and you're all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Sieben yahr I hef stay,” protested Hooven, “and who will der ditch + ge-tend, und alle dem cettles drive?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Harran's your man,” answered Presley, preparing to mount his + bicycle. + </p> + <p> + “Say, you hef hear about dose ting?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't hear about anything, Bismarck. I don't know the first thing about + how the ranch is run.” + </p> + <p> + “UND DER PIPE-LINE GE-MEND,” Hooven burst out, suddenly remembering a + forgotten argument. He waved an arm. “Ach, der pipe-line bei der Mission + Greek, und der waater-hole for dose cettles. Say, he doand doo ut + HIMSELLUF, berhaps, I doand tink.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, talk to Harran about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, he doand farm der whole demn rench bei hisseluf. Me, I gotta stay.” + </p> + <p> + But on a sudden the water in the cart gushed over the sides from the vent + in the top with a smart sound of splashing. Hooven was forced to turn his + attention to it. Presley got his wheel under way. + </p> + <p> + “I hef some converzations mit Herran,” Hooven called after him. “He doand + doo ut bei hisseluf, den, Mist'r Derrick; ach, no. I stay bei der rench to + drive dose cettles.” + </p> + <p> + He climbed back to his seat under the wagon umbrella, and, as he started + his team again with great cracks of his long whip, turned to the painters + still at work upon the sign and declared with some defiance: + </p> + <p> + “Sieben yahr; yais, sir, seiben yahr I hef been on dis rench. Git oop, you + mule you, hoop!” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Presley had turned into the Lower Road. He was now on Derrick's + land, division No. I, or, as it was called, the Home ranch, of the great + Los Muertos Rancho. The road was better here, the dust laid after the + passage of Hooven's watering-cart, and, in a few minutes, he had come to + the ranch house itself, with its white picket fence, its few flower beds, + and grove of eucalyptus trees. On the lawn at the side of the house, he + saw Harran in the act of setting out the automatic sprinkler. In the shade + of the house, by the porch, were two or three of the greyhounds, part of + the pack that were used to hunt down jack-rabbits, and Godfrey, Harran's + prize deerhound. + </p> + <p> + Presley wheeled up the driveway and met Harran by the horse-block. Harran + was Magnus Derrick's youngest son, a very well-looking young fellow of + twenty-three or twenty-five. He had the fine carriage that marked his + father, and still further resembled him in that he had the Derrick nose—hawk-like + and prominent, such as one sees in the later portraits of the Duke of + Wellington. He was blond, and incessant exposure to the sun had, instead + of tanning him brown, merely heightened the colour of his cheeks. His + yellow hair had a tendency to curl in a forward direction, just in front + of the ears. + </p> + <p> + Beside him, Presley made the sharpest of contrasts. Presley seemed to have + come of a mixed origin; appeared to have a nature more composite, a + temperament more complex. Unlike Harran Derrick, he seemed more of a + character than a type. The sun had browned his face till it was almost + swarthy. His eyes were a dark brown, and his forehead was the forehead of + the intellectual, wide and high, with a certain unmistakable lift about it + that argued education, not only of himself, but of his people before him. + The impression conveyed by his mouth and chin was that of a delicate and + highly sensitive nature, the lips thin and loosely shut together, the chin + small and rather receding. One guessed that Presley's refinement had been + gained only by a certain loss of strength. One expected to find him + nervous, introspective, to discover that his mental life was not at all + the result of impressions and sensations that came to him from without, + but rather of thoughts and reflections germinating from within. Though + morbidly sensitive to changes in his physical surroundings, he would be + slow to act upon such sensations, would not prove impulsive, not because + he was sluggish, but because he was merely irresolute. It could be + foreseen that morally he was of that sort who avoid evil through good + taste, lack of decision, and want of opportunity. His temperament was that + of the poet; when he told himself he had been thinking, he deceived + himself. He had, on such occasions, been only brooding. + </p> + <p> + Some eighteen months before this time, he had been threatened with + consumption, and, taking advantage of a standing invitation on the part of + Magnus Derrick, had come to stay in the dry, even climate of the San + Joaquin for an indefinite length of time. He was thirty years old, and had + graduated and post-graduated with high honours from an Eastern college, + where he had devoted himself to a passionate study of literature, and, + more especially, of poetry. + </p> + <p> + It was his insatiable ambition to write verse. But up to this time, his + work had been fugitive, ephemeral, a note here and there, heard, + appreciated, and forgotten. He was in search of a subject; something + magnificent, he did not know exactly what; some vast, tremendous theme, + heroic, terrible, to be unrolled in all the thundering progression of + hexameters. + </p> + <p> + But whatever he wrote, and in whatever fashion, Presley was determined + that his poem should be of the West, that world's frontier of Romance, + where a new race, a new people—hardy, brave, and passionate—were + building an empire; where the tumultuous life ran like fire from dawn to + dark, and from dark to dawn again, primitive, brutal, honest, and without + fear. Something (to his idea not much) had been done to catch at that life + in passing, but its poet had not yet arisen. The few sporadic attempts, + thus he told himself, had only touched the keynote. He strove for the + diapason, the great song that should embrace in itself a whole epoch, a + complete era, the voice of an entire people, wherein all people should be + included—they and their legends, their folk lore, their fightings, + their loves and their lusts, their blunt, grim humour, their stoicism + under stress, their adventures, their treasures found in a day and gambled + in a night, their direct, crude speech, their generosity and cruelty, + their heroism and bestiality, their religion and profanity, their + self-sacrifice and obscenity—a true and fearless setting forth of a + passing phase of history, un-compromising, sincere; each group in its + proper environment; the valley, the plain, and the mountain; the ranch, + the range, and the mine—all this, all the traits and types of every + community from the Dakotas to the Mexicos, from Winnipeg to Guadalupe, + gathered together, swept together, welded and riven together in one + single, mighty song, the Song of the West. That was what he dreamed, while + things without names—thoughts for which no man had yet invented + words, terrible formless shapes, vague figures, colossal, monstrous, + distorted—whirled at a gallop through his imagination. + </p> + <p> + As Harran came up, Presley reached down into the pouches of the + sun-bleached shooting coat he wore and drew out and handed him the packet + of letters and papers. + </p> + <p> + “Here's the mail. I think I shall go on.” + </p> + <p> + “But dinner is ready,” said Harran; “we are just sitting down.” + </p> + <p> + Presley shook his head. “No, I'm in a hurry. Perhaps I shall have + something to eat at Guadalajara. I shall be gone all day.” + </p> + <p> + He delayed a few moments longer, tightening a loose nut on his forward + wheel, while Harran, recognising his father's handwriting on one of the + envelopes, slit it open and cast his eye rapidly over its pages. + </p> + <p> + “The Governor is coming home,” he exclaimed, “to-morrow morning on the + early train; wants me to meet him with the team at Guadalajara; AND,” he + cried between his clenched teeth, as he continued to read, “we've lost the + case.” + </p> + <p> + “What case? Oh, in the matter of rates?” + </p> + <p> + Harran nodded, his eyes flashing, his face growing suddenly scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “Ulsteen gave his decision yesterday,” he continued, reading from his + father's letter. “He holds, Ulsteen does, that 'grain rates as low as the + new figure would amount to confiscation of property, and that, on such a + basis, the railroad could not be operated at a legitimate profit. As he is + powerless to legislate in the matter, he can only put the rates back at + what they originally were before the commissioners made the cut, and it is + so ordered.' That's our friend S. Behrman again,” added Harran, grinding + his teeth. “He was up in the city the whole of the time the new schedule + was being drawn, and he and Ulsteen and the Railroad Commission were as + thick as thieves. He has been up there all this last week, too, doing the + railroad's dirty work, and backing Ulsteen up. 'Legitimate profit, + legitimate profit,'” he broke out. “Can we raise wheat at a legitimate + profit with a tariff of four dollars a ton for moving it two hundred miles + to tide-water, with wheat at eighty-seven cents? Why not hold us up with a + gun in our faces, and say, 'hands up,' and be done with it?” + </p> + <p> + He dug his boot-heel into the ground and turned away to the house + abruptly, cursing beneath his breath. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” Presley called after him, “Hooven wants to see you. He asked + me about this idea of the Governor's of getting along without the tenants + this year. Hooven wants to stay to tend the ditch and look after the + stock. I told him to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Harran, his mind full of other things, nodded to say he understood. + Presley only waited till he had disappeared indoors, so that he might not + seem too indifferent to his trouble; then, remounting, struck at once into + a brisk pace, and, turning out from the carriage gate, held on swiftly + down the Lower Road, going in the direction of Guadalajara. These matters, + these eternal fierce bickerings between the farmers of the San Joaquin and + the Pacific and Southwestern Railroad irritated him and wearied him. He + cared for none of these things. They did not belong to his world. In the + picture of that huge romantic West that he saw in his imagination, these + dissensions made the one note of harsh colour that refused to enter into + the great scheme of harmony. It was material, sordid, deadly commonplace. + But, however he strove to shut his eyes to it or his ears to it, the thing + persisted and persisted. The romance seemed complete up to that point. + There it broke, there it failed, there it became realism, grim, unlovely, + unyielding. To be true—and it was the first article of his creed to + be unflinchingly true—he could not ignore it. All the noble poetry + of the ranch—the valley—seemed in his mind to be marred and + disfigured by the presence of certain immovable facts. Just what he + wanted, Presley hardly knew. On one hand, it was his ambition to portray + life as he saw it—directly, frankly, and through no medium of + personality or temperament. But, on the other hand, as well, he wished to + see everything through a rose-coloured mist—a mist that dulled all + harsh outlines, all crude and violent colours. He told himself that, as a + part of the people, he loved the people and sympathised with their hopes + and fears, and joys and griefs; and yet Hooven, grimy and perspiring, with + his perpetual grievance and his contracted horizon, only revolted him. He + had set himself the task of giving true, absolutely true, poetical + expression to the life of the ranch, and yet, again and again, he brought + up against the railroad, that stubborn iron barrier against which his + romance shattered itself to froth and disintegrated, flying spume. His + heart went out to the people, and his groping hand met that of a slovenly + little Dutchman, whom it was impossible to consider seriously. He searched + for the True Romance, and, in the end, found grain rates and unjust + freight tariffs. + </p> + <p> + “But the stuff is HERE,” he muttered, as he sent his wheel rumbling across + the bridge over Broderson Creek. “The romance, the real romance, is here + somewhere. I'll get hold of it yet.” + </p> + <p> + He shot a glance about him as if in search of the inspiration. By now he + was not quite half way across the northern and narrowest corner of Los + Muertos, at this point some eight miles wide. He was still on the Home + ranch. A few miles to the south he could just make out the line of wire + fence that separated it from the third division; and to the north, seen + faint and blue through the haze and shimmer of the noon sun, a long file + of telegraph poles showed the line of the railroad and marked Derrick's + northeast boundary. The road over which Presley was travelling ran almost + diametrically straight. In front of him, but at a great distance, he could + make out the giant live-oak and the red roof of Hooven's barn that stood + near it. + </p> + <p> + All about him the country was flat. In all directions he could see for + miles. The harvest was just over. Nothing but stubble remained on the + ground. With the one exception of the live-oak by Hooven's place, there + was nothing green in sight. The wheat stubble was of a dirty yellow; the + ground, parched, cracked, and dry, of a cheerless brown. By the roadside + the dust lay thick and grey, and, on either hand, stretching on toward the + horizon, losing itself in a mere smudge in the distance, ran the + illimitable parallels of the wire fence. And that was all; that and the + burnt-out blue of the sky and the steady shimmer of the heat. + </p> + <p> + The silence was infinite. After the harvest, small though that harvest had + been, the ranches seemed asleep. It was as though the earth, after its + period of reproduction, its pains of labour, had been delivered of the + fruit of its loins, and now slept the sleep of exhaustion. + </p> + <p> + It was the period between seasons, when nothing was being done, when the + natural forces seemed to hang suspended. There was no rain, there was no + wind, there was no growth, no life; the very stubble had no force even to + rot. The sun alone moved. + </p> + <p> + Toward two o'clock, Presley reached Hooven's place, two or three grimy + frame buildings, infested with a swarm of dogs. A hog or two wandered + aimlessly about. Under a shed by the barn, a broken-down seeder lay + rusting to its ruin. But overhead, a mammoth live-oak, the largest tree in + all the country-side, towered superb and magnificent. Grey bunches of + mistletoe and festoons of trailing moss hung from its bark. From its + lowest branch hung Hooven's meat-safe, a square box, faced with wire + screens. + </p> + <p> + What gave a special interest to Hooven's was the fact that here was the + intersection of the Lower Road and Derrick's main irrigating ditch, a vast + trench not yet completed, which he and Annixter, who worked the Quien Sabe + ranch, were jointly constructing. It ran directly across the road and at + right angles to it, and lay a deep groove in the field between Hooven's + and the town of Guadalajara, some three miles farther on. Besides this, + the ditch was a natural boundary between two divisions of the Los Muertos + ranch, the first and fourth. + </p> + <p> + Presley now had the choice of two routes. His objective point was the + spring at the headwaters of Broderson Creek, in the hills on the eastern + side of the Quien Sabe ranch. The trail afforded him a short cut + thitherward. As he passed the house, Mrs. Hooven came to the door, her + little daughter Hilda, dressed in a boy's overalls and clumsy boots, at + her skirts. Minna, her oldest daughter, a very pretty girl, whose love + affairs were continually the talk of all Los Muertos, was visible through + a window of the house, busy at the week's washing. Mrs. Hooven was a + faded, colourless woman, middle-aged and commonplace, and offering not the + least characteristic that would distinguish her from a thousand other + women of her class and kind. She nodded to Presley, watching him with a + stolid gaze from under her arm, which she held across her forehead to + shade her eyes. + </p> + <p> + But now Presley exerted himself in good earnest. His bicycle flew. He + resolved that after all he would go to Guadalajara. He crossed the bridge + over the irrigating ditch with a brusque spurt of hollow sound, and shot + forward down the last stretch of the Lower Road that yet intervened + between Hooven's and the town. He was on the fourth division of the ranch + now, the only one whereon the wheat had been successful, no doubt because + of the Little Mission Creek that ran through it. But he no longer occupied + himself with the landscape. His only concern was to get on as fast as + possible. He had looked forward to spending nearly the whole day on the + crest of the wooded hills in the northern corner of the Quien Sabe ranch, + reading, idling, smoking his pipe. But now he would do well if he arrived + there by the middle of the afternoon. In a few moments he had reached the + line fence that marked the limits of the ranch. Here were the railroad + tracks, and just beyond—a huddled mass of roofs, with here and there + an adobe house on its outskirts—the little town of Guadalajara. + Nearer at hand, and directly in front of Presley, were the freight and + passenger depots of the P. and S. W., painted in the grey and white, which + seemed to be the official colours of all the buildings owned by the + corporation. The station was deserted. No trains passed at this hour. From + the direction of the ticket window, Presley heard the unsteady chittering + of the telegraph key. In the shadow of one of the baggage trucks upon the + platform, the great yellow cat that belonged to the agent dozed + complacently, her paws tucked under her body. Three flat cars, loaded with + bright-painted farming machines, were on the siding above the station, + while, on the switch below, a huge freight engine that lacked its + cow-catcher sat back upon its monstrous driving-wheels, motionless, solid, + drawing long breaths that were punctuated by the subdued sound of its + steam-pump clicking at exact intervals. + </p> + <p> + But evidently it had been decreed that Presley should be stopped at every + point of his ride that day, for, as he was pushing his bicycle across the + tracks, he was surprised to hear his name called. “Hello, there, Mr. + Presley. What's the good word?” + </p> + <p> + Presley looked up quickly, and saw Dyke, the engineer, leaning on his + folded arms from the cab window of the freight engine. But at the prospect + of this further delay, Presley was less troubled. Dyke and he were well + acquainted and the best of friends. The picturesqueness of the engineer's + life was always attractive to Presley, and more than once he had ridden on + Dyke's engine between Guadalajara and Bonneville. Once, even, he had made + the entire run between the latter town and San Francisco in the cab. + </p> + <p> + Dyke's home was in Guadalajara. He lived in one of the remodelled 'dobe + cottages, where his mother kept house for him. His wife had died some five + years before this time, leaving him a little daughter, Sidney, to bring up + as best he could. Dyke himself was a heavy built, well-looking fellow, + nearly twice the weight of Presley, with great shoulders and massive, + hairy arms, and a tremendous, rumbling voice. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, old man,” answered Presley, coming up to the engine. “What are you + doing about here at this time of day? I thought you were on the night + service this month.” + </p> + <p> + “We've changed about a bit,” answered the other. “Come up here and sit + down, and get out of the sun. They've held us here to wait orders,” he + explained, as Presley, after leaning his bicycle against the tender, + climbed to the fireman's seat of worn green leather. “They are changing + the run of one of the crack passenger engines down below, and are sending + her up to Fresno. There was a smash of some kind on the Bakersfield + division, and she's to hell and gone behind her time. I suppose when she + comes, she'll come a-humming. It will be stand clear and an open track all + the way to Fresno. They have held me here to let her go by.” + </p> + <p> + He took his pipe, an old T. D. clay, but coloured to a beautiful shiny + black, from the pocket of his jumper and filled and lit it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't suppose you object to being held here,” observed Presley. + “Gives you a chance to visit your mother and the little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “And precisely they choose this day to go up to Sacramento,” answered + Dyke. “Just my luck. Went up to visit my brother's people. By the way, my + brother may come down here—locate here, I mean—and go into the + hop-raising business. He's got an option on five hundred acres just back + of the town here. He says there is going to be money in hops. I don't + know; may be I'll go in with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's the matter with railroading?” + </p> + <p> + Dyke drew a couple of puffs on his pipe, and fixed Presley with a glance. + </p> + <p> + “There's this the matter with it,” he said; “I'm fired.” + </p> + <p> + “Fired! You!” exclaimed Presley, turning abruptly toward him. “That's what + I'm telling you,” returned Dyke grimly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean it. Why, what for, Dyke?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, YOU tell me what for,” growled the other savagely. “Boy and man, + I've worked for the P. and S. W. for over ten years, and never one yelp of + a complaint did I ever hear from them. They know damn well they've not got + a steadier man on the road. And more than that, more than that, I don't + belong to the Brotherhood. And when the strike came along, I stood by them—stood + by the company. You know that. And you know, and they know, that at + Sacramento that time, I ran my train according to schedule, with a gun in + each hand, never knowing when I was going over a mined culvert, and there + was talk of giving me a gold watch at the time. To hell with their gold + watches! I want ordinary justice and fair treatment. And now, when hard + times come along, and they are cutting wages, what do they do? Do they + make any discrimination in my case? Do they remember the man that stood by + them and risked his life in their service? No. They cut my pay down just + as off-hand as they do the pay of any dirty little wiper in the yard. Cut + me along with—listen to this—cut me along with men that they + had BLACK-LISTED; strikers that they took back because they were short of + hands.” He drew fiercely on his pipe. “I went to them, yes, I did; I went + to the General Office, and ate dirt. I told them I was a family man, and + that I didn't see how I was going to get along on the new scale, and I + reminded them of my service during the strike. The swine told me that it + wouldn't be fair to discriminate in favour of one man, and that the cut + must apply to all their employees alike. Fair!” he shouted with laughter. + “Fair! Hear the P. and S. W. talking about fairness and discrimination. + That's good, that is. Well, I got furious. I was a fool, I suppose. I told + them that, in justice to myself, I wouldn't do first-class work for + third-class pay. And they said, 'Well, Mr. Dyke, you know what you can + do.' Well, I did know. I said, 'I'll ask for my time, if you please,' and + they gave it to me just as if they were glad to be shut of me. So there + you are, Presley. That's the P. & S. W. Railroad Company of + California. I am on my last run now.” + </p> + <p> + “Shameful,” declared Presley, his sympathies all aroused, now that the + trouble concerned a friend of his. “It's shameful, Dyke. But,” he added, + an idea occurring to him, “that don't shut you out from work. There are + other railroads in the State that are not controlled by the P. and S. W.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke smote his knee with his clenched fist. + </p> + <p> + “NAME ONE.” + </p> + <p> + Presley was silent. Dyke's challenge was unanswerable. There was a lapse + in their talk, Presley drumming on the arm of the seat, meditating on this + injustice; Dyke looking off over the fields beyond the town, his frown + lowering, his teeth rasping upon his pipestem. The station agent came to + the door of the depot, stretching and yawning. On ahead of the engine, the + empty rails of the track, reaching out toward the horizon, threw off + visible layers of heat. The telegraph key clicked incessantly. + </p> + <p> + “So I'm going to quit,” Dyke remarked after a while, his anger somewhat + subsided. “My brother and I will take up this hop ranch. I've saved a good + deal in the last ten years, and there ought to be money in hops.” + </p> + <p> + Presley went on, remounting his bicycle, wheeling silently through the + deserted streets of the decayed and dying Mexican town. It was the hour of + the siesta. Nobody was about. There was no business in the town. It was + too close to Bonneville for that. Before the railroad came, and in the + days when the raising of cattle was the great industry of the country, it + had enjoyed a fierce and brilliant life. Now it was moribund. The drug + store, the two bar-rooms, the hotel at the corner of the old Plaza, and + the shops where Mexican “curios” were sold to those occasional Eastern + tourists who came to visit the Mission of San Juan, sufficed for the + town's activity. + </p> + <p> + At Solotari's, the restaurant on the Plaza, diagonally across from the + hotel, Presley ate his long-deferred Mexican dinner—an omelette in + Spanish-Mexican style, frijoles and tortillas, a salad, and a glass of + white wine. In a corner of the room, during the whole course of his + dinner, two young Mexicans (one of whom was astonishingly handsome, after + the melodramatic fashion of his race) and an old fellow! the centenarian + of the town, decrepit beyond belief, sang an interminable love-song to the + accompaniment of a guitar and an accordion. + </p> + <p> + These Spanish-Mexicans, decayed, picturesque, vicious, and romantic, never + failed to interest Presley. A few of them still remained in Guadalajara, + drifting from the saloon to the restaurant, and from the restaurant to the + Plaza, relics of a former generation, standing for a different order of + things, absolutely idle, living God knew how, happy with their cigarette, + their guitar, their glass of mescal, and their siesta. The centenarian + remembered Fremont and Governor Alvarado, and the bandit Jesus Tejeda, and + the days when Los Muertos was a Spanish grant, a veritable principality, + leagues in extent, and when there was never a fence from Visalia to + Fresno. Upon this occasion, Presley offered the old man a drink of mescal, + and excited him to talk of the things he remembered. Their talk was in + Spanish, a language with which Presley was familiar. + </p> + <p> + “De La Cuesta held the grant of Los Muertos in those days,” the + centenarian said; “a grand man. He had the power of life and death over + his people, and there was no law but his word. There was no thought of + wheat then, you may believe. It was all cattle in those days, sheep, + horses—steers, not so many—and if money was scarce, there was + always plenty to eat, and clothes enough for all, and wine, ah, yes, by + the vat, and oil too; the Mission Fathers had that. Yes, and there was + wheat as well, now that I come to think; but a very little—in the + field north of the Mission where now it is the Seed ranch; wheat fields + were there, and also a vineyard, all on Mission grounds. Wheat, olives, + and the vine; the Fathers planted those, to provide the elements of the + Holy Sacrament—bread, oil, and wine, you understand. It was like + that, those industries began in California—from the Church; and + now,” he put his chin in the air, “what would Father Ullivari have said to + such a crop as Senor Derrick plants these days? Ten thousand acres of + wheat! Nothing but wheat from the Sierra to the Coast Range. I remember + when De La Cuesta was married. He had never seen the young lady, only her + miniature portrait, painted”—he raised a shoulder—“I do not + know by whom, small, a little thing to be held in the palm. But he fell in + love with that, and marry her he would. The affair was arranged between + him and the girl's parents. But when the time came that De La Cuesta was + to go to Monterey to meet and marry the girl, behold, Jesus Tejeda broke + in upon the small rancheros near Terrabella. It was no time for De La + Cuesta to be away, so he sent his brother Esteban to Monterey to marry the + girl by proxy for him. I went with Esteban. We were a company, nearly a + hundred men. And De La Cuesta sent a horse for the girl to ride, white, + pure white; and the saddle was of red leather; the head-stall, the bit, + and buckles, all the metal work, of virgin silver. Well, there was a + ceremony in the Monterey Mission, and Esteban, in the name of his brother, + was married to the girl. On our way back, De La Cuesta rode out to meet + us. His company met ours at Agatha dos Palos. Never will I forget De La + Cuesta's face as his eyes fell upon the girl. It was a look, a glance, + come and gone like THAT,” he snapped his fingers. “No one but I saw it, + but I was close by. There was no mistaking that look. De La Cuesta was + disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + “And the girl?” demanded Presley. + </p> + <p> + “She never knew. Ah, he was a grand gentleman, De La Cuesta. Always he + treated her as a queen. Never was husband more devoted, more respectful, + more chivalrous. But love?” The old fellow put his chin in the air, + shutting his eyes in a knowing fashion. “It was not there. I could tell. + They were married over again at the Mission San Juan de Guadalajara—OUR + Mission—and for a week all the town of Guadalajara was in fete. + There were bull-fights in the Plaza—this very one—for five + days, and to each of his tenants-in-chief, De La Cuesta gave a horse, a + barrel of tallow, an ounce of silver, and half an ounce of gold dust. Ah, + those were days. That was a gay life. This”—he made a comprehensive + gesture with his left hand—“this is stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “You may well say that,” observed Presley moodily, discouraged by the + other's talk. All his doubts and uncertainty had returned to him. Never + would he grasp the subject of his great poem. To-day, the life was + colourless. Romance was dead. He had lived too late. To write of the past + was not what he desired. Reality was what he longed for, things that he + had seen. Yet how to make this compatible with romance. He rose, putting + on his hat, offering the old man a cigarette. The centenarian accepted + with the air of a grandee, and extended his horn snuff-box. Presley shook + his head. + </p> + <p> + “I was born too late for that,” he declared, “for that, and for many other + things. Adios.” + </p> + <p> + “You are travelling to-day, senor?” + </p> + <p> + “A little turn through the country, to get the kinks out of the muscles,” + Presley answered. “I go up into the Quien Sabe, into the high country + beyond the Mission.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the Quien Sabe rancho. The sheep are grazing there this week.” + </p> + <p> + Solotari, the keeper of the restaurant, explained: + </p> + <p> + “Young Annixter sold his wheat stubble on the ground to the sheep raisers + off yonder;” he motioned eastward toward the Sierra foothills. “Since + Sunday the herd has been down. Very clever, that young Annixter. He gets a + price for his stubble, which else he would have to burn, and also manures + his land as the sheep move from place to place. A true Yankee, that + Annixter, a good gringo.” + </p> + <p> + After his meal, Presley once more mounted his bicycle, and leaving the + restaurant and the Plaza behind him, held on through the main street of + the drowsing town—the street that farther on developed into the road + which turned abruptly northward and led onward through the hop-fields and + the Quien Sabe ranch toward the Mission of San Juan. + </p> + <p> + The Home ranch of the Quien Sabe was in the little triangle bounded on the + south by the railroad, on the northwest by Broderson Creek, and on the + east by the hop fields and the Mission lands. It was traversed in all + directions, now by the trail from Hooven's, now by the irrigating ditch—the + same which Presley had crossed earlier in the day—and again by the + road upon which Presley then found himself. In its centre were Annixter's + ranch house and barns, topped by the skeleton-like tower of the artesian + well that was to feed the irrigating ditch. Farther on, the course of + Broderson Creek was marked by a curved line of grey-green willows, while + on the low hills to the north, as Presley advanced, the ancient Mission of + San Juan de Guadalajara, with its belfry tower and red-tiled roof, began + to show itself over the crests of the venerable pear trees that clustered + in its garden. + </p> + <p> + When Presley reached Annixter's ranch house, he found young Annixter + himself stretched in his hammock behind the mosquito-bar on the front + porch, reading “David Copperfield,” and gorging himself with dried prunes. + </p> + <p> + Annixter—after the two had exchanged greetings—complained of + terrific colics all the preceding night. His stomach was out of whack, but + you bet he knew how to take care of himself; the last spell, he had + consulted a doctor at Bonneville, a gibbering busy-face who had filled him + up to the neck with a dose of some hogwash stuff that had made him worse—a + healthy lot the doctors knew, anyhow. HIS case was peculiar. HE knew; + prunes were what he needed, and by the pound. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, who worked the Quien Sabe ranch—some four thousand acres + of rich clay and heavy loams—was a very young man, younger even than + Presley, like him a college graduate. He looked never a year older than he + was. He was smooth-shaven and lean built. But his youthful appearance was + offset by a certain male cast of countenance, the lower lip thrust out, + the chin large and deeply cleft. His university course had hardened rather + than polished him. He still remained one of the people, rough almost to + insolence, direct in speech, intolerant in his opinions, relying upon + absolutely no one but himself; yet, with all this, of an astonishing + degree of intelligence, and possessed of an executive ability little short + of positive genius. He was a ferocious worker, allowing himself no + pleasures, and exacting the same degree of energy from all his + subordinates. He was widely hated, and as widely trusted. Every one spoke + of his crusty temper and bullying disposition, invariably qualifying the + statement with a commendation of his resources and capabilities. The devil + of a driver, a hard man to get along with, obstinate, contrary, + cantankerous; but brains! No doubt of that; brains to his boots. One would + like to see the man who could get ahead of him on a deal. Twice he had + been shot at, once from ambush on Osterman's ranch, and once by one of his + own men whom he had kicked from the sacking platform of his harvester for + gross negligence. At college, he had specialised on finance, political + economy, and scientific agriculture. After his graduation (he stood almost + at the very top of his class) he had returned and obtained the degree of + civil engineer. Then suddenly he had taken a notion that a practical + knowledge of law was indispensable to a modern farmer. In eight months he + did the work of three years, studying for his bar examinations. His method + of study was characteristic. He reduced all the material of his text-books + to notes. Tearing out the leaves of these note-books, he pasted them upon + the walls of his room; then, in his shirt-sleeves, a cheap cigar in his + teeth, his hands in his pockets, he walked around and around the room, + scowling fiercely at his notes, memorising, devouring, digesting. At + intervals, he drank great cupfuls of unsweetened, black coffee. When the + bar examinations were held, he was admitted at the very head of all the + applicants, and was complimented by the judge. Immediately afterwards, he + collapsed with nervous prostration; his stomach “got out of whack,” and he + all but died in a Sacramento boarding-house, obstinately refusing to have + anything to do with doctors, whom he vituperated as a rabble of quacks, + dosing himself with a patent medicine and stuffing himself almost to + bursting with liver pills and dried prunes. + </p> + <p> + He had taken a trip to Europe after this sickness to put himself + completely to rights. He intended to be gone a year, but returned at the + end of six weeks, fulminating abuse of European cooking. Nearly his entire + time had been spent in Paris; but of this sojourn he had brought back but + two souvenirs, an electro-plated bill-hook and an empty bird cage which + had tickled his fancy immensely. + </p> + <p> + He was wealthy. Only a year previous to this his father—a widower, + who had amassed a fortune in land speculation—had died, and + Annixter, the only son, had come into the inheritance. + </p> + <p> + For Presley, Annixter professed a great admiration, holding in deep + respect the man who could rhyme words, deferring to him whenever there was + question of literature or works of fiction. No doubt, there was not much + use in poetry, and as for novels, to his mind, there were only Dickens's + works. Everything else was a lot of lies. But just the same, it took + brains to grind out a poem. It wasn't every one who could rhyme “brave” + and “glaive,” and make sense out of it. Sure not. + </p> + <p> + But Presley's case was a notable exception. On no occasion was Annixter + prepared to accept another man's opinion without reserve. In conversation + with him, it was almost impossible to make any direct statement, however + trivial, that he would accept without either modification or open + contradiction. He had a passion for violent discussion. He would argue + upon every subject in the range of human knowledge, from astronomy to the + tariff, from the doctrine of predestination to the height of a horse. + Never would he admit himself to be mistaken; when cornered, he would + intrench himself behind the remark, “Yes, that's all very well. In some + ways, it is, and then, again, in some ways, it ISN'T.” + </p> + <p> + Singularly enough, he and Presley were the best of friends. More than + once, Presley marvelled at this state of affairs, telling himself that he + and Annixter had nothing in common. In all his circle of acquaintances, + Presley was the one man with whom Annixter had never quarrelled. The two + men were diametrically opposed in temperament. Presley was easy-going; + Annixter, alert. Presley was a confirmed dreamer, irresolute, inactive, + with a strong tendency to melancholy; the young farmer was a man of + affairs, decisive, combative, whose only reflection upon his interior + economy was a morbid concern in the vagaries of his stomach. Yet the two + never met without a mutual pleasure, taking a genuine interest in each + other's affairs, and often putting themselves to great inconvenience to be + of trifling service to help one another. + </p> + <p> + As a last characteristic, Annixter pretended to be a woman-hater, for no + other reason than that he was a very bull-calf of awkwardness in feminine + surroundings. Feemales! Rot! There was a fine way for a man to waste his + time and his good money, lally gagging with a lot of feemales. No, thank + you; none of it in HIS, if you please. Once only he had an affair—a + timid, little creature in a glove-cleaning establishment in Sacramento, + whom he had picked up, Heaven knew how. After his return to his ranch, a + correspondence had been maintained between the two, Annixter taking the + precaution to typewrite his letters, and never affixing his signature, in + an excess of prudence. He furthermore made carbon copies of all his + letters, filing them away in a compartment of his safe. Ah, it would be a + clever feemale who would get him into a mess. Then, suddenly smitten with + a panic terror that he had committed himself, that he was involving + himself too deeply, he had abruptly sent the little woman about her + business. It was his only love affair. After that, he kept himself free. + No petticoats should ever have a hold on him. Sure not. + </p> + <p> + As Presley came up to the edge of the porch, pushing his bicycle in front + of him, Annixter excused himself for not getting up, alleging that the + cramps returned the moment he was off his back. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing up this way?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just having a look around,” answered Presley. “How's the ranch?” + </p> + <p> + “Say,” observed the other, ignoring his question, “what's this I hear + about Derrick giving his tenants the bounce, and working Los Muertos + himself—working ALL his land?” + </p> + <p> + Presley made a sharp movement of impatience with his free hand. “I've + heard nothing else myself since morning. I suppose it must be so.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” grunted Annixter, spitting out a prune stone. “You give Magnus + Derrick my compliments and tell him he's a fool.” “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Derrick thinks he's still running his mine, and that the same + principles will apply to getting grain out of the earth as to getting + gold. Oh, let him go on and see where he brings up. That's right, there's + your Western farmer,” he exclaimed contemptuously. “Get the guts out of + your land; work it to death; never give it a rest. Never alternate your + crop, and then when your soil is exhausted, sit down and roar about hard + times.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Magnus thinks the land has had rest enough these last two dry + seasons,” observed Presley. “He has raised no crop to speak of for two + years. The land has had a good rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, that sounds well,” Annixter contradicted, unwilling to be + convinced. “In a way, the land's been rested, and then, again, in a way, + it hasn't.” + </p> + <p> + But Presley, scenting an argument, refrained from answering, and bethought + himself of moving on. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to leave my wheel here for a while, Buck,” he said, “if you + don't mind. I'm going up to the spring, and the road is rough between here + and there.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop in for dinner on your way back,” said Annixter. “There'll be a + venison steak. One of the boys got a deer over in the foothills last week. + Out of season, but never mind that. I can't eat it. This stomach of mine + wouldn't digest sweet oil to-day. Get here about six.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe I will, thank you,” said Presley, moving off. “By the way,” + he added, “I see your barn is about done.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet,” answered Annixter. “In about a fortnight now she'll be all + ready.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a big barn,” murmured Presley, glancing around the angle of the + house toward where the great structure stood. + </p> + <p> + “Guess we'll have to have a dance there before we move the stock in,” + observed Annixter. “That's the custom all around here.” + </p> + <p> + Presley took himself off, but at the gate Annixter called after him, his + mouth full of prunes, “Say, take a look at that herd of sheep as you go + up. They are right off here to the east of the road, about half a mile + from here. I guess that's the biggest lot of sheep YOU ever saw. You might + write a poem about 'em. Lamb—ram; sheep graze—sunny days. + Catch on?” + </p> + <p> + Beyond Broderson Creek, as Presley advanced, tramping along on foot now, + the land opened out again into the same vast spaces of dull brown earth, + sprinkled with stubble, such as had been characteristic of Derrick's + ranch. To the east the reach seemed infinite, flat, cheerless, + heat-ridden, unrolling like a gigantic scroll toward the faint shimmer of + the distant horizons, with here and there an isolated live-oak to break + the sombre monotony. But bordering the road to the westward, the surface + roughened and raised, clambering up to the higher ground, on the crest of + which the old Mission and its surrounding pear trees were now plainly + visible. + </p> + <p> + Just beyond the Mission, the road bent abruptly eastward, striking off + across the Seed ranch. But Presley left the road at this point, going on + across the open fields. There was no longer any trail. It was toward three + o'clock. The sun still spun, a silent, blazing disc, high in the heavens, + and tramping through the clods of uneven, broken plough was fatiguing + work. The slope of the lowest foothills begun, the surface of the country + became rolling, and, suddenly, as he topped a higher ridge, Presley came + upon the sheep. + </p> + <p> + Already he had passed the larger part of the herd—an intervening + rise of ground having hidden it from sight. Now, as he turned half way + about, looking down into the shallow hollow between him and the curve of + the creek, he saw them very plainly. The fringe of the herd was some two + hundred yards distant, but its farther side, in that illusive shimmer of + hot surface air, seemed miles away. The sheep were spread out roughly in + the shape of a figure eight, two larger herds connected by a smaller, and + were headed to the southward, moving slowly, grazing on the wheat stubble + as they proceeded. But the number seemed incalculable. Hundreds upon + hundreds upon hundreds of grey, rounded backs, all exactly alike, huddled, + close-packed, alive, hid the earth from sight. It was no longer an + aggregate of individuals. It was a mass—a compact, solid, slowly + moving mass, huge, without form, like a thick-pressed growth of mushrooms, + spreading out in all directions over the earth. From it there arose a + vague murmur, confused, inarticulate, like the sound of very distant surf, + while all the air in the vicinity was heavy with the warm, ammoniacal + odour of the thousands of crowding bodies. + </p> + <p> + All the colours of the scene were sombre—the brown of the earth, the + faded yellow of the dead stubble, the grey of the myriad of undulating + backs. Only on the far side of the herd, erect, motionless—a single + note of black, a speck, a dot—the shepherd stood, leaning upon an + empty water-trough, solitary, grave, impressive. + </p> + <p> + For a few moments, Presley stood, watching. Then, as he started to move + on, a curious thing occurred. At first, he thought he had heard some one + call his name. He paused, listening; there was no sound but the vague + noise of the moving sheep. Then, as this first impression passed, it + seemed to him that he had been beckoned to. Yet nothing stirred; except + for the lonely figure beyond the herd there was no one in sight. He + started on again, and in half a dozen steps found himself looking over his + shoulder. Without knowing why, he looked toward the shepherd; then halted + and looked a second time and a third. Had the shepherd called to him? + Presley knew that he had heard no voice. Brusquely, all his attention + seemed riveted upon this distant figure. He put one forearm over his eyes, + to keep off the sun, gazing across the intervening herd. Surely, the + shepherd had called him. But at the next instant he started, uttering an + exclamation under his breath. The far-away speck of black became animated. + Presley remarked a sweeping gesture. Though the man had not beckoned to + him before, there was no doubt that he was beckoning now. Without any + hesitation, and singularly interested in the incident, Presley turned + sharply aside and hurried on toward the shepherd, skirting the herd, + wondering all the time that he should answer the call with so little + question, so little hesitation. + </p> + <p> + But the shepherd came forward to meet Presley, followed by one of his + dogs. As the two men approached each other, Presley, closely studying the + other, began to wonder where he had seen him before. It must have been a + very long time ago, upon one of his previous visits to the ranch. + Certainly, however, there was something familiar in the shepherd's face + and figure. When they came closer to each other, and Presley could see him + more distinctly, this sense of a previous acquaintance was increased and + sharpened. + </p> + <p> + The shepherd was a man of about thirty-five. He was very lean and spare. + His brown canvas overalls were thrust into laced boots. A cartridge belt + without any cartridges encircled his waist. A grey flannel shirt, open at + the throat, showed his breast, tanned and ruddy. He wore no hat. His hair + was very black and rather long. A pointed beard covered his chin, growing + straight and fine from the hollow cheeks. The absence of any covering for + his head was, no doubt, habitual with him, for his face was as brown as an + Indian's—a ruddy brown quite different from Presley's dark olive. To + Presley's morbidly keen observation, the general impression of the + shepherd's face was intensely interesting. It was uncommon to an + astonishing degree. Presley's vivid imagination chose to see in it the + face of an ascetic, of a recluse, almost that of a young seer. So must + have appeared the half-inspired shepherds of the Hebraic legends, the + younger prophets of Israel, dwellers in the wilderness, beholders of + visions, having their existence in a continual dream, talkers with God, + gifted with strange powers. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, at some twenty paces distant from the approaching shepherd, + Presley stopped short, his eyes riveted upon the other. + </p> + <p> + “Vanamee!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The shepherd smiled and came forward, holding out his hands, saying, “I + thought it was you. When I saw you come over the hill, I called you.” + </p> + <p> + “But not with your voice,” returned Presley. “I knew that some one wanted + me. I felt it. I should have remembered that you could do that kind of + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never known it to fail. It helps with the sheep.” + </p> + <p> + “With the sheep?” + </p> + <p> + “In a way. I can't tell exactly how. We don't understand these things yet. + There are times when, if I close my eyes and dig my fists into my temples, + I can hold the entire herd for perhaps a minute. Perhaps, though, it's + imagination, who knows? But it's good to see you again. How long has it + been since the last time? Two, three, nearly five years.” + </p> + <p> + It was more than that. It was six years since Presley and Vanamee had met, + and then it had been for a short time only, during one of the shepherd's + periodical brief returns to that part of the country. During a week he and + Presley had been much together, for the two were devoted friends. Then, as + abruptly, as mysteriously as he had come, Vanamee disappeared. Presley + awoke one morning to find him gone. Thus, it had been with Vanamee for a + period of sixteen years. He lived his life in the unknown, one could not + tell where—in the desert, in the mountains, throughout all the vast + and vague South-west, solitary, strange. Three, four, five years passed. + The shepherd would be almost forgotten. Never the most trivial scrap of + information as to his whereabouts reached Los Muertos. He had melted off + into the surface-shimmer of the desert, into the mirage; he sank below the + horizons; he was swallowed up in the waste of sand and sage. Then, without + warning, he would reappear, coming in from the wilderness, emerging from + the unknown. No one knew him well. In all that countryside he had but + three friends, Presley, Magnus Derrick, and the priest at the Mission of + San Juan de Guadalajara, Father Sarria. He remained always a mystery, + living a life half-real, half-legendary. In all those years he did not + seem to have grown older by a single day. At this time, Presley knew him + to be thirty-six years of age. But since the first day the two had met, + the shepherd's face and bearing had, to his eyes, remained the same. At + this moment, Presley was looking into the same face he had first seen + many, many years ago. It was a face stamped with an unspeakable sadness, a + deathless grief, the permanent imprint of a tragedy long past, but yet a + living issue. Presley told himself that it was impossible to look long + into Vanamee's eyes without knowing that here was a man whose whole being + had been at one time shattered and riven to its lowest depths, whose life + had suddenly stopped at a certain moment of its development. + </p> + <p> + The two friends sat down upon the ledge of the watering-trough, their eyes + wandering incessantly toward the slow moving herd, grazing on the wheat + stubble, moving southward as they grazed. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you come from this time?” Presley had asked. “Where have you + kept yourself?” + </p> + <p> + The other swept the horizon to the south and east with a vague gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Off there, down to the south, very far off. So many places that I can't + remember. I went the Long Trail this time; a long, long ways. Arizona, The + Mexicos, and, then, afterwards, Utah and Nevada, following the horizon, + travelling at hazard. Into Arizona first, going in by Monument Pass, and + then on to the south, through the country of the Navajos, down by the Aga + Thia Needle—a great blade of red rock jutting from out the desert, + like a knife thrust. Then on and on through The Mexicos, all through the + Southwest, then back again in a great circle by Chihuahua and Aldama to + Laredo, to Torreon, and Albuquerque. From there across the Uncompahgre + plateau into the Uintah country; then at last due west through Nevada to + California and to the valley of the San Joaquin.” His voice lapsed to a + monotone, his eyes becoming fixed; he continued to speak as though half + awake, his thoughts elsewhere, seeing again in the eye of his mind the + reach of desert and red hill, the purple mountain, the level stretch of + alkali, leper white, all the savage, gorgeous desolation of the Long + Trail. + </p> + <p> + He ignored Presley for the moment, but, on the other hand, Presley himself + gave him but half his attention. The return of Vanamee had stimulated the + poet's memory. He recalled the incidents of Vanamee's life, reviewing + again that terrible drama which had uprooted his soul, which had driven + him forth a wanderer, a shunner of men, a sojourner in waste places. He + was, strangely enough, a college graduate and a man of wide reading and + great intelligence, but he had chosen to lead his own life, which was that + of a recluse. + </p> + <p> + Of a temperament similar in many ways to Presley's, there were + capabilities in Vanamee that were not ordinarily to be found in the rank + and file of men. Living close to nature, a poet by instinct, where Presley + was but a poet by training, there developed in him a great sensitiveness + to beauty and an almost abnormal capacity for great happiness and great + sorrow; he felt things intensely, deeply. He never forgot. It was when he + was eighteen or nineteen, at the formative and most impressionable period + of his life, that he had met Angele Varian. Presley barely remembered her + as a girl of sixteen, beautiful almost beyond expression, who lived with + an aged aunt on the Seed ranch back of the Mission. At this moment he was + trying to recall how she looked, with her hair of gold hanging in two + straight plaits on either side of her face, making three-cornered her + round, white forehead; her wonderful eyes, violet blue, heavy lidded, with + their astonishing upward slant toward the temples, the slant that gave a + strange, oriental cast to her face, perplexing, enchanting. He remembered + the Egyptian fulness of the lips, the strange balancing movement of her + head upon her slender neck, the same movement that one sees in a snake at + poise. Never had he seen a girl more radiantly beautiful, never a beauty + so strange, so troublous, so out of all accepted standards. It was small + wonder that Vanamee had loved her, and less wonder, still, that his love + had been so intense, so passionate, so part of himself. Angele had loved + him with a love no less than his own. It was one of those legendary + passions that sometimes occur, idyllic, untouched by civilisation, + spontaneous as the growth of trees, natural as dew-fall, strong as the + firm-seated mountains. + </p> + <p> + At the time of his meeting with Angele, Vanamee was living on the Los + Muertos ranch. It was there he had chosen to spend one of his college + vacations. But he preferred to pass it in out-of-door work, sometimes + herding cattle, sometimes pitching hay, sometimes working with pick and + dynamite-stick on the ditches in the fourth division of the ranch, riding + the range, mending breaks in the wire fences, making himself generally + useful. College bred though he was, the life pleased him. He was, as he + desired, close to nature, living the full measure of life, a worker among + workers, taking enjoyment in simple pleasures, healthy in mind and body. + He believed in an existence passed in this fashion in the country, working + hard, eating full, drinking deep, sleeping dreamlessly. + </p> + <p> + But every night, after supper, he saddled his pony and rode over to the + garden of the old Mission. The 'dobe dividing wall on that side, which + once had separated the Mission garden and the Seed ranch, had long since + crumbled away, and the boundary between the two pieces of ground was + marked only by a line of venerable pear trees. Here, under these trees, he + found Angele awaiting him, and there the two would sit through the hot, + still evening, their arms about each other, watching the moon rise over + the foothills, listening to the trickle of the water in the moss-encrusted + fountain in the garden, and the steady croak of the great frogs that lived + in the damp north corner of the enclosure. Through all one summer the + enchantment of that new-found, wonderful love, pure and untainted, filled + the lives of each of them with its sweetness. The summer passed, the + harvest moon came and went. The nights were very dark. In the deep shade + of the pear trees they could no longer see each other. When they met at + the rendezvous, Vanamee found her only with his groping hands. They did + not speak, mere words were useless between them. Silently as his reaching + hands touched her warm body, he took her in his arms, searching for her + lips with his. Then one night the tragedy had suddenly leaped from out the + shadow with the abruptness of an explosion. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible afterwards to reconstruct the manner of its occurrence. + To Angele's mind—what there was left of it—the matter always + remained a hideous blur, a blot, a vague, terrible confusion. No doubt + they two had been watched; the plan succeeded too well for any other + supposition. One moonless night, Angele, arriving under the black shadow + of the pear trees a little earlier than usual, found the apparently + familiar figure waiting for her. All unsuspecting she gave herself to the + embrace of a strange pair of arms, and Vanamee arriving but a score of + moments later, stumbled over her prostrate body, inert and unconscious, in + the shadow of the overspiring trees. + </p> + <p> + Who was the Other? Angele was carried to her home on the Seed ranch, + delirious, all but raving, and Vanamee, with knife and revolver ready, + ranged the country-side like a wolf. He was not alone. The whole county + rose, raging, horror-struck. Posse after posse was formed, sent out, and + returned, without so much as a clue. Upon no one could even the shadow of + suspicion be thrown. The Other had withdrawn into an impenetrable mystery. + There he remained. He never was found; he never was so much as heard of. A + legend arose about him, this prowler of the night, this strange, fearful + figure, with an unseen face, swooping in there from out the darkness, come + and gone in an instant, but leaving behind him a track of terror and death + and rage and undying grief. Within the year, in giving birth to the child, + Angele had died. + </p> + <p> + The little babe was taken by Angele's parents, and Angele was buried in + the Mission garden near to the aged, grey sun dial. Vanamee stood by + during the ceremony, but half conscious of what was going forward. At the + last moment he had stepped forward, looked long into the dead face framed + in its plaits of gold hair, the hair that made three-cornered the round, + white forehead; looked again at the closed eyes, with their perplexing + upward slant toward the temples, oriental, bizarre; at the lips with their + Egyptian fulness; at the sweet, slender neck; the long, slim hands; then + abruptly turned about. The last clods were filling the grave at a time + when he was already far away, his horse's head turned toward the desert. + </p> + <p> + For two years no syllable was heard of him. It was believed that he had + killed himself. But Vanamee had no thought of that. For two years he + wandered through Arizona, living in the desert, in the wilderness, a + recluse, a nomad, an ascetic. But, doubtless, all his heart was in the + little coffin in the Mission garden. Once in so often he must come back + thither. One day he was seen again in the San Joaquin. The priest, Father + Sarria, returning from a visit to the sick at Bonneville, met him on the + Upper Road. Eighteen years had passed since Angele had died, but the + thread of Vanamee's life had been snapped. Nothing remained now but the + tangled ends. He had never forgotten. The long, dull ache, the poignant + grief had now become a part of him. Presley knew this to be so. + </p> + <p> + While Presley had been reflecting upon all this, Vanamee had continued to + speak. Presley, however, had not been wholly inattentive. While his memory + was busy reconstructing the details of the drama of the shepherd's life, + another part of his brain had been swiftly registering picture after + picture that Vanamee's monotonous flow of words struck off, as it were, + upon a steadily moving scroll. The music of the unfamiliar names that + occurred in his recital was a stimulant to the poet's imagination. Presley + had the poet's passion for expressive, sonorous names. As these came and + went in Vanamee's monotonous undertones, like little notes of harmony in a + musical progression, he listened, delighted with their resonance.—Navajo, + Quijotoa, Uintah, Sonora, Laredo, Uncompahgre—to him they were so + many symbols. It was his West that passed, unrolling there before the eye + of his mind: the open, heat-scourged round of desert; the mesa, like a + vast altar, shimmering purple in the royal sunset; the still, gigantic + mountains, heaving into the sky from out the canyons; the strenuous, + fierce life of isolated towns, lost and forgotten, down there, far off, + below the horizon. Abruptly his great poem, his Song of the West, leaped + up again in his imagination. For the moment, he all but held it. It was + there, close at hand. In another instant he would grasp it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he exclaimed, “I can see it all. The desert, the mountains, + all wild, primordial, untamed. How I should have loved to have been with + you. Then, perhaps, I should have got hold of my idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Your idea?” + </p> + <p> + “The great poem of the West. It's that which I want to write. Oh, to put + it all into hexameters; strike the great iron note; sing the vast, + terrible song; the song of the People; the forerunners of empire!” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee understood him perfectly. He nodded gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is there. It is Life, the primitive, simple, direct Life, + passionate, tumultuous. Yes, there is an epic there.” + </p> + <p> + Presley caught at the word. It had never before occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + “Epic, yes, that's it. It is the epic I'm searching for. And HOW I search + for it. You don't know. It is sometimes almost an agony. Often and often I + can feel it right there, there, at my finger-tips, but I never quite catch + it. It always eludes me. I was born too late. Ah, to get back to that + first clear-eyed view of things, to see as Homer saw, as Beowulf saw, as + the Nibelungen poets saw. The life is here, the same as then; the Poem is + here; my West is here; the primeval, epic life is here, here under our + hands, in the desert, in the mountain, on the ranch, all over here, from + Winnipeg to Guadalupe. It is the man who is lacking, the poet; we have + been educated away from it all. We are out of touch. We are out of tune.” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee heard him to the end, his grave, sad face thoughtful and + attentive. Then he rose. + </p> + <p> + “I am going over to the Mission,” he said, “to see Father Sarria. I have + not seen him yet.” + </p> + <p> + “How about the sheep?” + </p> + <p> + “The dogs will keep them in hand, and I shall not be gone long. Besides + that, I have a boy here to help. He is over yonder on the other side of + the herd. We can't see him from here.” + </p> + <p> + Presley wondered at the heedlessness of leaving the sheep so slightly + guarded, but made no comment, and the two started off across the field in + the direction of the Mission church. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, it is there—your epic,” observed Vanamee, as they went + along. “But why write? Why not LIVE in it? Steep oneself in the heat of + the desert, the glory of the sunset, the blue haze of the mesa and the + canyon.” + </p> + <p> + “As you have done, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee nodded. + </p> + <p> + “No, I could not do that,” declared Presley; “I want to go back, but not + so far as you. I feel that I must compromise. I must find expression. I + could not lose myself like that in your desert. When its vastness + overwhelmed me, or its beauty dazzled me, or its loneliness weighed down + upon me, I should have to record my impressions. Otherwise, I should + suffocate.” + </p> + <p> + “Each to his own life,” observed Vanamee. + </p> + <p> + The Mission of San Juan, built of brown 'dobe blocks, covered with yellow + plaster, that at many points had dropped away from the walls, stood on the + crest of a low rise of the ground, facing to the south. A covered + colonnade, paved with round, worn bricks, from whence opened the doors of + the abandoned cells, once used by the monks, adjoined it on the left. The + roof was of tiled half-cylinders, split longitudinally, and laid in + alternate rows, now concave, now convex. The main body of the church + itself was at right angles to the colonnade, and at the point of + intersection rose the belfry tower, an ancient campanile, where swung the + three cracked bells, the gift of the King of Spain. Beyond the church was + the Mission garden and the graveyard that overlooked the Seed ranch in a + little hollow beyond. + </p> + <p> + Presley and Vanamee went down the long colonnade to the last door next the + belfry tower, and Vanamee pulled the leather thong that hung from a hole + in the door, setting a little bell jangling somewhere in the interior. The + place, but for this noise, was shrouded in a Sunday stillness, an absolute + repose. Only at intervals, one heard the trickle of the unseen fountain, + and the liquid cooing of doves in the garden. + </p> + <p> + Father Sarria opened the door. He was a small man, somewhat stout, with a + smooth and shiny face. He wore a frock coat that was rather dirty, + slippers, and an old yachting cap of blue cloth, with a broken leather + vizor. He was smoking a cheap cigar, very fat and black. + </p> + <p> + But instantly he recognised Vanamee. His face went all alight with + pleasure and astonishment. It seemed as if he would never have finished + shaking both his hands; and, as it was, he released but one of them, + patting him affectionately on the shoulder with the other. He was voluble + in his welcome, talking partly in Spanish, partly in English. So he had + come back again, this great fellow, tanned as an Indian, lean as an + Indian, with an Indian's long, black hair. But he had not changed, not in + the very least. His beard had not grown an inch. Aha! The rascal, never to + give warning, to drop down, as it were, from out the sky. Such a hermit! + To live in the desert! A veritable Saint Jerome. Did a lion feed him down + there in Arizona, or was it a raven, like Elijah? The good God had not + fattened him, at any rate, and, apropos, he was just about to dine + himself. He had made a salad from his own lettuce. The two would dine with + him, eh? For this, my son, that was lost is found again. + </p> + <p> + But Presley excused himself. Instinctively, he felt that Sarria and + Vanamee wanted to talk of things concerning which he was an outsider. It + was not at all unlikely that Vanamee would spend half the night before the + high altar in the church. + </p> + <p> + He took himself away, his mind still busy with Vanamee's extraordinary + life and character. But, as he descended the hill, he was startled by a + prolonged and raucous cry, discordant, very harsh, thrice repeated at + exact intervals, and, looking up, he saw one of Father Sarria's peacocks + balancing himself upon the topmost wire of the fence, his long tail + trailing, his neck outstretched, filling the air with his stupid outcry, + for no reason than the desire to make a noise. + </p> + <p> + About an hour later, toward four in the afternoon, Presley reached the + spring at the head of the little canyon in the northeast corner of the + Quien Sabe ranch, the point toward which he had been travelling since + early in the forenoon. The place was not without its charm. Innumerable + live-oaks overhung the canyon, and Broderson Creek—there a mere + rivulet, running down from the spring—gave a certain coolness to the + air. It was one of the few spots thereabouts that had survived the dry + season of the last year. Nearly all the other springs had dried + completely, while Mission Creek on Derrick's ranch was nothing better than + a dusty cutting in the ground, filled with brittle, concave flakes of + dried and sun-cracked mud. + </p> + <p> + Presley climbed to the summit of one of the hills—the highest—that + rose out of the canyon, from the crest of which he could see for thirty, + fifty, sixty miles down the valley, and, filling his pipe, smoked lazily + for upwards of an hour, his head empty of thought, allowing himself to + succumb to a pleasant, gentle inanition, a little drowsy comfortable in + his place, prone upon the ground, warmed just enough by such sunlight as + filtered through the live-oaks, soothed by the good tobacco and the + prolonged murmur of the spring and creek. By degrees, the sense of his own + personality became blunted, the little wheels and cogs of thought moved + slower and slower; consciousness dwindled to a point, the animal in him + stretched itself, purring. A delightful numbness invaded his mind and his + body. He was not asleep, he was not awake, stupefied merely, lapsing back + to the state of the faun, the satyr. + </p> + <p> + After a while, rousing himself a little, he shifted his position and, + drawing from the pocket of his shooting coat his little tree-calf edition + of the Odyssey, read far into the twenty-first book, where, after the + failure of all the suitors to bend Ulysses's bow, it is finally put, with + mockery, into his own hands. Abruptly the drama of the story roused him + from all his languor. In an instant he was the poet again, his nerves + tingling, alive to every sensation, responsive to every impression. The + desire of creation, of composition, grew big within him. Hexameters of his + own clamoured, tumultuous, in his brain. Not for a long time had he “felt + his poem,” as he called this sensation, so poignantly. For an instant he + told himself that he actually held it. + </p> + <p> + It was, no doubt, Vanamee's talk that had stimulated him to this point. + The story of the Long Trail, with its desert and mountain, its + cliff-dwellers, its Aztec ruins, its colour, movement, and romance, filled + his mind with picture after picture. The epic defiled before his vision + like a pageant. Once more, he shot a glance about him, as if in search of + the inspiration, and this time he all but found it. He rose to his feet, + looking out and off below him. + </p> + <p> + As from a pinnacle, Presley, from where he now stood, dominated the entire + country. The sun had begun to set, everything in the range of his vision + was overlaid with a sheen of gold. + </p> + <p> + First, close at hand, it was the Seed ranch, carpeting the little hollow + behind the Mission with a spread of greens, some dark, some vivid, some + pale almost to yellowness. Beyond that was the Mission itself, its + venerable campanile, in whose arches hung the Spanish King's bells, + already glowing ruddy in the sunset. Farther on, he could make out + Annixter's ranch house, marked by the skeleton-like tower of the artesian + well, and, a little farther to the east, the huddled, tiled roofs of + Guadalajara. Far to the west and north, he saw Bonneville very plain, and + the dome of the courthouse, a purple silhouette against the glare of the + sky. Other points detached themselves, swimming in a golden mist, + projecting blue shadows far before them; the mammoth live-oak by Hooven's, + towering superb and magnificent; the line of eucalyptus trees, behind + which he knew was the Los Muertos ranch house—his home; the + watering-tank, the great iron-hooped tower of wood that stood at the + joining of the Lower Road and the County Road; the long wind-break of + poplar trees and the white walls of Caraher's saloon on the County Road. + </p> + <p> + But all this seemed to be only foreground, a mere array of accessories—a + mass of irrelevant details. Beyond Annixter's, beyond Guadalajara, beyond + the Lower Road, beyond Broderson Creek, on to the south and west, + infinite, illimitable, stretching out there under the sheen of the sunset + forever and forever, flat, vast, unbroken, a huge scroll, unrolling + between the horizons, spread the great stretches of the ranch of Los + Muertos, bare of crops, shaved close in the recent harvest. Near at hand + were hills, but on that far southern horizon only the curve of the great + earth itself checked the view. Adjoining Los Muertos, and widening to the + west, opened the Broderson ranch. The Osterman ranch to the northwest + carried on the great sweep of landscape; ranch after ranch. Then, as the + imagination itself expanded under the stimulus of that measureless range + of vision, even those great ranches resolved themselves into mere + foreground, mere accessories, irrelevant details. Beyond the fine line of + the horizons, over the curve of the globe, the shoulder of the earth, were + other ranches, equally vast, and beyond these, others, and beyond these, + still others, the immensities multiplying, lengthening out vaster and + vaster. The whole gigantic sweep of the San Joaquin expanded, Titanic, + before the eye of the mind, flagellated with heat, quivering and + shimmering under the sun's red eye. At long intervals, a faint breath of + wind out of the south passed slowly over the levels of the baked and empty + earth, accentuating the silence, marking off the stillness. It seemed to + exhale from the land itself, a prolonged sigh as of deep fatigue. It was + the season after the harvest, and the great earth, the mother, after its + period of reproduction, its pains of labour, delivered of the fruit of its + loins, slept the sleep of exhaustion, the infinite repose of the colossus, + benignant, eternal, strong, the nourisher of nations, the feeder of an + entire world. Ha! there it was, his epic, his inspiration, his West, his + thundering progression of hexameters. A sudden uplift, a sense of + exhilaration, of physical exaltation appeared abruptly to sweep Presley + from his feet. As from a point high above the world, he seemed to dominate + a universe, a whole order of things. He was dizzied, stunned, stupefied, + his morbid supersensitive mind reeling, drunk with the intoxication of + mere immensity. Stupendous ideas for which there were no names drove + headlong through his brain. Terrible, formless shapes, vague figures, + gigantic, monstrous, distorted, whirled at a gallop through his + imagination. + </p> + <p> + He started homeward, still in his dream, descending from the hill, + emerging from the canyon, and took the short cut straight across the Quien + Sabe ranch, leaving Guadalajara far to his left. He tramped steadily on + through the wheat stubble, walking fast, his head in a whirl. + </p> + <p> + Never had he so nearly grasped his inspiration as at that moment on the + hilltop. Even now, though the sunset was fading, though the wide reach of + valley was shut from sight, it still kept him company. Now the details + came thronging back—the component parts of his poem, the signs and + symbols of the West. It was there, close at hand, he had been in touch + with it all day. It was in the centenarian's vividly coloured + reminiscences—De La Cuesta, holding his grant from the Spanish + crown, with his power of life and death; the romance of his marriage; the + white horse with its pillion of red leather and silver bridle mountings; + the bull-fights in the Plaza; the gifts of gold dust, and horses and + tallow. It was in Vanamee's strange history, the tragedy of his love; + Angele Varian, with her marvellous loveliness; the Egyptian fulness of her + lips, the perplexing upward slant of her violet eyes, bizarre, oriental; + her white forehead made three cornered by her plaits of gold hair; the + mystery of the Other; her death at the moment of her child's birth. It was + in Vanamee's flight into the wilderness; the story of the Long Trail, the + sunsets behind the altar-like mesas, the baking desolation of the deserts; + the strenuous, fierce life of forgotten towns, down there, far off, lost + below the horizons of the southwest; the sonorous music of unfamiliar + names—Quijotoa, Uintah, Sonora, Laredo, Uncompahgre. It was in the + Mission, with its cracked bells, its decaying walls, its venerable sun + dial, its fountain and old garden, and in the Mission Fathers themselves, + the priests, the padres, planting the first wheat and oil and wine to + produce the elements of the Sacrament—a trinity of great industries, + taking their rise in a religious rite. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly, as if in confirmation, Presley heard the sound of a bell from + the direction of the Mission itself. It was the de Profundis, a note of + the Old World; of the ancient regime, an echo from the hillsides of + mediaeval Europe, sounding there in this new land, unfamiliar and strange + at this end-of-the-century time. + </p> + <p> + By now, however, it was dark. Presley hurried forward. He came to the line + fence of the Quien Sabe ranch. Everything was very still. The stars were + all out. There was not a sound other than the de Profundis, still sounding + from very far away. At long intervals the great earth sighed dreamily in + its sleep. All about, the feeling of absolute peace and quiet and security + and untroubled happiness and content seemed descending from the stars like + a benediction. The beauty of his poem, its idyl, came to him like a + caress; that alone had been lacking. It was that, perhaps, which had left + it hitherto incomplete. At last he was to grasp his song in all its + entity. But suddenly there was an interruption. Presley had climbed the + fence at the limit of the Quien Sabe ranch. Beyond was Los Muertos, but + between the two ran the railroad. He had only time to jump back upon the + embankment when, with a quivering of all the earth, a locomotive, single, + unattached, shot by him with a roar, filling the air with the reek of hot + oil, vomiting smoke and sparks; its enormous eye, cyclopean, red, throwing + a glare far in advance, shooting by in a sudden crash of confused thunder; + filling the night with the terrific clamour of its iron hoofs. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly Presley remembered. This must be the crack passenger engine of + which Dyke had told him, the one delayed by the accident on the + Bakersfield division and for whose passage the track had been opened all + the way to Fresno. + </p> + <p> + Before Presley could recover from the shock of the irruption, while the + earth was still vibrating, the rails still humming, the engine was far + away, flinging the echo of its frantic gallop over all the valley. For a + brief instant it roared with a hollow diapason on the Long Trestle over + Broderson Creek, then plunged into a cutting farther on, the quivering + glare of its fires losing itself in the night, its thunder abruptly + diminishing to a subdued and distant humming. All at once this ceased. The + engine was gone. + </p> + <p> + But the moment the noise of the engine lapsed, Presley—about to + start forward again—was conscious of a confusion of lamentable + sounds that rose into the night from out the engine's wake. Prolonged + cries of agony, sobbing wails of infinite pain, heart-rending, pitiful. + </p> + <p> + The noises came from a little distance. He ran down the track, crossing + the culvert, over the irrigating ditch, and at the head of the long reach + of track—between the culvert and the Long Trestle—paused + abruptly, held immovable at the sight of the ground and rails all about + him. + </p> + <p> + In some way, the herd of sheep—Vanamee's herd—had found a + breach in the wire fence by the right of way and had wandered out upon the + tracks. A band had been crossing just at the moment of the engine's + passage. The pathos of it was beyond expression. It was a slaughter, a + massacre of innocents. The iron monster had charged full into the midst, + merciless, inexorable. To the right and left, all the width of the right + of way, the little bodies had been flung; backs were snapped against the + fence posts; brains knocked out. Caught in the barbs of the wire, wedged + in, the bodies hung suspended. Under foot it was terrible. The black + blood, winking in the starlight, seeped down into the clinkers between the + ties with a prolonged sucking murmur. + </p> + <p> + Presley turned away, horror-struck, sick at heart, overwhelmed with a + quick burst of irresistible compassion for this brute agony he could not + relieve. The sweetness was gone from the evening, the sense of peace, of + security, and placid contentment was stricken from the landscape. The + hideous ruin in the engine's path drove all thought of his poem from his + mind. The inspiration vanished like a mist. The de Profundis had ceased to + ring. + </p> + <p> + He hurried on across the Los Muertos ranch, almost running, even putting + his hands over his ears till he was out of hearing distance of that all + but human distress. Not until he was beyond ear-shot did he pause, looking + back, listening. The night had shut down again. For a moment the silence + was profound, unbroken. + </p> + <p> + Then, faint and prolonged, across the levels of the ranch, he heard the + engine whistling for Bonneville. Again and again, at rapid intervals in + its flying course, it whistled for road crossings, for sharp curves, for + trestles; ominous notes, hoarse, bellowing, ringing with the accents of + menace and defiance; and abruptly Presley saw again, in his imagination, + the galloping monster, the terror of steel and steam, with its single eye, + cyclopean, red, shooting from horizon to horizon; but saw it now as the + symbol of a vast power, huge, terrible, flinging the echo of its thunder + over all the reaches of the valley, leaving blood and destruction in its + path; the leviathan, with tentacles of steel clutching into the soil, the + soulless Force, the iron-hearted Power, the monster, the Colossus, the + Octopus. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + On the following morning, Harran Derrick was up and about by a little + after six o'clock, and a quarter of an hour later had breakfast in the + kitchen of the ranch house, preferring not to wait until the Chinese cook + laid the table in the regular dining-room. He scented a hard day's work + ahead of him, and was anxious to be at it betimes. He was practically the + manager of Los Muertos, and, with the aid of his foreman and three + division superintendents, carried forward nearly the entire direction of + the ranch, occupying himself with the details of his father's plans, + executing his orders, signing contracts, paying bills, and keeping the + books. + </p> + <p> + For the last three weeks little had been done. The crop—such as it + was—had been harvested and sold, and there had been a general + relaxation of activity for upwards of a month. Now, however, the fall was + coming on, the dry season was about at its end; any time after the + twentieth of the month the first rains might be expected, softening the + ground, putting it into condition for the plough. Two days before this, + Harran had notified his superintendents on Three and Four to send in such + grain as they had reserved for seed. On Two the wheat had not even shown + itself above the ground, while on One, the Home ranch, which was under his + own immediate supervision, the seed had already been graded and selected. + </p> + <p> + It was Harran's intention to commence blue-stoning his seed that day, a + delicate and important process which prevented rust and smut appearing in + the crop when the wheat should come up. But, furthermore, he wanted to + find time to go to Guadalajara to meet the Governor on the morning train. + His day promised to be busy. + </p> + <p> + But as Harran was finishing his last cup of coffee, Phelps, the foreman on + the Home ranch, who also looked after the storage barns where the seed was + kept, presented himself, cap in hand, on the back porch by the kitchen + door. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I'd speak to you about the seed from Four, sir,” he said. “That + hasn't been brought in yet.” + </p> + <p> + Harran nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see about it. You've got all the blue-stone you want, have you, + Phelps?” and without waiting for an answer he added, “Tell the stableman I + shall want the team about nine o'clock to go to Guadalajara. Put them in + the buggy. The bays, you understand.” When the other had gone, Harran + drank off the rest of his coffee, and, rising, passed through the + dining-room and across a stone-paved hallway with a glass roof into the + office just beyond. + </p> + <p> + The office was the nerve-centre of the entire ten thousand acres of Los + Muertos, but its appearance and furnishings were not in the least + suggestive of a farm. It was divided at about its middle by a wire + railing, painted green and gold, and behind this railing were the high + desks where the books were kept, the safe, the letter-press and + letter-files, and Harran's typewriting machine. A great map of Los Muertos + with every water-course, depression, and elevation, together with + indications of the varying depths of the clays and loams in the soil, + accurately plotted, hung against the wall between the windows, while near + at hand by the safe was the telephone. + </p> + <p> + But, no doubt, the most significant object in the office was the ticker. + This was an innovation in the San Joaquin, an idea of shrewd, quick-witted + young Annixter, which Harran and Magnus Derrick had been quick to adopt, + and after them Broderson and Osterman, and many others of the wheat + growers of the county. The offices of the ranches were thus connected by + wire with San Francisco, and through that city with Minneapolis, Duluth, + Chicago, New York, and at last, and most important of all, with Liverpool. + Fluctuations in the price of the world's crop during and after the harvest + thrilled straight to the office of Los Muertos, to that of the Quien Sabe, + to Osterman's, and to Broderson's. During a flurry in the Chicago wheat + pits in the August of that year, which had affected even the San Francisco + market, Harran and Magnus had sat up nearly half of one night watching the + strip of white tape jerking unsteadily from the reel. At such moments they + no longer felt their individuality. The ranch became merely the part of an + enormous whole, a unit in the vast agglomeration of wheat land the whole + world round, feeling the effects of causes thousands of miles distant—a + drought on the prairies of Dakota, a rain on the plains of India, a frost + on the Russian steppes, a hot wind on the llanos of the Argentine. + </p> + <p> + Harran crossed over to the telephone and rang six bells, the call for the + division house on Four. It was the most distant, the most isolated point + on all the ranch, situated at its far southeastern extremity, where few + people ever went, close to the line fence, a dot, a speck, lost in the + immensity of the open country. By the road it was eleven miles distant + from the office, and by the trail to Hooven's and the Lower Road all of + nine. + </p> + <p> + “How about that seed?” demanded Harran when he had got Cutter on the line. + </p> + <p> + The other made excuses for an unavoidable delay, and was adding that he + was on the point of starting out, when Harran cut in with: + </p> + <p> + “You had better go the trail. It will save a little time and I am in a + hurry. Put your sacks on the horses' backs. And, Cutter, if you see Hooven + when you go by his place, tell him I want him, and, by the way, take a + look at the end of the irrigating ditch when you get to it. See how they + are getting along there and if Billy wants anything. Tell him we are + expecting those new scoops down to-morrow or next day and to get along + with what he has until then.... How's everything on Four? ... All right, + then. Give your seed to Phelps when you get here if I am not about. I am + going to Guadalajara to meet the Governor. He's coming down to-day. And + that makes me think; we lost the case, you know. I had a letter from the + Governor yesterday.... Yes, hard luck. S. Behrman did us up. Well, + good-bye, and don't lose any time with that seed. I want to blue-stone + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + After telephoning Cutter, Harran put on his hat, went over to the barns, + and found Phelps. Phelps had already cleaned out the vat which was to + contain the solution of blue-stone, and was now at work regrading the + seed. Against the wall behind him ranged the row of sacks. Harran cut the + fastenings of these and examined the contents carefully, taking handfuls + of wheat from each and allowing it to run through his fingers, or nipping + the grains between his nails, testing their hardness. + </p> + <p> + The seed was all of the white varieties of wheat and of a very high grade, + the berries hard and heavy, rigid and swollen with starch. + </p> + <p> + “If it was all like that, sir, hey?” observed Phelps. + </p> + <p> + Harran put his chin in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Bread would be as good as cake, then,” he answered, going from sack to + sack, inspecting the contents and consulting the tags affixed to the + mouths. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he remarked, “here's a red wheat. Where did this come from?” + </p> + <p> + “That's that red Clawson we sowed to the piece on Four, north the Mission + Creek, just to see how it would do here. We didn't get a very good catch.” + </p> + <p> + “We can't do better than to stay by White Sonora and Propo,” remarked + Harran. “We've got our best results with that, and European millers like + it to mix with the Eastern wheats that have more gluten than ours. That + is, if we have any wheat at all next year.” + </p> + <p> + A feeling of discouragement for the moment bore down heavily upon him. At + intervals this came to him and for the moment it was overpowering. The + idea of “what's-the-use” was upon occasion a veritable oppression. + Everything seemed to combine to lower the price of wheat. The extension of + wheat areas always exceeded increase of population; competition was + growing fiercer every year. The farmer's profits were the object of attack + from a score of different quarters. It was a flock of vultures descending + upon a common prey—the commission merchant, the elevator combine, + the mixing-house ring, the banks, the warehouse men, the labouring man, + and, above all, the railroad. Steadily the Liverpool buyers cut and cut + and cut. Everything, every element of the world's markets, tended to force + down the price to the lowest possible figure at which it could be + profitably farmed. Now it was down to eighty-seven. It was at that figure + the crop had sold that year; and to think that the Governor had seen wheat + at two dollars and five cents in the year of the Turko-Russian War! + </p> + <p> + He turned back to the house after giving Phelps final directions, gloomy, + disheartened, his hands deep in his pockets, wondering what was to be the + outcome. So narrow had the margin of profit shrunk that a dry season meant + bankruptcy to the smaller farmers throughout all the valley. He knew very + well how widespread had been the distress the last two years. With their + own tenants on Los Muertos, affairs had reached the stage of desperation. + Derrick had practically been obliged to “carry” Hooven and some of the + others. The Governor himself had made almost nothing during the last + season; a third year like the last, with the price steadily sagging, meant + nothing else but ruin. + </p> + <p> + But here he checked himself. Two consecutive dry seasons in California + were almost unprecedented; a third would be beyond belief, and the + complete rest for nearly all the land was a compensation. They had made no + money, that was true; but they had lost none. Thank God, the homestead was + free of mortgage; one good season would more than make up the difference. + </p> + <p> + He was in a better mood by the time he reached the driveway that led up to + the ranch house, and as he raised his eyes toward the house itself, he + could not but feel that the sight of his home was cheering. The ranch + house was set in a great grove of eucalyptus, oak, and cypress, enormous + trees growing from out a lawn that was as green, as fresh, and as + well-groomed as any in a garden in the city. This lawn flanked all one + side of the house, and it was on this side that the family elected to + spend most of its time. The other side, looking out upon the Home ranch + toward Bonneville and the railroad, was but little used. A deep porch ran + the whole length of the house here, and in the lower branches of a + live-oak near the steps Harran had built a little summer house for his + mother. To the left of the ranch house itself, toward the County Road, was + the bunk-house and kitchen for some of the hands. From the steps of the + porch the view to the southward expanded to infinity. There was not so + much as a twig to obstruct the view. In one leap the eye reached the fine, + delicate line where earth and sky met, miles away. The flat monotony of + the land, clean of fencing, was broken by one spot only, the roof of the + Division Superintendent's house on Three—a mere speck, just darker + than the ground. Cutter's house on Four was not even in sight. That was + below the horizon. + </p> + <p> + As Harran came up he saw his mother at breakfast. The table had been set + on the porch and Mrs. Derrick, stirring her coffee with one hand, held + open with the other the pages of Walter Pater's “Marius.” At her feet, + Princess Nathalie, the white Angora cat, sleek, over-fed, self-centred, + sat on her haunches, industriously licking at the white fur of her breast, + while near at hand, by the railing of the porch, Presley pottered with a + new bicycle lamp, filling it with oil, adjusting the wicks. + </p> + <p> + Harran kissed his mother and sat down in a wicker chair on the porch, + removing his hat, running his fingers through his yellow hair. + </p> + <p> + Magnus Derrick's wife looked hardly old enough to be the mother of two + such big fellows as Harran and Lyman Derrick. She was not far into the + fifties, and her brown hair still retained much of its brightness. She + could yet be called pretty. Her eyes were large and easily assumed a look + of inquiry and innocence, such as one might expect to see in a young girl. + By disposition she was retiring; she easily obliterated herself. She was + not made for the harshness of the world, and yet she had known these + harshnesses in her younger days. Magnus had married her when she was + twenty-one years old, at a time when she was a graduate of some years' + standing from the State Normal School and was teaching literature, music, + and penmanship in a seminary in the town of Marysville. She overworked + herself here continually, loathing the strain of teaching, yet clinging to + it with a tenacity born of the knowledge that it was her only means of + support. Both her parents were dead; she was dependent upon herself. Her + one ambition was to see Italy and the Bay of Naples. The “Marble Faun,” + Raphael's “Madonnas” and “Il Trovatore” were her beau ideals of literature + and art. She dreamed of Italy, Rome, Naples, and the world's great + “art-centres.” There was no doubt that her affair with Magnus had been a + love-match, but Annie Payne would have loved any man who would have taken + her out of the droning, heart-breaking routine of the class and music + room. She had followed his fortunes unquestioningly. First at Sacramento, + during the turmoil of his political career, later on at Placerville in El + Dorado County, after Derrick had interested himself in the Corpus Christi + group of mines, and finally at Los Muertos, where, after selling out his + fourth interest in Corpus Christi, he had turned rancher and had “come in” + on the new tracts of wheat land just thrown open by the railroad. She had + lived here now for nearly ten years. But never for one moment since the + time her glance first lost itself in the unbroken immensity of the ranches + had she known a moment's content. Continually there came into her pretty, + wide-open eyes—the eyes of a young doe—a look of uneasiness, + of distrust, and aversion. Los Muertos frightened her. She remembered the + days of her young girlhood passed on a farm in eastern Ohio—five + hundred acres, neatly partitioned into the water lot, the cow pasture, the + corn lot, the barley field, and wheat farm; cosey, comfortable, home-like; + where the farmers loved their land, caressing it, coaxing it, nourishing + it as though it were a thing almost conscious; where the seed was sown by + hand, and a single two-horse plough was sufficient for the entire farm; + where the scythe sufficed to cut the harvest and the grain was thrashed + with flails. + </p> + <p> + But this new order of things—a ranch bounded only by the horizons, + where, as far as one could see, to the north, to the east, to the south + and to the west, was all one holding, a principality ruled with iron and + steam, bullied into a yield of three hundred and fifty thousand bushels, + where even when the land was resting, unploughed, unharrowed, and unsown, + the wheat came up—troubled her, and even at times filled her with an + undefinable terror. To her mind there was something inordinate about it + all; something almost unnatural. The direct brutality of ten thousand + acres of wheat, nothing but wheat as far as the eye could see, stunned her + a little. The one-time writing-teacher of a young ladies' seminary, with + her pretty deer-like eyes and delicate fingers, shrank from it. She did + not want to look at so much wheat. There was something vaguely indecent in + the sight, this food of the people, this elemental force, this basic + energy, weltering here under the sun in all the unconscious nakedness of a + sprawling, primordial Titan. + </p> + <p> + The monotony of the ranch ate into her heart hour by hour, year by year. + And with it all, when was she to see Rome, Italy, and the Bay of Naples? + It was a different prospect truly. Magnus had given her his promise that + once the ranch was well established, they two should travel. But + continually he had been obliged to put her off, now for one reason, now + for another; the machine would not as yet run of itself, he must still + feel his hand upon the lever; next year, perhaps, when wheat should go to + ninety, or the rains were good. She did not insist. She obliterated + herself, only allowing, from time to time, her pretty, questioning eyes to + meet his. In the meantime she retired within herself. She surrounded + herself with books. Her taste was of the delicacy of point lace. She knew + her Austin Dobson by heart. She read poems, essays, the ideas of the + seminary at Marysville persisting in her mind. “Marius the Epicurean,” + “The Essays of Elia,” “Sesame and Lilies,” “The Stones of Venice,” and the + little toy magazines, full of the flaccid banalities of the “Minor Poets,” + were continually in her hands. + </p> + <p> + When Presley had appeared on Los Muertos, she had welcomed his arrival + with delight. Here at last was a congenial spirit. She looked forward to + long conversations with the young man on literature, art, and ethics. But + Presley had disappointed her. That he—outside of his few chosen + deities—should care little for literature, shocked her beyond words. + His indifference to “style,” to elegant English, was a positive affront. + His savage abuse and open ridicule of the neatly phrased rondeaux and + sestinas and chansonettes of the little magazines was to her mind a wanton + and uncalled-for cruelty. She found his Homer, with its slaughters and + hecatombs and barbaric feastings and headstrong passions, violent and + coarse. She could not see with him any romance, any poetry in the life + around her; she looked to Italy for that. His “Song of the West,” which + only once, incoherent and fierce, he had tried to explain to her, its + swift, tumultous life, its truth, its nobility and savagery, its heroism + and obscenity had revolted her. + </p> + <p> + “But, Presley,” she had murmured, “that is not literature.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he had cried between his teeth, “no, thank God, it is not.” + </p> + <p> + A little later, one of the stablemen brought the buggy with the team of + bays up to the steps of the porch, and Harran, putting on a different coat + and a black hat, took himself off to Guadalajara. The morning was fine; + there was no cloud in the sky, but as Harran's buggy drew away from the + grove of trees about the ranch house, emerging into the open country on + either side of the Lower Road, he caught himself looking sharply at the + sky and the faint line of hills beyond the Quien Sabe ranch. There was a + certain indefinite cast to the landscape that to Harran's eye was not to + be mistaken. Rain, the first of the season, was not far off. + </p> + <p> + “That's good,” he muttered, touching the bays with the whip, “we can't get + our ploughs to hand any too soon.” + </p> + <p> + These ploughs Magnus Derrick had ordered from an Eastern manufacturer some + months before, since he was dissatisfied with the results obtained from + the ones he had used hitherto, which were of local make. However, there + had been exasperating and unexpected delays in their shipment. Magnus and + Harran both had counted upon having the ploughs in their implement barns + that very week, but a tracer sent after them had only resulted in locating + them, still en route, somewhere between The Needles and Bakersfield. Now + there was likelihood of rain within the week. Ploughing could be + undertaken immediately afterward, so soon as the ground was softened, but + there was a fair chance that the ranch would lie idle for want of proper + machinery. + </p> + <p> + It was ten minutes before train time when Harran reached the depot at + Guadalajara. The San Francisco papers of the preceding day had arrived on + an earlier train. He bought a couple from the station agent and looked + them over till a distant and prolonged whistle announced the approach of + the down train. + </p> + <p> + In one of the four passengers that alighted from the train, he recognised + his father. He half rose in his seat, whistling shrilly between his teeth, + waving his hand, and Magnus Derrick, catching sight of him, came forward + quickly. + </p> + <p> + Magnus—the Governor—was all of six feet tall, and though now + well toward his sixtieth year, was as erect as an officer of cavalry. He + was broad in proportion, a fine commanding figure, imposing an immediate + respect, impressing one with a sense of gravity, of dignity and a certain + pride of race. He was smooth-shaven, thin-lipped, with a broad chin, and a + prominent hawk-like nose—the characteristic of the family—thin, + with a high bridge, such as one sees in the later portraits of the Duke of + Wellington. His hair was thick and iron-grey, and had a tendency to curl + in a forward direction just in front of his ears. He wore a top-hat of + grey, with a wide brim, and a frock coat, and carried a cane with a + yellowed ivory head. + </p> + <p> + As a young man it had been his ambition to represent his native State—North + Carolina—in the United States Senate. Calhoun was his “great man,” + but in two successive campaigns he had been defeated. His career checked + in this direction, he had come to California in the fifties. He had known + and had been the intimate friend of such men as Terry, Broderick, General + Baker, Lick, Alvarado, Emerich, Larkin, and, above all, of the unfortunate + and misunderstood Ralston. Once he had been put forward as the Democratic + candidate for governor, but failed of election. After this Magnus had + definitely abandoned politics and had invested all his money in the Corpus + Christi mines. Then he had sold out his interest at a small profit—just + in time to miss his chance of becoming a multi-millionaire in the Comstock + boom—and was looking for reinvestments in other lines when the news + that “wheat had been discovered in California” was passed from mouth to + mouth. Practically it amounted to a discovery. Dr. Glenn's first harvest + of wheat in Colusa County, quietly undertaken but suddenly realised with + dramatic abruptness, gave a new matter for reflection to the thinking men + of the New West. California suddenly leaped unheralded into the world's + market as a competitor in wheat production. In a few years her output of + wheat exceeded the value of her out-put of gold, and when, later on, the + Pacific and Southwestern Railroad threw open to settlers the rich lands of + Tulare County—conceded to the corporation by the government as a + bonus for the construction of the road—Magnus had been quick to + seize the opportunity and had taken up the ten thousand acres of Los + Muertos. Wherever he had gone, Magnus had taken his family with him. Lyman + had been born at Sacramento during the turmoil and excitement of Derrick's + campaign for governor, and Harran at Shingle Springs, in El Dorado County, + six years later. + </p> + <p> + But Magnus was in every sense the “prominent man.” In whatever circle he + moved he was the chief figure. Instinctively other men looked to him as + the leader. He himself was proud of this distinction; he assumed the grand + manner very easily and carried it well. As a public speaker he was one of + the last of the followers of the old school of orators. He even carried + the diction and manner of the rostrum into private life. It was said of + him that his most colloquial conversation could be taken down in shorthand + and read off as an admirable specimen of pure, well-chosen English. He + loved to do things upon a grand scale, to preside, to dominate. In his + good humour there was something Jovian. When angry, everybody around him + trembled. But he had not the genius for detail, was not patient. The + certain grandiose lavishness of his disposition occupied itself more with + results than with means. He was always ready to take chances, to hazard + everything on the hopes of colossal returns. In the mining days at + Placerville there was no more redoubtable poker player in the county. He + had been as lucky in his mines as in his gambling, sinking shafts and + tunnelling in violation of expert theory and finding “pay” in every case. + Without knowing it, he allowed himself to work his ranch much as if he was + still working his mine. The old-time spirit of '49, hap-hazard, + unscientific, persisted in his mind. Everything was a gamble—who + took the greatest chances was most apt to be the greatest winner. The idea + of manuring Los Muertos, of husbanding his great resources, he would have + scouted as niggardly, Hebraic, ungenerous. + </p> + <p> + Magnus climbed into the buggy, helping himself with Harran's outstretched + hand which he still held. The two were immensely fond of each other, proud + of each other. They were constantly together and Magnus kept no secrets + from his favourite son. + </p> + <p> + “Well, boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Governor.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very pleased you came yourself, Harran. I feared that you might be + too busy and send Phelps. It was thoughtful.” + </p> + <p> + Harran was about to reply, but at that moment Magnus caught sight of the + three flat cars loaded with bright-painted farming machines which still + remained on the siding above the station. He laid his hands on the reins + and Harran checked the team. + </p> + <p> + “Harran,” observed Magnus, fixing the machinery with a judicial frown, + “Harran, those look singularly like our ploughs. Drive over, boy.” + </p> + <p> + The train had by this time gone on its way and Harran brought the team up + to the siding. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I was right,” said the Governor. “'Magnus Derrick, Los Muertos, + Bonneville, from Ditson & Co., Rochester.' These are ours, boy.” + </p> + <p> + Harran breathed a sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + “At last,” he answered, “and just in time, too. We'll have rain before the + week is out. I think, now that I am here, I will telephone Phelps to send + the wagon right down for these. I started blue-stoning to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus nodded a grave approval. + </p> + <p> + “That was shrewd, boy. As to the rain, I think you are well informed; we + will have an early season. The ploughs have arrived at a happy moment.” + </p> + <p> + “It means money to us, Governor,” remarked Harran. + </p> + <p> + But as he turned the horses to allow his father to get into the buggy + again, the two were surprised to hear a thick, throaty voice wishing them + good-morning, and turning about were aware of S. Behrman, who had come up + while they were examining the ploughs. Harran's eyes flashed on the + instant and through his nostrils he drew a sharp, quick breath, while a + certain rigour of carriage stiffened the set of Magnus Derrick's shoulders + and back. Magnus had not yet got into the buggy, but stood with the team + between him and S. Behrman, eyeing him calmly across the horses' backs. S. + Behrman came around to the other side of the buggy and faced Magnus. + </p> + <p> + He was a large, fat man, with a great stomach; his cheek and the upper + part of his thick neck ran together to form a great tremulous jowl, shaven + and blue-grey in colour; a roll of fat, sprinkled with sparse hair, moist + with perspiration, protruded over the back of his collar. He wore a heavy + black moustache. On his head was a round-topped hat of stiff brown straw, + highly varnished. A light-brown linen vest, stamped with innumerable + interlocked horseshoes, covered his protuberant stomach, upon which a + heavy watch chain of hollow links rose and fell with his difficult + breathing, clinking against the vest buttons of imitation mother-of-pearl. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman was the banker of Bonneville. But besides this he was many + other things. He was a real estate agent. He bought grain; he dealt in + mortgages. He was one of the local political bosses, but more important + than all this, he was the representative of the Pacific and Southwestern + Railroad in that section of Tulare County. The railroad did little + business in that part of the country that S. Behrman did not supervise, + from the consignment of a shipment of wheat to the management of a damage + suit, or even to the repair and maintenance of the right of way. During + the time when the ranchers of the county were fighting the grain-rate + case, S. Behrman had been much in evidence in and about the San Francisco + court rooms and the lobby of the legislature in Sacramento. He had + returned to Bonneville only recently, a decision adverse to the ranchers + being foreseen. The position he occupied on the salary list of the Pacific + and Southwestern could not readily be defined, for he was neither freight + agent, passenger agent, attorney, real-estate broker, nor political + servant, though his influence in all these offices was undoubted and + enormous. But for all that, the ranchers about Bonneville knew whom to + look to as a source of trouble. There was no denying the fact that for + Osterman, Broderson, Annixter and Derrick, S. Behrman was the railroad. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Derrick, good-morning,” he cried as he came up. “Good-morning, + Harran. Glad to see you back, Mr. Derrick.” He held out a thick hand. + </p> + <p> + Magnus, head and shoulders above the other, tall, thin, erect, looked down + upon S. Behrman, inclining his head, failing to see his extended hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, sir,” he observed, and waited for S. Behrman's further + speech. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Derrick,” continued S. Behrman, wiping the back of his neck + with his handkerchief, “I saw in the city papers yesterday that our case + had gone against you.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess it wasn't any great news to YOU,” commented Harran, his face + scarlet. “I guess you knew which way Ulsteen was going to jump after your + very first interview with him. You don't like to be surprised in this sort + of thing, S. Behrman.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, you know better than that, Harran,” remonstrated S. Behrman blandly. + “I know what you mean to imply, but I ain't going to let it make me get + mad. I wanted to say to your Governor—I wanted to say to you, Mr. + Derrick—as one man to another—letting alone for the minute + that we were on opposite sides of the case—that I'm sorry you didn't + win. Your side made a good fight, but it was in a mistaken cause. That's + the whole trouble. Why, you could have figured out before you ever went + into the case that such rates are confiscation of property. You must allow + us—must allow the railroad—a fair interest on the investment. + You don't want us to go into the receiver's hands, do you now, Mr. + Derrick?” + </p> + <p> + “The Board of Railroad Commissioners was bought,” remarked Magnus sharply, + a keen, brisk flash glinting in his eye. + </p> + <p> + “It was part of the game,” put in Harran, “for the Railroad Commission to + cut rates to a ridiculous figure, far below a REASONABLE figure, just so + that it WOULD be confiscation. Whether Ulsteen is a tool of yours or not, + he had to put the rates back to what they were originally.” + </p> + <p> + “If you enforced those rates, Mr. Harran,” returned S. Behrman calmly, “we + wouldn't be able to earn sufficient money to meet operating expenses or + fixed charges, to say nothing of a surplus left over to pay dividends——” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me when the P. and S. W. ever paid dividends.” + </p> + <p> + “The lowest rates,” continued S. Behrman, “that the legislature can + establish must be such as will secure us a fair interest on our + investment.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what's your standard? Come, let's hear it. Who is to say what's a + fair rate? The railroad has its own notions of fairness sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “The laws of the State,” returned S. Behrman, “fix the rate of interest at + seven per cent. That's a good enough standard for us. There is no reason, + Mr. Harran, why a dollar invested in a railroad should not earn as much as + a dollar represented by a promissory note—seven per cent. By + applying your schedule of rates we would not earn a cent; we would be + bankrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “Interest on your investment!” cried Harran, furious. “It's fine to talk + about fair interest. I know and you know that the total earnings of the P. + and S. W.—their main, branch and leased lines for last year—was + between nineteen and twenty millions of dollars. Do you mean to say that + twenty million dollars is seven per cent. of the original cost of the + road?” + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman spread out his hands, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “That was the gross, not the net figure—and how can you tell what + was the original cost of the road?” “Ah, that's just it,” shouted Harran, + emphasising each word with a blow of his fist upon his knee, his eyes + sparkling, “you take cursed good care that we don't know anything about + the original cost of the road. But we know you are bonded for treble your + value; and we know this: that the road COULD have been built for + fifty-four thousand dollars per mile and that you SAY it cost you + eighty-seven thousand. It makes a difference, S. Behrman, on which of + these two figures you are basing your seven per cent.” + </p> + <p> + “That all may show obstinacy, Harran,” observed S. Behrman vaguely, “but + it don't show common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “We are threshing out old straw, I believe, gentlemen,” remarked Magnus. + “The question was thoroughly sifted in the courts.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” assented S. Behrman. “The best way is that the railroad and + the farmer understand each other and get along peaceably. We are both + dependent on each other. Your ploughs, I believe, Mr. Derrick.” S. Behrman + nodded toward the flat cars. + </p> + <p> + “They are consigned to me,” admitted Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “It looks a trifle like rain,” observed S. Behrman, easing his neck and + jowl in his limp collar. “I suppose you will want to begin ploughing next + week.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly,” said Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see that your ploughs are hurried through for you then, Mr. Derrick. + We will route them by fast freight for you and it won't cost you anything + extra.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded Harran. “The ploughs are here. We have + nothing more to do with the railroad. I am going to have my wagons down + here this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” answered S. Behrman, “but the cars are going north, not, as + you thought, coming FROM the north. They have not been to San Francisco + yet.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus made a slight movement of the head as one who remembers a fact + hitherto forgotten. But Harran was as yet unenlightened. + </p> + <p> + “To San Francisco!” he answered, “we want them here—what are you + talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know, of course, the regulations,” answered S. Behrman. + “Freight of this kind coming from the Eastern points into the State must + go first to one of our common points and be reshipped from there.” + </p> + <p> + Harran did remember now, but never before had the matter so struck home. + He leaned back in his seat in dumb amazement for the instant. Even Magnus + had turned a little pale. Then, abruptly, Harran broke out violent and + raging. + </p> + <p> + “What next? My God, why don't you break into our houses at night? Why + don't you steal the watch out of my pocket, steal the horses out of the + harness, hold us up with a shot-gun; yes, 'stand and deliver; your money + or your life.' Here we bring our ploughs from the East over your lines, + but you're not content with your long-haul rate between Eastern points and + Bonneville. You want to get us under your ruinous short-haul rate between + Bonneville and San Francisco, AND RETURN. Think of it! Here's a load of + stuff for Bonneville that can't stop at Bonneville, where it is consigned, + but has got to go up to San Francisco first BY WAY OF Bonneville, at forty + cents per ton and then be reshipped from San Francisco back to Bonneville + again at FIFTY-ONE cents per ton, the short-haul rate. And we have to pay + it all or go without. Here are the ploughs right here, in sight of the + land they have got to be used on, the season just ready for them, and we + can't touch them. Oh,” he exclaimed in deep disgust, “isn't it a pretty + mess! Isn't it a farce! the whole dirty business!” + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman listened to him unmoved, his little eyes blinking under his fat + forehead, the gold chain of hollow links clicking against the pearl + buttons of his waistcoat as he breathed. + </p> + <p> + “It don't do any good to let loose like that, Harran,” he said at length. + “I am willing to do what I can for you. I'll hurry the ploughs through, + but I can't change the freight regulation of the road.” + </p> + <p> + “What's your blackmail for this?” vociferated Harran. “How much do you + want to let us go? How much have we got to pay you to be ALLOWED to use + our own ploughs—what's your figure? Come, spit it out.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you are trying to make me angry, Harran,” returned S. Behrman, “but + you won't succeed. Better give up trying, my boy. As I said, the best way + is to have the railroad and the farmer get along amicably. It is the only + way we can do business. Well, s'long, Governor, I must trot along. S'long, + Harran.” He took himself off. + </p> + <p> + But before leaving Guadalajara Magnus dropped into the town's small + grocery store to purchase a box of cigars of a certain Mexican brand, + unprocurable elsewhere. Harran remained in the buggy. + </p> + <p> + While he waited, Dyke appeared at the end of the street, and, seeing + Derrick's younger son, came over to shake hands with him. He explained his + affair with the P. and S. W., and asked the young man what he thought of + the expected rise in the price of hops. + </p> + <p> + “Hops ought to be a good thing,” Harran told him. “The crop in Germany and + in New York has been a dead failure for the last three years, and so many + people have gone out of the business that there's likely to be a shortage + and a stiff advance in the price. They ought to go to a dollar next year. + Sure, hops ought to be a good thing. How's the old lady and Sidney, Dyke?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, fairly well, thank you, Harran. They're up to Sacramento just now to + see my brother. I was thinking of going in with my brother into this hop + business. But I had a letter from him this morning. He may not be able to + meet me on this proposition. He's got other business on hand. If he pulls + out—and he probably will—I'll have to go it alone, but I'll + have to borrow. I had thought with his money and mine we would have enough + to pull off the affair without mortgaging anything. As it is, I guess I'll + have to see S. Behrman.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be cursed if I would!” exclaimed Harran. + </p> + <p> + “Well, S. Behrman is a screw,” admitted the engineer, “and he is + 'railroad' to his boots; but business is business, and he would have to + stand by a contract in black and white, and this chance in hops is too + good to let slide. I guess we'll try it on, Harran. I can get a good + foreman that knows all about hops just now, and if the deal pays—well, + I want to send Sid to a seminary up in San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, mortgage the crops, but don't mortgage the homestead, Dyke,” said + Harran. “And, by the way, have you looked up the freight rates on hops?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven't yet,” answered Dyke, “and I had better be sure of that, + hadn't I? I hear that the rate is reasonable, though.” + </p> + <p> + “You be sure to have a clear understanding with the railroad first about + the rate,” Harran warned him. + </p> + <p> + When Magnus came out of the grocery store and once more seated himself in + the buggy, he said to Harran, “Boy, drive over here to Annixter's before + we start home. I want to ask him to dine with us to-night. Osterman and + Broderson are to drop in, I believe, and I should like to have Annixter as + well.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus was lavishly hospitable. Los Muertos's doors invariably stood open + to all the Derricks' neighbours, and once in so often Magnus had a few of + his intimates to dinner. + </p> + <p> + As Harran and his father drove along the road toward Annixter's ranch + house, Magnus asked about what had happened during his absence. + </p> + <p> + He inquired after his wife and the ranch, commenting upon the work on the + irrigating ditch. Harran gave him the news of the past week, Dyke's + discharge, his resolve to raise a crop of hops; Vanamee's return, the + killing of the sheep, and Hooven's petition to remain upon the ranch as + Magnus's tenant. It needed only Harran's recommendation that the German + should remain to have Magnus consent upon the instant. “You know more + about it than I, boy,” he said, “and whatever you think is wise shall be + done.” + </p> + <p> + Harran touched the bays with the whip, urging them to their briskest pace. + They were not yet at Annixter's and he was anxious to get back to the + ranch house to supervise the blue-stoning of his seed. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Governor,” he demanded suddenly, “how is Lyman getting on?” + </p> + <p> + Lyman, Magnus's eldest son, had never taken kindly toward ranch life. He + resembled his mother more than he did Magnus, and had inherited from her a + distaste for agriculture and a tendency toward a profession. At a time + when Harran was learning the rudiments of farming, Lyman was entering the + State University, and, graduating thence, had spent three years in the + study of law. But later on, traits that were particularly his father's + developed. Politics interested him. He told himself he was a born + politician, was diplomatic, approachable, had a talent for intrigue, a + gift of making friends easily and, most indispensable of all, a veritable + genius for putting influential men under obligations to himself. Already + he had succeeded in gaining for himself two important offices in the + municipal administration of San Francisco—where he had his home—sheriff's + attorney, and, later on, assistant district attorney. But with these small + achievements he was by no means satisfied. The largeness of his father's + character, modified in Lyman by a counter-influence of selfishness, had + produced in him an inordinate ambition. Where his father during his + political career had considered himself only as an exponent of principles + he strove to apply, Lyman saw but the office, his own personal + aggrandisement. He belonged to the new school, wherein objects were + attained not by orations before senates and assemblies, but by sessions of + committees, caucuses, compromises and expedients. His goal was to be in + fact what Magnus was only in name—governor. Lyman, with shut teeth, + had resolved that some day he would sit in the gubernatorial chair in + Sacramento. + </p> + <p> + “Lyman is doing well,” answered Magnus. “I could wish he was more + pronounced in his convictions, less willing to compromise, but I believe + him to be earnest and to have a talent for government and civics. His + ambition does him credit, and if he occupied himself a little more with + means and a little less with ends, he would, I am sure, be the ideal + servant of the people. But I am not afraid. The time will come when the + State will be proud of him.” + </p> + <p> + As Harran turned the team into the driveway that led up to Annixter's + house, Magnus remarked: + </p> + <p> + “Harran, isn't that young Annixter himself on the porch?” + </p> + <p> + Harran nodded and remarked: + </p> + <p> + “By the way, Governor, I wouldn't seem too cordial in your invitation to + Annixter. He will be glad to come, I know, but if you seem to want him too + much, it is just like his confounded obstinacy to make objections.” + </p> + <p> + “There is something in that,” observed Magnus, as Harran drew up at the + porch of the house. “He is a queer, cross-grained fellow, but in many ways + sterling.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter was lying in the hammock on the porch, precisely as Presley had + found him the day before, reading “David Copperfield” and stuffing himself + with dried prunes. When he recognised Magnus, however, he got up, though + careful to give evidence of the most poignant discomfort. He explained his + difficulty at great length, protesting that his stomach was no better than + a spongebag. Would Magnus and Harran get down and have a drink? There was + whiskey somewhere about. + </p> + <p> + Magnus, however, declined. He stated his errand, asking Annixter to come + over to Los Muertos that evening for seven o'clock dinner. Osterman and + Broderson would be there. + </p> + <p> + At once Annixter, even to Harran's surprise, put his chin in the air, + making excuses, fearing to compromise himself if he accepted too readily. + No, he did not think he could get around—was sure of it, in fact. + There were certain businesses he had on hand that evening. He had + practically made an appointment with a man at Bonneville; then, too, he + was thinking of going up to San Francisco to-morrow and needed his sleep; + would go to bed early; and besides all that, he was a very sick man; his + stomach was out of whack; if he moved about it brought the gripes back. + No, they must get along without him. + </p> + <p> + Magnus, knowing with whom he had to deal, did not urge the point, being + convinced that Annixter would argue over the affair the rest of the + morning. He re-settled himself in the buggy and Harran gathered up the + reins. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he observed, “you know your business best. Come if you can. We + dine at seven.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear you are going to farm the whole of Los Muertos this season,” + remarked Annixter, with a certain note of challenge in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “We are thinking of it,” replied Magnus. + </p> + <p> + Annixter grunted scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “Did you get the message I sent you by Presley?” he began. + </p> + <p> + Tactless, blunt, and direct, Annixter was quite capable of calling even + Magnus a fool to his face. But before he could proceed, S. Behrman in his + single buggy turned into the gate, and driving leisurely up to the porch + halted on the other side of Magnus's team. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, gentlemen,” he remarked, nodding to the two Derricks as + though he had not seen them earlier in the day. “Mr. Annixter, how do you + do?” + </p> + <p> + “What in hell do YOU want?” demanded Annixter with a stare. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman hiccoughed slightly and passed a fat hand over his waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + “Why, not very much, Mr. Annixter,” he replied, ignoring the belligerency + in the young ranchman's voice, “but I will have to lodge a protest against + you, Mr. Annixter, in the matter of keeping your line fence in repair. The + sheep were all over the track last night, this side the Long Trestle, and + I am afraid they have seriously disturbed our ballast along there. We—the + railroad—can't fence along our right of way. The farmers have the + prescriptive right of that, so we have to look to you to keep your fence + in repair. I am sorry, but I shall have to protest——” Annixter + returned to the hammock and stretched himself out in it to his full + length, remarking tranquilly: + </p> + <p> + “Go to the devil!” + </p> + <p> + “It is as much to your interest as to ours that the safety of the public——” + </p> + <p> + “You heard what I said. Go to the devil!” + </p> + <p> + “That all may show obstinacy, Mr. Annixter, but——” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Annixter jumped up again and came to the edge of the porch; his + face flamed scarlet to the roots of his stiff yellow hair. He thrust out + his jaw aggressively, clenching his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “You,” he vociferated, “I'll tell you what you are. You're a—a—a + PIP!” + </p> + <p> + To his mind it was the last insult, the most outrageous calumny. He had no + worse epithet at his command. + </p> + <p> + “——may show obstinacy,” pursued S. Behrman, bent upon + finishing the phrase, “but it don't show common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll mend my fence, and then, again, maybe I won't mend my fence,” + shouted Annixter. “I know what you mean—that wild engine last night. + Well, you've no right to run at that speed in the town limits.” + </p> + <p> + “How the town limits? The sheep were this side the Long Trestle.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's in the town limits of Guadalajara.” “Why, Mr. Annixter, the + Long Trestle is a good two miles out of Guadalajara.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter squared himself, leaping to the chance of an argument. + </p> + <p> + “Two miles! It's not a mile and a quarter. No, it's not a mile. I'll leave + it to Magnus here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know nothing about it,” declared Magnus, refusing to be involved. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do. Yes, you do, too. Any fool knows how far it is from + Guadalajara to the Long Trestle. It's about five-eighths of a mile.” + </p> + <p> + “From the depot of the town,” remarked S. Behrman placidly, “to the head + of the Long Trestle is about two miles.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a lie and you know it's a lie,” shouted the other, furious at S. + Behrman's calmness, “and I can prove it's a lie. I've walked that distance + on the Upper Road, and I know just how fast I walk, and if I can walk four + miles in one hour.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus and Harran drove on, leaving Annixter trying to draw S. Behrman + into a wrangle. + </p> + <p> + When at length S. Behrman as well took himself away, Annixter returned to + his hammock, finished the rest of his prunes and read another chapter of + “Copperfield.” Then he put the book, open, over his face and went to + sleep. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, toward noon, his own terrific snoring woke him up suddenly, + and he sat up, rubbing his face and blinking at the sunlight. There was a + bad taste in his mouth from sleeping with it wide open, and going into the + dining-room of the house, he mixed himself a drink of whiskey and soda and + swallowed it in three great gulps. He told himself that he felt not only + better but hungry, and pressed an electric button in the wall near the + sideboard three times to let the kitchen—situated in a separate + building near the ranch house—know that he was ready for his dinner. + As he did so, an idea occurred to him. He wondered if Hilma Tree would + bring up his dinner and wait on the table while he ate it. + </p> + <p> + In connection with his ranch, Annixter ran a dairy farm on a very small + scale, making just enough butter and cheese for the consumption of the + ranch's PERSONNEL. Old man Tree, his wife, and his daughter Hilma looked + after the dairy. But there was not always work enough to keep the three of + them occupied and Hilma at times made herself useful in other ways. As + often as not she lent a hand in the kitchen, and two or three times a week + she took her mother's place in looking after Annixter's house, making the + beds, putting his room to rights, bringing his meals up from the kitchen. + For the last summer she had been away visiting with relatives in one of + the towns on the coast. But the week previous to this she had returned and + Annixter had come upon her suddenly one day in the dairy, making cheese, + the sleeves of her crisp blue shirt waist rolled back to her very + shoulders. Annixter had carried away with him a clear-cut recollection of + these smooth white arms of hers, bare to the shoulder, very round and cool + and fresh. He would not have believed that a girl so young should have had + arms so big and perfect. To his surprise he found himself thinking of her + after he had gone to bed that night, and in the morning when he woke he + was bothered to know whether he had dreamed about Hilma's fine white arms + over night. Then abruptly he had lost patience with himself for being so + occupied with the subject, raging and furious with all the breed of + feemales—a fine way for a man to waste his time. He had had his + experience with the timid little creature in the glove-cleaning + establishment in Sacramento. That was enough. Feemales! Rot! None of them + in HIS, thank you. HE had seen Hilma Tree give him a look in the dairy. + Aha, he saw through her! She was trying to get a hold on him, was she? He + would show her. Wait till he saw her again. He would send her about her + business in a hurry. He resolved upon a terrible demeanour in the presence + of the dairy girl—a great show of indifference, a fierce masculine + nonchalance; and when, the next morning, she brought him his breakfast, he + had been smitten dumb as soon as she entered the room, glueing his eyes + upon his plate, his elbows close to his side, awkward, clumsy, overwhelmed + with constraint. + </p> + <p> + While true to his convictions as a woman-hater and genuinely despising + Hilma both as a girl and as an inferior, the idea of her worried him. Most + of all, he was angry with himself because of his inane sheepishness when + she was about. He at first had told himself that he was a fool not to be + able to ignore her existence as hitherto, and then that he was a greater + fool not to take advantage of his position. Certainly he had not the + remotest idea of any affection, but Hilma was a fine looking girl. He + imagined an affair with her. + </p> + <p> + As he reflected upon the matter now, scowling abstractedly at the button + of the electric bell, turning the whole business over in his mind, he + remembered that to-day was butter-making day and that Mrs. Tree would be + occupied in the dairy. That meant that Hilma would take her place. He + turned to the mirror of the sideboard, scrutinising his reflection with + grim disfavour. After a moment, rubbing the roughened surface of his chin + the wrong way, he muttered to his image in the glass: + </p> + <p> + “That a mug! Good Lord! what a looking mug!” Then, after a moment's + silence, “Wonder if that fool feemale will be up here to-day.” + </p> + <p> + He crossed over into his bedroom and peeped around the edge of the lowered + curtain. The window looked out upon the skeleton-like tower of the + artesian well and the cook-house and dairy-house close beside it. As he + watched, he saw Hilma come out from the cook-house and hurry across toward + the kitchen. Evidently, she was going to see about his dinner. But as she + passed by the artesian well, she met young Delaney, one of Annixter's + hands, coming up the trail by the irrigating ditch, leading his horse + toward the stables, a great coil of barbed wire in his gloved hands and a + pair of nippers thrust into his belt. No doubt, he had been mending the + break in the line fence by the Long Trestle. Annixter saw him take off his + wide-brimmed hat as he met Hilma, and the two stood there for some moments + talking together. Annixter even heard Hilma laughing very gayly at + something Delaney was saying. She patted his horse's neck affectionately, + and Delaney, drawing the nippers from his belt, made as if to pinch her + arm with them. She caught at his wrist and pushed him away, laughing + again. To Annixter's mind the pair seemed astonishingly intimate. + Brusquely his anger flamed up. + </p> + <p> + Ah, that was it, was it? Delaney and Hilma had an understanding between + themselves. They carried on their affair right out there in the open, + under his very eyes. It was absolutely disgusting. Had they no sense of + decency, those two? Well, this ended it. He would stop that sort of thing + short off; none of that on HIS ranch if he knew it. No, sir. He would pack + that girl off before he was a day older. He wouldn't have that kind about + the place. Not much! She'd have to get out. He would talk to old man Tree + about it this afternoon. Whatever happened, HE insisted upon morality. + </p> + <p> + “And my dinner!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I've got to wait and go hungry—and + maybe get sick again—while they carry on their disgusting + love-making.” + </p> + <p> + He turned about on the instant, and striding over to the electric bell, + rang it again with all his might. + </p> + <p> + “When that feemale gets up here,” he declared, “I'll just find out why + I've got to wait like this. I'll take her down, to the Queen's taste. I'm + lenient enough, Lord knows, but I don't propose to be imposed upon ALL the + time.” + </p> + <p> + A few moments later, while Annixter was pretending to read the county + newspaper by the window in the dining-room, Hilma came in to set the + table. At the time Annixter had his feet cocked on the window ledge and + was smoking a cigar, but as soon as she entered the room he—without + premeditation—brought his feet down to the floor and crushed out the + lighted tip of his cigar under the window ledge. Over the top of the paper + he glanced at her covertly from time to time. + </p> + <p> + Though Hilma was only nineteen years old, she was a large girl with all + the development of a much older woman. There was a certain generous + amplitude to the full, round curves of her hips and shoulders that + suggested the precocious maturity of a healthy, vigorous animal life + passed under the hot southern sun of a half-tropical country. She was, one + knew at a glance, warm-blooded, full-blooded, with an even, comfortable + balance of temperament. Her neck was thick, and sloped to her shoulders, + with full, beautiful curves, and under her chin and under her ears the + flesh was as white and smooth as floss satin, shading exquisitely to a + faint delicate brown on her nape at the roots of her hair. Her throat + rounded to meet her chin and cheek, with a soft swell of the skin, tinted + pale amber in the shadows, but blending by barely perceptible gradations + to the sweet, warm flush of her cheek. This colour on her temples was just + touched with a certain blueness where the flesh was thin over the fine + veining underneath. Her eyes were light brown, and so wide open that on + the slightest provocation the full disc of the pupil was disclosed; the + lids—just a fraction of a shade darker than the hue of her face—were + edged with lashes that were almost black. While these lashes were not + long, they were thick and rimmed her eyes with a fine, thin line. Her + mouth was rather large, the lips shut tight, and nothing could have been + more graceful, more charming than the outline of these full lips of hers, + and her round white chin, modulating downward with a certain delicious + roundness to her neck, her throat and the sweet feminine amplitude of her + breast. The slightest movement of her head and shoulders sent a gentle + undulation through all this beauty of soft outlines and smooth surfaces, + the delicate amber shadows deepening or fading or losing themselves + imperceptibly in the pretty rose-colour of her cheeks, or the dark, + warm-tinted shadow of her thick brown hair. + </p> + <p> + Her hair seemed almost to have a life of its own, almost Medusa-like, + thick, glossy and moist, lying in heavy, sweet-smelling masses over her + forehead, over her small ears with their pink lobes, and far down upon her + nape. Deep in between the coils and braids it was of a bitumen brownness, + but in the sunlight it vibrated with a sheen like tarnished gold. + </p> + <p> + Like most large girls, her movements were not hurried, and this indefinite + deliberateness of gesture, this slow grace, this certain ease of attitude, + was a charm that was all her own. + </p> + <p> + But Hilma's greatest charm of all was her simplicity—a simplicity + that was not only in the calm regularity of her face, with its statuesque + evenness of contour, its broad surface of cheek and forehead and the + masses of her straight smooth hair, but was apparent as well in the long + line of her carriage, from her foot to her waist and the single deep swell + from her waist to her shoulder. Almost unconsciously she dressed in + harmony with this note of simplicity, and on this occasion wore a skirt of + plain dark blue calico and a white shirt waist crisp from the laundry. + </p> + <p> + And yet, for all the dignity of this rigourous simplicity, there were + about Hilma small contradictory suggestions of feminine daintiness, + charming beyond words. Even Annixter could not help noticing that her feet + were narrow and slender, and that the little steel buckles of her low + shoes were polished bright, and that her fingertips and nails were of a + fine rosy pink. + </p> + <p> + He found himself wondering how it was that a girl in Hilma's position + should be able to keep herself so pretty, so trim, so clean and feminine, + but he reflected that her work was chiefly in the dairy, and even there of + the lightest order. She was on the ranch more for the sake of being with + her parents than from any necessity of employment. Vaguely he seemed to + understand that, in that great new land of the West, in the open-air, + healthy life of the ranches, where the conditions of earning a livelihood + were of the easiest, refinement among the younger women was easily to be + found—not the refinement of education, nor culture, but the natural, + intuitive refinement of the woman, not as yet defiled and crushed out by + the sordid, strenuous life-struggle of over-populated districts. It was + the original, intended and natural delicacy of an elemental existence, + close to nature, close to life, close to the great, kindly earth. + </p> + <p> + As Hilma laid the table-spread, her arms opened to their widest reach, the + white cloth setting a little glisten of reflected light underneath the + chin, Annixter stirred in his place uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's you, is it, Miss Hilma?” he remarked, for the sake of saying + something. “Good-morning. How do you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, sir,” she answered, looking up, resting for a moment on her + outspread palms. “I hope you are better.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was low in pitch and of a velvety huskiness, seeming to come + more from her chest than from her throat. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm some better,” growled Annixter. Then suddenly he demanded, + “Where's that dog?” + </p> + <p> + A decrepit Irish setter sometimes made his appearance in and about the + ranch house, sleeping under the bed and eating when anyone about the place + thought to give him a plate of bread. + </p> + <p> + Annixter had no particular interest in the dog. For weeks at a time he + ignored its existence. It was not his dog. But to-day it seemed as if he + could not let the subject rest. For no reason that he could explain even + to himself, he recurred to it continually. He questioned Hilma minutely + all about the dog. Who owned him? How old did she think he was? Did she + imagine the dog was sick? Where had he got to? Maybe he had crawled off to + die somewhere. He recurred to the subject all through the meal; + apparently, he could talk of nothing else, and as she finally went away + after clearing off the table, he went onto the porch and called after her: + </p> + <p> + “Say, Miss Hilma.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “If that dog turns up again you let me know.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter returned to the dining-room and sat down in the chair he had just + vacated. “To hell with the dog!” he muttered, enraged, he could not tell + why. + </p> + <p> + When at length he allowed his attention to wander from Hilma Tree, he + found that he had been staring fixedly at a thermometer upon the wall + opposite, and this made him think that it had long been his intention to + buy a fine barometer, an instrument that could be accurately depended on. + But the barometer suggested the present condition of the weather and the + likelihood of rain. In such case, much was to be done in the way of + getting the seed ready and overhauling his ploughs and drills. He had not + been away from the house in two days. It was time to be up and doing. He + determined to put in the afternoon “taking a look around,” and have a late + supper. He would not go to Los Muertos; he would ignore Magnus Derrick's + invitation. Possibly, though, it might be well to run over and see what + was up. + </p> + <p> + “If I do,” he said to himself, “I'll ride the buckskin.” The buckskin was + a half-broken broncho that fought like a fiend under the saddle until the + quirt and spur brought her to her senses. But Annixter remembered that the + Trees' cottage, next the dairy-house, looked out upon the stables, and + perhaps Hilma would see him while he was mounting the horse and be + impressed with his courage. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” grunted Annixter under his breath, “I should like to see that fool + Delaney try to bust that bronch. That's what I'D like to see.” + </p> + <p> + However, as Annixter stepped from the porch of the ranch house, he was + surprised to notice a grey haze over all the sky; the sunlight was gone; + there was a sense of coolness in the air; the weather-vane on the barn—a + fine golden trotting horse with flamboyant mane and tail—was veering + in a southwest wind. Evidently the expected rain was close at hand. + </p> + <p> + Annixter crossed over to the stables reflecting that he could ride the + buckskin to the Trees' cottage and tell Hilma that he would not be home to + supper. The conference at Los Muertos would be an admirable excuse for + this, and upon the spot he resolved to go over to the Derrick ranch house, + after all. + </p> + <p> + As he passed the Trees' cottage, he observed with satisfaction that Hilma + was going to and fro in the front room. If he busted the buckskin in the + yard before the stable she could not help but see. Annixter found the + stableman in the back of the barn greasing the axles of the buggy, and + ordered him to put the saddle on the buckskin. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't think she's here, sir,” answered the stableman, glancing + into the stalls. “No, I remember now. Delaney took her out just after + dinner. His other horse went lame and he wanted to go down by the Long + Trestle to mend the fence. He started out, but had to come back.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Delaney got her, did he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. He had a circus with her, but he busted her right enough. When + it comes to horse, Delaney can wipe the eye of any cow-puncher in the + county, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “He can, can he?” observed Annixter. Then after a silence, “Well, all + right, Billy; put my saddle on whatever you've got here. I'm going over to + Los Muertos this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Want to look out for the rain, Mr. Annixter,” remarked Billy. “Guess + we'll have rain before night.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take a rubber coat,” answered Annixter. “Bring the horse up to the + ranch house when you're ready.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter returned to the house to look for his rubber coat in deep + disgust, not permitting himself to glance toward the dairy-house and the + Trees' cottage. But as he reached the porch he heard the telephone ringing + his call. It was Presley, who rang up from Los Muertos. He had heard from + Harran that Annixter was, perhaps, coming over that evening. If he came, + would he mind bringing over his—Presley's—bicycle. He had left + it at the Quien Sabe ranch the day before and had forgotten to come back + that way for it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” objected Annixter, a surly note in his voice, “I WAS going to RIDE + over.” “Oh, never mind, then,” returned Presley easily. “I was to blame + for forgetting it. Don't bother about it. I'll come over some of these + days and get it myself.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter hung up the transmitter with a vehement wrench and stamped out of + the room, banging the door. He found his rubber coat hanging in the + hallway and swung into it with a fierce movement of the shoulders that all + but started the seams. Everything seemed to conspire to thwart him. It was + just like that absent-minded, crazy poet, Presley, to forget his wheel. + Well, he could come after it himself. He, Annixter, would ride SOME horse, + anyhow. When he came out upon the porch he saw the wheel leaning against + the fence where Presley had left it. If it stayed there much longer the + rain would catch it. Annixter ripped out an oath. At every moment his + ill-humour was increasing. Yet, for all that, he went back to the stable, + pushing the bicycle before him, and countermanded his order, directing the + stableman to get the buggy ready. He himself carefully stowed Presley's + bicycle under the seat, covering it with a couple of empty sacks and a + tarpaulin carriage cover. + </p> + <p> + While he was doing this, the stableman uttered an exclamation and paused + in the act of backing the horse into the shafts, holding up a hand, + listening. + </p> + <p> + From the hollow roof of the barn and from the thick velvet-like padding of + dust over the ground outside, and from among the leaves of the few nearby + trees and plants there came a vast, monotonous murmur that seemed to issue + from all quarters of the horizon at once, a prolonged and subdued rustling + sound, steady, even, persistent. + </p> + <p> + “There's your rain,” announced the stableman. “The first of the season.” + </p> + <p> + “And I got to be out in it,” fumed Annixter, “and I suppose those swine + will quit work on the big barn now.” + </p> + <p> + When the buggy was finally ready, he put on his rubber coat, climbed in, + and without waiting for the stableman to raise the top, drove out into the + rain, a new-lit cigar in his teeth. As he passed the dairy-house, he saw + Hilma standing in the doorway, holding out her hand to the rain, her face + turned upward toward the grey sky, amused and interested at this first + shower of the wet season. She was so absorbed that she did not see + Annixter, and his clumsy nod in her direction passed unnoticed. + </p> + <p> + “She did it on purpose,” Annixter told himself, chewing fiercely on his + cigar. “Cuts me now, hey? Well, this DOES settle it. She leaves this ranch + before I'm a day older.” + </p> + <p> + He decided that he would put off his tour of inspection till the next day. + Travelling in the buggy as he did, he must keep to the road which led to + Derrick's, in very roundabout fashion, by way of Guadalajara. This rain + would reduce the thick dust of the road to two feet of viscid mud. It + would take him quite three hours to reach the ranch house on Los Muertos. + He thought of Delaney and the buckskin and ground his teeth. And all this + trouble, if you please, because of a fool feemale girl. A fine way for him + to waste his time. Well, now he was done with it. His decision was taken + now. She should pack. + </p> + <p> + Steadily the rain increased. There was no wind. The thick veil of wet + descended straight from sky to earth, blurring distant outlines, spreading + a vast sheen of grey over all the landscape. Its volume became greater, + the prolonged murmuring note took on a deeper tone. At the gate to the + road which led across Dyke's hop-fields toward Guadalajara, Annixter was + obliged to descend and raise the top of the buggy. In doing so he caught + the flesh of his hand in the joint of the iron elbow that supported the + top and pinched it cruelly. It was the last misery, the culmination of a + long train of wretchedness. On the instant he hated Hilma Tree so fiercely + that his sharply set teeth all but bit his cigar in two. + </p> + <p> + While he was grabbing and wrenching at the buggy-top, the water from his + hat brim dripping down upon his nose, the horse, restive under the drench + of the rain, moved uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “Yah-h-h you!” he shouted, inarticulate with exasperation. “You—you—Gor-r-r, + wait till I get hold of you. WHOA, you!” + </p> + <p> + But there was an interruption. Delaney, riding the buckskin, came around a + bend in the road at a slow trot and Annixter, getting into the buggy + again, found himself face to face with him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, hello, Mr. Annixter,” said he, pulling up. “Kind of sort of wet, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Annixter, his face suddenly scarlet, sat back in his place abruptly, + exclaiming: + </p> + <p> + “Oh—oh, there you are, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I've been down there,” explained Delaney, with a motion of his head + toward the railroad, “to mend that break in the fence by the Long Trestle + and I thought while I was about it I'd follow down along the fence toward + Guadalajara to see if there were any more breaks. But I guess it's all + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you guess it's all right, do you?” observed Annixter through his + teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—yes,” returned the other, bewildered at the truculent + ring in Annixter's voice. “I mended that break by the Long Trestle just + now and—— + </p> + <p> + “Well, why didn't you mend it a week ago?” shouted Annixter wrathfully. + “I've been looking for you all the morning, I have, and who told you you + could take that buckskin? And the sheep were all over the right of way + last night because of that break, and here that filthy pip, S. Behrman, + comes down here this morning and wants to make trouble for me.” Suddenly + he cried out, “What do I FEED you for? What do I keep you around here for? + Think it's just to fatten up your carcass, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Annixter——” began Delaney. + </p> + <p> + “And don't TALK to me,” vociferated the other, exciting himself with his + own noise. “Don't you say a word to me even to apologise. If I've spoken + to you once about that break, I've spoken fifty times.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, sir,” declared Delaney, beginning to get indignant, “the sheep did + it themselves last night.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you not to TALK to me,” clamoured Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “But, say, look here——” + </p> + <p> + “Get off the ranch. You get off the ranch. And taking that buckskin + against my express orders. I won't have your kind about the place, not + much. I'm easy-going enough, Lord knows, but I don't propose to be imposed + on ALL the time. Pack off, you understand and do it lively. Go to the + foreman and tell him I told him to pay you off and then clear out. And, + you hear me,” he concluded, with a menacing outthrust of his lower jaw, + “you hear me, if I catch you hanging around the ranch house after this, or + if I so much as see you on Quien Sabe, I'll show you the way off of it, my + friend, at the toe of my boot. Now, then, get out of the way and let me + pass.” + </p> + <p> + Angry beyond the power of retort, Delaney drove the spurs into the + buckskin and passed the buggy in a single bound. Annixter gathered up the + reins and drove on muttering to himself, and occasionally looking back to + observe the buckskin flying toward the ranch house in a spattering shower + of mud, Delaney urging her on, his head bent down against the falling + rain. + </p> + <p> + “Huh,” grunted Annixter with grim satisfaction, a certain sense of good + humour at length returning to him, “that just about takes the saleratus + out of YOUR dough, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + A little farther on, Annixter got out of the buggy a second time to open + another gate that let him out upon the Upper Road, not far distant from + Guadalajara. It was the road that connected that town with Bonneville and + that ran parallel with the railroad tracks. On the other side of the track + he could see the infinite extension of the brown, bare land of Los + Muertos, turning now to a soft, moist welter of fertility under the + insistent caressing of the rain. The hard, sun-baked clods were + decomposing, the crevices between drinking the wet with an eager, sucking + noise. But the prospect was dreary; the distant horizons were blotted + under drifting mists of rain; the eternal monotony of the earth lay open + to the sombre low sky without a single adornment, without a single + variation from its melancholy flatness. Near at hand the wires between the + telegraph poles vibrated with a faint humming under the multitudinous + fingering of the myriad of falling drops, striking among them and dripping + off steadily from one to another. The poles themselves were dark and + swollen and glistening with wet, while the little cones of glass on the + transverse bars reflected the dull grey light of the end of the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + As Annixter was about to drive on, a freight train passed, coming from + Guadalajara, going northward toward Bonneville, Fresno and San Francisco. + It was a long train, moving slowly, methodically, with a measured coughing + of its locomotive and a rhythmic cadence of its trucks over the + interstices of the rails. On two or three of the flat cars near its end, + Annixter plainly saw Magnus Derrick's ploughs, their bright coating of red + and green paint setting a single brilliant note in all this array of grey + and brown. + </p> + <p> + Annixter halted, watching the train file past, carrying Derrick's ploughs + away from his ranch, at this very time of the first rain, when they would + be most needed. He watched it, silent, thoughtful, and without articulate + comment. Even after it passed he sat in his place a long time, watching it + lose itself slowly in the distance, its prolonged rumble diminishing to a + faint murmur. Soon he heard the engine sounding its whistle for the Long + Trestle. + </p> + <p> + But the moving train no longer carried with it that impression of terror + and destruction that had so thrilled Presley's imagination the night + before. It passed slowly on its way with a mournful roll of wheels, like + the passing of a cortege, like a file of artillery-caissons charioting + dead bodies; the engine's smoke enveloping it in a mournful veil, leaving + a sense of melancholy in its wake, moving past there, lugubrious, + lamentable, infinitely sad under the grey sky and under the grey mist of + rain which continued to fall with a subdued, rustling sound, steady, + persistent, a vast monotonous murmur that seemed to come from all quarters + of the horizon at once. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + When Annixter arrived at the Los Muertos ranch house that same evening, he + found a little group already assembled in the dining-room. Magnus Derrick, + wearing the frock coat of broadcloth that he had put on for the occasion, + stood with his back to the fireplace. Harran sat close at hand, one leg + thrown over the arm of his chair. Presley lounged on the sofa, in + corduroys and high laced boots, smoking cigarettes. Broderson leaned on + his folded arms at one corner of the dining table, and Genslinger, editor + and proprietor of the principal newspaper of the county, the “Bonneville + Mercury,” stood with his hat and driving gloves under his arm, opposite + Derrick, a half-emptied glass of whiskey and water in his hand. + </p> + <p> + As Annixter entered he heard Genslinger observe: “I'll have a leader in + the 'Mercury' to-morrow that will interest you people. There's some talk + of your ranch lands being graded in value this winter. I suppose you will + all buy?” + </p> + <p> + In an instant the editor's words had riveted upon him the attention of + every man in the room. Annixter broke the moment's silence that followed + with the remark: + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's about time they graded these lands of theirs.” + </p> + <p> + The question in issue in Genslinger's remark was of the most vital + interest to the ranchers around Bonneville and Guadalajara. Neither Magnus + Derrick, Broderson, Annixter, nor Osterman actually owned all the ranches + which they worked. As yet, the vast majority of these wheat lands were the + property of the P. and S. W. The explanation of this condition of affairs + went back to the early history of the Pacific and Southwestern, when, as a + bonus for the construction of the road, the national government had + granted to the company the odd numbered sections of land on either side of + the proposed line of route for a distance of twenty miles. Indisputably, + these sections belonged to the P. and S. W. The even-numbered sections + being government property could be and had been taken up by the ranchers, + but the railroad sections, or, as they were called, the “alternate + sections,” would have to be purchased direct from the railroad itself. + </p> + <p> + But this had not prevented the farmers from “coming in” upon that part of + the San Joaquin. Long before this the railroad had thrown open these + lands, and, by means of circulars, distributed broadcast throughout the + State, had expressly invited settlement thereon. At that time patents had + not been issued to the railroad for their odd-numbered sections, but as + soon as the land was patented the railroad would grade it in value and + offer it for sale, the first occupants having the first chance of + purchase. The price of these lands was to be fixed by the price the + government put upon its own adjoining lands—about two dollars and a + half per acre. + </p> + <p> + With cultivation and improvement the ranches must inevitably appreciate in + value. There was every chance to make fortunes. When the railroad lands + about Bonneville had been thrown open, there had been almost a rush in the + matter of settlement, and Broderson, Annixter, Derrick, and Osterman, + being foremost with their claims, had secured the pick of the country. But + the land once settled upon, the P. and S. W. seemed to be in no hurry as + to fixing exactly the value of its sections included in the various + ranches and offering them for sale. The matter dragged along from year to + year, was forgotten for months together, being only brought to mind on + such occasions as this, when the rumour spread that the General Office was + about to take definite action in the affair. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as the railroad wants to talk business with me,” observed + Annixter, “about selling me their interest in Quien Sabe, I'm ready. The + land has more than quadrupled in value. I'll bet I could sell it to-morrow + for fifteen dollars an acre, and if I buy of the railroad for two and a + half an acre, there's boodle in the game.” + </p> + <p> + “For two and a half!” exclaimed Genslinger. “You don't suppose the + railroad will let their land go for any such figure as that, do you? + Wherever did you get that idea?” + </p> + <p> + “From the circulars and pamphlets,” answered Harran, “that the railroad + issued to us when they opened these lands. They are pledged to that. Even + the P. and S. W. couldn't break such a pledge as that. You are new in the + country, Mr. Genslinger. You don't remember the conditions upon which we + took up this land.” + </p> + <p> + “And our improvements,” exclaimed Annixter. “Why, Magnus and I have put + about five thousand dollars between us into that irrigating ditch already. + I guess we are not improving the land just to make it valuable for the + railroad people. No matter how much we improve the land, or how much it + increases in value, they have got to stick by their agreement on the basis + of two-fifty per acre. Here's one case where the P. and S. W. DON'T get + everything in sight.” + </p> + <p> + Genslinger frowned, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “I AM new in the country, as Harran says,” he answered, “but it seems to + me that there's no fairness in that proposition. The presence of the + railroad has helped increase the value of your ranches quite as much as + your improvements. Why should you get all the benefit of the rise in value + and the railroad nothing? The fair way would be to share it between you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care anything about that,” declared Annixter. “They agreed to + charge but two-fifty, and they've got to stick to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” murmured Genslinger, “from what I know of the affair, I don't + believe the P. and S. W. intends to sell for two-fifty an acre, at all. + The managers of the road want the best price they can get for everything + in these hard times.” + </p> + <p> + “Times aren't ever very hard for the railroad,” hazards old Broderson. + </p> + <p> + Broderson was the oldest man in the room. He was about sixty-five years of + age, venerable, with a white beard, his figure bent earthwards with hard + work. + </p> + <p> + He was a narrow-minded man, painfully conscientious in his statements lest + he should be unjust to somebody; a slow thinker, unable to let a subject + drop when once he had started upon it. He had no sooner uttered his remark + about hard times than he was moved to qualify it. + </p> + <p> + “Hard times,” he repeated, a troubled, perplexed note in his voice; “well, + yes—yes. I suppose the road DOES have hard times, maybe. Everybody + does—of course. I didn't mean that exactly. I believe in being just + and fair to everybody. I mean that we've got to use their lines and pay + their charges good years AND bad years, the P. and S. W. being the only + road in the State. That is—well, when I say the only road—no, + I won't say the ONLY road. Of course there are other roads. There's the D. + P. and M. and the San Francisco and North Pacific, that runs up to Ukiah. + I got a brother-in-law in Ukiah. That's not much of a wheat country round + Ukiah though they DO grow SOME wheat there, come to think. But I guess + it's too far north. Well, of course there isn't MUCH. Perhaps sixty + thousand acres in the whole county—if you include barley and oats. I + don't know; maybe it's nearer forty thousand. I don't remember very well. + That's a good many years ago. I——” + </p> + <p> + But Annixter, at the end of all patience, turned to Genslinger, cutting + short the old man: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rot! Of course the railroad will sell at two-fifty,” he cried. “We've + got the contracts.” + </p> + <p> + “Look to them, then, Mr. Annixter,” retorted Genslinger significantly, + “look to them. Be sure that you are protected.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after this Genslinger took himself away, and Derrick's Chinaman came + in to set the table. + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose he meant?” asked Broderson, when Genslinger was gone. + </p> + <p> + “About this land business?” said Annixter. “Oh, I don't know. Some tom + fool idea. Haven't we got their terms printed in black and white in their + circulars? There's their pledge.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to pledges,” murmured Broderson, “the railroad is not always TOO + much hindered by those.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's Osterman?” demanded Annixter, abruptly changing the subject as if + it were not worth discussion. “Isn't that goat Osterman coming down here + to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “You telephoned him, didn't you, Presley?” inquired Magnus. + </p> + <p> + Presley had taken Princess Nathalie upon his knee stroking her long, sleek + hair, and the cat, stupefied with beatitude, had closed her eyes to two + fine lines, clawing softly at the corduroy of Presley's trousers with + alternate paws. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” returned Presley. “He said he would be here.” + </p> + <p> + And as he spoke, young Osterman arrived. + </p> + <p> + He was a young fellow, but singularly inclined to baldness. His ears, very + red and large, stuck out at right angles from either side of his head, and + his mouth, too, was large—a great horizontal slit beneath his nose. + His cheeks were of a brownish red, the cheek bones a little salient. His + face was that of a comic actor, a singer of songs, a man never at a loss + for an answer, continually striving to make a laugh. But he took no great + interest in ranching and left the management of his land to his + superintendents and foremen, he, himself, living in Bonneville. He was a + poser, a wearer of clothes, forever acting a part, striving to create an + impression, to draw attention to himself. He was not without a certain + energy, but he devoted it to small ends, to perfecting himself in little + accomplishments, continually running after some new thing, incapable of + persisting long in any one course. At one moment his mania would be + fencing; the next, sleight-of-hand tricks; the next, archery. For upwards + of one month he had devoted himself to learning how to play two banjos + simultaneously, then abandoning this had developed a sudden passion for + stamped leather work and had made a quantity of purses, tennis belts, and + hat bands, which he presented to young ladies of his acquaintance. It was + his policy never to make an enemy. He was liked far better than he was + respected. People spoke of him as “that goat Osterman,” or “that fool + Osterman kid,” and invited him to dinner. He was of the sort who somehow + cannot be ignored. If only because of his clamour he made himself + important. If he had one abiding trait, it was his desire of astonishing + people, and in some way, best known to himself, managed to cause the + circulation of the most extraordinary stories wherein he, himself, was the + chief actor. He was glib, voluble, dexterous, ubiquitous, a teller of + funny stories, a cracker of jokes. + </p> + <p> + Naturally enough, he was heavily in debt, but carried the burden of it + with perfect nonchalance. The year before S. Behrman had held mortgages + for fully a third of his crop and had squeezed him viciously for interest. + But for all that, Osterman and S. Behrman were continually seen arm-in-arm + on the main street of Bonneville. Osterman was accustomed to slap S. + Behrman on his fat back, declaring: + </p> + <p> + “You're a good fellow, old jelly-belly, after all, hey?” + </p> + <p> + As Osterman entered from the porch, after hanging his cavalry poncho and + dripping hat on the rack outside, Mrs. Derrick appeared in the door that + opened from the dining-room into the glass-roofed hallway just beyond. + Osterman saluted her with effusive cordiality and with ingratiating + blandness. + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to stay,” she explained, smiling pleasantly at the group + of men, her pretty, wide-open brown eyes, with their look of inquiry and + innocence, glancing from face to face, “I only came to see if you wanted + anything and to say how do you do.” + </p> + <p> + She began talking to old Broderson, making inquiries as to his wife, who + had been sick the last week, and Osterman turned to the company, shaking + hands all around, keeping up an incessant stream of conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, boys and girls. Hello, Governor. Sort of a gathering of the clans + to-night. Well, if here isn't that man Annixter. Hello, Buck. What do you + know? Kind of dusty out to-night.” + </p> + <p> + At once Annixter began to get red in the face, retiring towards a corner + of the room, standing in an awkward position by the case of stuffed birds, + shambling and confused, while Mrs. Derrick was present, standing rigidly + on both feet, his elbows close to his sides. But he was angry with + Osterman, muttering imprecations to himself, horribly vexed that the young + fellow should call him “Buck” before Magnus's wife. This goat Osterman! + Hadn't he any sense, that fool? Couldn't he ever learn how to behave + before a feemale? Calling him “Buck” like that while Mrs. Derrick was + there. Why a stable-boy would know better; a hired man would have better + manners. All through the dinner that followed Annixter was out of sorts, + sulking in his place, refusing to eat by way of vindicating his + self-respect, resolving to bring Osterman up with a sharp turn if he + called him “Buck” again. + </p> + <p> + The Chinaman had made a certain kind of plum pudding for dessert, and + Annixter, who remembered other dinners at the Derrick's, had been saving + himself for this, and had meditated upon it all through the meal. No + doubt, it would restore all his good humour, and he believed his stomach + was so far recovered as to be able to stand it. + </p> + <p> + But, unfortunately, the pudding was served with a sauce that he abhorred—a + thick, gruel-like, colourless mixture, made from plain water and sugar. + Before he could interfere, the Chinaman had poured a quantity of it upon + his plate. + </p> + <p> + “Faugh!” exclaimed Annixter. “It makes me sick. Such—such SLOOP. + Take it away. I'll have mine straight, if you don't mind.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good for your stomach, Buck,” observed young Osterman; “makes it + go down kind of sort of slick; don't you see? Sloop, hey? That's a good + name.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, don't you call me Buck. You don't seem to have any sense, and, + besides, it ISN'T good for my stomach. I know better. What do YOU know + about my stomach, anyhow? Just looking at sloop like that makes me sick.” + </p> + <p> + A little while after this the Chinaman cleared away the dessert and + brought in coffee and cigars. The whiskey bottle and the syphon of + soda-water reappeared. The men eased themselves in their places, pushing + back from the table, lighting their cigars, talking of the beginning of + the rains and the prospects of a rise in wheat. Broderson began an + elaborate mental calculation, trying to settle in his mind the exact date + of his visit to Ukiah, and Osterman did sleight-of-hand tricks with bread + pills. But Princess Nathalie, the cat, was uneasy. Annixter was occupying + her own particular chair in which she slept every night. She could not go + to sleep, but spied upon him continually, watching his every movement with + her lambent, yellow eyes, clear as amber. + </p> + <p> + Then, at length, Magnus, who was at the head of the table, moved in his + place, assuming a certain magisterial attitude. “Well, gentlemen,” he + observed, “I have lost my case against the railroad, the grain-rate case. + Ulsteen decided against me, and now I hear rumours to the effect that + rates for the hauling of grain are to be advanced.” + </p> + <p> + When Magnus had finished, there was a moment's silence, each member of the + group maintaining his attitude of attention and interest. It was Harran + who first spoke. + </p> + <p> + “S. Behrman manipulated the whole affair. There's a big deal of some kind + in the air, and if there is, we all know who is back of it; S. Behrman, of + course, but who's back of him? It's Shelgrim.” + </p> + <p> + Shelgrim! The name fell squarely in the midst of the conversation, abrupt, + grave, sombre, big with suggestion, pregnant with huge associations. No + one in the group who was not familiar with it; no one, for that matter, in + the county, the State, the whole reach of the West, the entire Union, that + did not entertain convictions as to the man who carried it; a giant figure + in the end-of-the-century finance, a product of circumstance, an + inevitable result of conditions, characteristic, typical, symbolic of + ungovernable forces. In the New Movement, the New Finance, the + reorganisation of capital, the amalgamation of powers, the consolidation + of enormous enterprises—no one individual was more constantly in the + eye of the world; no one was more hated, more dreaded, no one more + compelling of unwilling tribute to his commanding genius, to the colossal + intellect operating the width of an entire continent than the president + and owner of the Pacific and Southwestern. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think, however, he has moved yet,” said Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “The thing for us, then,” exclaimed Osterman, “is to stand from under + before he does.” + </p> + <p> + “Moved yet!” snorted Annixter. “He's probably moved so long ago that we've + never noticed it.” + </p> + <p> + “In any case,” hazarded Magnus, “it is scarcely probable that the deal—whatever + it is to be—has been consummated. If we act quickly, there may be a + chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Act quickly! How?” demanded Annixter. “Good Lord! what can you do? We're + cinched already. It all amounts to just this: YOU CAN'T BUCK AGAINST THE + RAILROAD. We've tried it and tried it, and we are stuck every time. You, + yourself, Derrick, have just lost your grain-rate case. S. Behrman did you + up. Shelgrim owns the courts. He's got men like Ulsteen in his pocket. + He's got the Railroad Commission in his pocket. He's got the Governor of + the State in his pocket. He keeps a million-dollar lobby at Sacramento + every minute of the time the legislature is in session; he's got his own + men on the floor of the United States Senate. He has the whole thing + organised like an army corps. What ARE you going to do? He sits in his + office in San Francisco and pulls the strings and we've got to dance.” + </p> + <p> + “But—well—but,” hazarded Broderson, “but there's the + Interstate Commerce Commission. At least on long-haul rates they——” + </p> + <p> + “Hoh, yes, the Interstate Commerce Commission,” shouted Annixter, + scornfully, “that's great, ain't it? The greatest Punch and Judy; show on + earth. It's almost as good as the Railroad Commission. There never was and + there never will be a California Railroad Commission not in the pay of the + P. and S. W.” + </p> + <p> + “It is to the Railroad Commission, nevertheless,” remarked Magnus, “that + the people of the State must look for relief. That is our only hope. Once + elect Commissioners who would be loyal to the people, and the whole system + of excessive rates falls to the ground.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why not HAVE a Railroad Commission of our own, then?” suddenly + declared young Osterman. + </p> + <p> + “Because it can't be done,” retorted Annixter. “YOU CAN'T BUCK AGAINST THE + RAILROAD and if you could you can't organise the farmers in the San + Joaquin. We tried it once, and it was enough to turn your stomach. The + railroad quietly bought delegates through S. Behrman and did us up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's the game to play,” said Osterman decisively, “buy + delegates.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the only game that seems to win,” admitted Harran gloomily. “Or ever + will win,” exclaimed Osterman, a sudden excitement seeming to take + possession of him. His face—the face of a comic actor, with its + great slit of mouth and stiff, red ears—went abruptly pink. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he cried, “this thing is getting desperate. We've fought and + fought in the courts and out and we've tried agitation and—and all + the rest of it and S. Behrman sacks us every time. Now comes the time when + there's a prospect of a big crop; we've had no rain for two years and the + land has had a long rest. If there is any rain at all this winter, we'll + have a bonanza year, and just at this very moment when we've got our + chance—a chance to pay off our mortgages and get clear of debt and + make a strike—here is Shelgrim making a deal to cinch us and put up + rates. And now here's the primaries coming off and a new Railroad + Commission going in. That's why Shelgrim chose this time to make his deal. + If we wait till Shelgrim pulls it off, we're done for, that's flat. I tell + you we're in a fix if we don't keep an eye open. Things are getting + desperate. Magnus has just said that the key to the whole thing is the + Railroad Commission. Well, why not have a Commission of our own? Never + mind how we get it, let's get it. If it's got to be bought, let's buy it + and put our own men on it and dictate what the rates will be. Suppose it + costs a hundred thousand dollars. Well, we'll get back more than that in + cheap rates.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Osterman,” said Magnus, fixing the young man with a swift glance, + “Mr. Osterman, you are proposing a scheme of bribery, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I am proposing,” repeated Osterman, “a scheme of bribery. Exactly so.” + </p> + <p> + “And a crazy, wild-eyed scheme at that,” said Annixter gruffly. “Even + supposing you bought a Railroad Commission and got your schedule of low + rates, what happens? The P. and S. W. crowd get out an injunction and tie + you up.” + </p> + <p> + “They would tie themselves up, too. Hauling at low rates is better than no + hauling at all. The wheat has got to be moved.” “Oh, rot!” cried Annixter. + “Aren't you ever going to learn any sense? Don't you know that cheap + transportation would benefit the Liverpool buyers and not us? Can't it be + FED into you that you can't buck against the railroad? When you try to buy + a Board of Commissioners don't you see that you'll have to bid against the + railroad, bid against a corporation that can chuck out millions to our + thousands? Do you think you can bid against the P. and S. W.?” + </p> + <p> + “The railroad don't need to know we are in the game against them till + we've got our men seated.” + </p> + <p> + “And when you've got them seated, what's to prevent the corporation buying + them right over your head?” + </p> + <p> + “If we've got the right kind of men in they could not be bought that way,” + interposed Harran. “I don't know but what there's something in what + Osterman says. We'd have the naming of the Commission and we'd name honest + men.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter struck the table with his fist in exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “Honest men!” he shouted; “the kind of men you could get to go into such a + scheme would have to be DIS-honest to begin with.” + </p> + <p> + Broderson, shifting uneasily in his place, fingering his beard with a + vague, uncertain gesture, spoke again: + </p> + <p> + “It would be the CHANCE of them—our Commissioners—selling out + against the certainty of Shelgrim doing us up. That is,” he hastened to + add, “ALMOST a certainty; pretty near a certainty.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, it would be a chance,” exclaimed Osterman. “But it's come to + the point where we've got to take chances, risk a big stake to make a big + strike, and risk is better than sure failure.” + </p> + <p> + “I can be no party to a scheme of avowed bribery and corruption, Mr. + Osterman,” declared Magnus, a ring of severity in his voice. “I am + surprised, sir, that you should even broach the subject in my hearing.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” cried Annixter, “it can't be done.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” muttered Harran, “maybe it just wants a little spark like + this to fire the whole train.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus glanced at his son in considerable surprise. He had not expected + this of Harran. But so great was his affection for his son, so accustomed + had he become to listening to his advice, to respecting his opinions, + that, for the moment, after the first shock of surprise and + disappointment, he was influenced to give a certain degree of attention to + this new proposition. He in no way countenanced it. At any moment he was + prepared to rise in his place and denounce it and Osterman both. It was + trickery of the most contemptible order, a thing he believed to be unknown + to the old school of politics and statesmanship to which he was proud to + belong; but since Harran, even for one moment, considered it, he, Magnus, + who trusted Harran implicitly, would do likewise—if it was only to + oppose and defeat it in its very beginnings. + </p> + <p> + And abruptly the discussion began. Gradually Osterman, by dint of his + clamour, his strident reiteration, the plausibility of his glib, ready + assertions, the ease with which he extricated himself when apparently + driven to a corner, completely won over old Broderson to his way of + thinking. Osterman bewildered him with his volubility, the lightning + rapidity with which he leaped from one subject to another, garrulous, + witty, flamboyant, terrifying the old man with pictures of the swift + approach of ruin, the imminence of danger. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, who led the argument against him—loving argument though he + did—appeared to poor advantage, unable to present his side + effectively. He called Osterman a fool, a goat, a senseless, crazy-headed + jackass, but was unable to refute his assertions. His debate was the + clumsy heaving of brickbats, brutal, direct. He contradicted everything + Osterman said as a matter of principle, made conflicting assertions, + declarations that were absolutely inconsistent, and when Osterman or + Harran used these against him, could only exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “Well, in a way it's so, and then again in a way it isn't.” + </p> + <p> + But suddenly Osterman discovered a new argument. “If we swing this deal,” + he cried, “we've got old jelly-belly Behrman right where we want him.” + </p> + <p> + “He's the man that does us every time,” cried Harran. “If there is dirty + work to be done in which the railroad doesn't wish to appear, it is S. + Behrman who does it. If the freight rates are to be 'adjusted' to squeeze + us a little harder, it is S. Behrman who regulates what we can stand. If + there's a judge to be bought, it is S. Behrman who does the bargaining. If + there is a jury to be bribed, it is S. Behrman who handles the money. If + there is an election to be jobbed, it is S. Behrman who manipulates it. + It's Behrman here and Behrman there. It is Behrman we come against every + time we make a move. It is Behrman who has the grip of us and will never + let go till he has squeezed us bone dry. Why, when I think of it all + sometimes I wonder I keep my hands off the man.” + </p> + <p> + Osterman got on his feet; leaning across the table, gesturing wildly with + his right hand, his serio-comic face, with its bald forehead and stiff, + red ears, was inflamed with excitement. He took the floor, creating an + impression, attracting all attention to himself, playing to the gallery, + gesticulating, clamourous, full of noise. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now is your chance to get even,” he vociferated. “It is now or + never. You can take it and save the situation for yourselves and all + California or you can leave it and rot on your own ranches. Buck, I know + you. I know you're not afraid of anything that wears skin. I know you've + got sand all through you, and I know if I showed you how we could put our + deal through and seat a Commission of our own, you wouldn't hang back. + Governor, you're a brave man. You know the advantage of prompt and + fearless action. You are not the sort to shrink from taking chances. To + play for big stakes is just your game—to stake a fortune on the turn + of a card. You didn't get the reputation of being the strongest poker + player in El Dorado County for nothing. Now, here's the biggest gamble + that ever came your way. If we stand up to it like men with guts in us, + we'll win out. If we hesitate, we're lost.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose you can help playing the goat, Osterman,” remarked + Annixter, “but what's your idea? What do you think we can do? I'm not + saying,” he hastened to interpose, “that you've anyways convinced me by + all this cackling. I know as well as you that we are in a hole. But I knew + that before I came here to-night. YOU'VE not done anything to make me + change my mind. But just what do you propose? Let's hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I say the first thing to do is to see Disbrow. He's the political + boss of the Denver, Pueblo, and Mojave road. We will have to get in with + the machine some way and that's particularly why I want Magnus with us. He + knows politics better than any of us and if we don't want to get sold + again we will have to have some one that's in the know to steer us.” + </p> + <p> + “The only politics I understand, Mr. Osterman,” answered Magnus sternly, + “are honest politics. You must look elsewhere for your political manager. + I refuse to have any part in this matter. If the Railroad Commission can + be nominated legitimately, if your arrangements can be made without + bribery, I am with you to the last iota of my ability.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can't get what you want without paying for it,” contradicted + Annixter. + </p> + <p> + Broderson was about to speak when Osterman kicked his foot under the + table. He, himself, held his peace. He was quick to see that if he could + involve Magnus and Annixter in an argument, Annixter, for the mere love of + contention, would oppose the Governor and, without knowing it, would + commit himself to his—Osterman's—scheme. + </p> + <p> + This was precisely what happened. In a few moments Annixter was declaring + at top voice his readiness to mortgage the crop of Quien Sabe, if + necessary, for the sake of “busting S. Behrman.” He could see no great + obstacle in the way of controlling the nominating convention so far as + securing the naming of two Railroad Commissioners was concerned. Two was + all they needed. Probably it WOULD cost money. You didn't get something + for nothing. It would cost them all a good deal more if they sat like + lumps on a log and played tiddledy-winks while Shelgrim sold out from + under them. Then there was this, too: the P. and S. W. were hard up just + then. The shortage on the State's wheat crop for the last two years had + affected them, too. They were retrenching in expenditures all along the + line. Hadn't they just cut wages in all departments? There was this affair + of Dyke's to prove it. The railroad didn't always act as a unit, either. + There was always a party in it that opposed spending too much money. He + would bet that party was strong just now. He was kind of sick himself of + being kicked by S. Behrman. Hadn't that pip turned up on his ranch that + very day to bully him about his own line fence? Next he would be telling + him what kind of clothes he ought to wear. Harran had the right idea. + Somebody had got to be busted mighty soon now and he didn't propose that + it should be he. + </p> + <p> + “Now you are talking something like sense,” observed Osterman. “I thought + you would see it like that when you got my idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Your idea, YOUR idea!” cried Annixter. “Why, I've had this idea myself + for over three years.” + </p> + <p> + “What about Disbrow?” asked Harran, hastening to interrupt. “Why do we + want to see Disbrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Disbrow is the political man for the Denver, Pueblo, and Mojave,” + answered Osterman, “and you see it's like this: the Mojave road don't run + up into the valley at all. Their terminus is way to the south of us, and + they don't care anything about grain rates through the San Joaquin. They + don't care how anti-railroad the Commission is, because the Commission's + rulings can't affect them. But they divide traffic with the P. and S. W. + in the southern part of the State and they have a good deal of influence + with that road. I want to get the Mojave road, through Disbrow, to + recommend a Commissioner of our choosing to the P. and S. W. and have the + P. and S. W. adopt him as their own.” + </p> + <p> + “Who, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “Darrell, that Los Angeles man—remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Darrell is no particular friend of Disbrow,” said Annixter. “Why + should Disbrow take him up?” + </p> + <p> + “PREE-cisely,” cried Osterman. “We make it worth Disbrow's while to do it. + We go to him and say, 'Mr. Disbrow, you manage the politics for the Mojave + railroad, and what you say goes with your Board of Directors. We want you + to adopt our candidate for Railroad Commissioner for the third district. + How much do you want for doing it?' I KNOW we can buy Disbrow. That gives + us one Commissioner. We need not bother about that any more. In the first + district we don't make any move at all. We let the political managers of + the P. and S. W. nominate whoever they like. Then we concentrate all our + efforts to putting in our man in the second district. There is where the + big fight will come.” + </p> + <p> + “I see perfectly well what you mean, Mr. Osterman,” observed Magnus, “but + make no mistake, sir, as to my attitude in this business. You may count me + as out of it entirely.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, suppose we win,” put in Annixter truculently, already acknowledging + himself as involved in the proposed undertaking; “suppose we win and get + low rates for hauling grain. How about you, then? You count yourself IN + then, don't you? You get all the benefit of lower rates without sharing + any of the risks we take to secure them. No, nor any of the expense, + either. No, you won't dirty your fingers with helping us put this deal + through, but you won't be so cursed particular when it comes to sharing + the profits, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Magnus rose abruptly to his full height, the nostrils of his thin, + hawk-like nose vibrating, his smooth-shaven face paler than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Stop right where you are, sir,” he exclaimed. “You forget yourself, Mr. + Annixter. Please understand that I tolerate such words as you have + permitted yourself to make use of from no man, not even from my guest. I + shall ask you to apologise.” + </p> + <p> + In an instant he dominated the entire group, imposing a respect that was + as much fear as admiration. No one made response. For the moment he was + the Master again, the Leader. Like so many delinquent school-boys, the + others cowered before him, ashamed, put to confusion, unable to find their + tongues. In that brief instant of silence following upon Magnus's + outburst, and while he held them subdued and over-mastered, the fabric of + their scheme of corruption and dishonesty trembled to its base. It was the + last protest of the Old School, rising up there in denunciation of the new + order of things, the statesman opposed to the politician; honesty, + rectitude, uncompromising integrity, prevailing for the last time against + the devious manoeuvring, the evil communications, the rotten expediency of + a corrupted institution. + </p> + <p> + For a few seconds no one answered. Then, Annixter, moving abruptly and + uneasily in his place, muttered: + </p> + <p> + “I spoke upon provocation. If you like, we'll consider it unsaid. I don't + know what's going to become of us—go out of business, I presume.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand Magnus all right,” put in Osterman. “He don't have to go + into this thing, if it's against his conscience. That's all right. Magnus + can stay out if he wants to, but that won't prevent us going ahead and + seeing what we can do. Only there's this about it.” He turned again to + Magnus, speaking with every degree of earnestness, every appearance of + conviction. “I did not deny, Governor, from the very start that this would + mean bribery. But you don't suppose that I like the idea either. If there + was one legitimate hope that was yet left untried, no matter how forlorn + it was, I would try it. But there's not. It is literally and soberly true + that every means of help—every honest means—has been + attempted. Shelgrim is going to cinch us. Grain rates are increasing, + while, on the other hand, the price of wheat is sagging lower and lower + all the time. If we don't do something we are ruined.” + </p> + <p> + Osterman paused for a moment, allowing precisely the right number of + seconds to elapse, then altering and lowering his voice, added: + </p> + <p> + “I respect the Governor's principles. I admire them. They do him every + degree of credit.” Then, turning directly to Magnus, he concluded with, + “But I only want you to ask yourself, sir, if, at such a crisis, one ought + to think of oneself, to consider purely personal motives in such a + desperate situation as this? Now, we want you with us, Governor; perhaps + not openly, if you don't wish it, but tacitly, at least. I won't ask you + for an answer to-night, but what I do ask of you is to consider this + matter seriously and think over the whole business. Will you do it?” + </p> + <p> + Osterman ceased definitely to speak, leaning forward across the table, his + eyes fixed on Magnus's face. There was a silence. Outside, the rain fell + continually with an even, monotonous murmur. In the group of men around + the table no one stirred nor spoke. They looked steadily at Magnus, who, + for the moment, kept his glance fixed thoughtfully upon the table before + him. In another moment he raised his head and looked from face to face + around the group. After all, these were his neighbours, his friends, men + with whom he had been upon the closest terms of association. In a way they + represented what now had come to be his world. His single swift glance + took in the men, one after another. Annixter, rugged, crude, sitting + awkwardly and uncomfortably in his chair, his unhandsome face, with its + outthrust lower lip and deeply cleft masculine chin, flushed and eager, + his yellow hair disordered, the one tuft on the crown standing stiffly + forth like the feather in an Indian's scalp lock; Broderson, vaguely + combing at his long beard with a persistent maniacal gesture, distressed, + troubled and uneasy; Osterman, with his comedy face, the face of a + music-hall singer, his head bald and set off by his great red ears, + leaning back in his place, softly cracking the knuckle of a forefinger, + and, last of all and close to his elbow, his son, his support, his + confidant and companion, Harran, so like himself, with his own erect, fine + carriage, his thin, beak-like nose and his blond hair, with its tendency + to curl in a forward direction in front of the ears, young, strong, + courageous, full of the promise of the future years. His blue eyes looked + straight into his father's with what Magnus could fancy a glance of + appeal. Magnus could see that expression in the faces of the others very + plainly. They looked to him as their natural leader, their chief who was + to bring them out from this abominable trouble which was closing in upon + them, and in them all he saw many types. They—these men around his + table on that night of the first rain of a coming season—seemed to + stand in his imagination for many others—all the farmers, ranchers, + and wheat growers of the great San Joaquin. Their words were the words of + a whole community; their distress, the distress of an entire State, + harried beyond the bounds of endurance, driven to the wall, coerced, + exploited, harassed to the limits of exasperation. “I will think of it,” + he said, then hastened to add, “but I can tell you beforehand that you may + expect only a refusal.” + </p> + <p> + After Magnus had spoken, there was a prolonged silence. The conference + seemed of itself to have come to an end for that evening. Presley lighted + another cigarette from the butt of the one he had been smoking, and the + cat, Princess Nathalie, disturbed by his movement and by a whiff of + drifting smoke, jumped from his knee to the floor and picking her way + across the room to Annixter, rubbed gently against his legs, her tail in + the air, her back delicately arched. No doubt she thought it time to + settle herself for the night, and as Annixter gave no indication of + vacating his chair, she chose this way of cajoling him into ceding his + place to her. But Annixter was irritated at the Princess's attentions, + misunderstanding their motive. + </p> + <p> + “Get out!” he exclaimed, lifting his feet to the rung of the chair. “Lord + love me, but I sure do hate a cat.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” observed Osterman, “I passed Genslinger by the gate as I + came in to-night. Had he been here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he was here,” said Harran, “and—” but Annixter took the words + out of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “He says there's some talk of the railroad selling us their sections this + winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he did, did he?” exclaimed Osterman, interested at once. “Where did + he hear that?” + </p> + <p> + “Where does a railroad paper get its news? From the General Office, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope he didn't get it straight from headquarters that the land was to + be graded at twenty dollars an acre,” murmured Broderson. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” demanded Osterman. “Twenty dollars! Here, put me on, + somebody. What's all up? What did Genslinger say?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you needn't get scared,” said Annixter. “Genslinger don't know, + that's all. He thinks there was no understanding that the price of the + land should not be advanced when the P. and S. W. came to sell to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” muttered Osterman relieved. Magnus, who had gone out into the office + on the other side of the glass-roofed hallway, returned with a long, + yellow envelope in his hand, stuffed with newspaper clippings and thin, + closely printed pamphlets. + </p> + <p> + “Here is the circular,” he remarked, drawing out one of the pamphlets. + “The conditions of settlement to which the railroad obligated itself are + very explicit.” + </p> + <p> + He ran over the pages of the circular, then read aloud: + </p> + <p> + “'The Company invites settlers to go upon its lands before patents are + issued or the road is completed, and intends in such cases to sell to them + in preference to any other applicants and at a price based upon the value + of the land without improvements,' and on the other page here,” he + remarked, “they refer to this again. 'In ascertaining the value of the + lands, any improvements that a settler or any other person may have on the + lands will not be taken into consideration, neither will the price be + increased in consequence thereof.... Settlers are thus insured that in + addition to being accorded the first privilege of purchase, at the graded + price, they will also be protected in their improvements.' And here,” he + commented, “in Section IX. it reads, 'The lands are not uniform in price, + but are offered at various figures from $2.50 upward per acre. Usually + land covered with tall timber is held at $5.00 per acre, and that with + pine at $10.00. Most is for sale at $2.50 and $5.00.” + </p> + <p> + “When you come to read that carefully,” hazarded old Broderson, “it—it's + not so VERY REASSURING. 'MOST is for sale at two-fifty an acre,' it says. + That don't mean 'ALL,' that only means SOME. I wish now that I had secured + a more iron-clad agreement from the P. and S. W. when I took up its + sections on my ranch, and—and Genslinger is in a position to know + the intentions of the railroad. At least, he—he—he is in TOUCH + with them. All newspaper men are. Those, I mean, who are subsidised by the + General Office. But, perhaps, Genslinger isn't subsidised, I don't know. I—I + am not sure. Maybe—perhaps” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't know and you do know, and maybe and perhaps, and you're not + so sure,” vociferated Annixter. “How about ignoring the value of our + improvements? Nothing hazy about THAT statement, I guess. It says in so + many words that any improvements we make will not be considered when the + land is appraised and that's the same thing, isn't it? The unimproved land + is worth two-fifty an acre; only timber land is worth more and there's + none too much timber about here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, one thing at a time,” said Harran. “The thing for us now is to get + into this primary election and the convention and see if we can push our + men for Railroad Commissioners.” + </p> + <p> + “Right,” declared Annixter. He rose, stretching his arms above his head. + “I've about talked all the wind out of me,” he said. “Think I'll be moving + along. It's pretty near midnight.” + </p> + <p> + But when Magnus's guests turned their attention to the matter of returning + to their different ranches, they abruptly realised that the downpour had + doubled and trebled in its volume since earlier in the evening. The fields + and roads were veritable seas of viscid mud, the night absolutely + black-dark; assuredly not a night in which to venture out. Magnus insisted + that the three ranchers should put up at Los Muertos. Osterman accepted at + once, Annixter, after an interminable discussion, allowed himself to be + persuaded, in the end accepting as though granting a favour. Broderson + protested that his wife, who was not well, would expect him to return that + night and would, no doubt, fret if he did not appear. Furthermore, he + lived close by, at the junction of the County and Lower Road. He put a + sack over his head and shoulders, persistently declining Magnus's offered + umbrella and rubber coat, and hurried away, remarking that he had no + foreman on his ranch and had to be up and about at five the next morning + to put his men to work. + </p> + <p> + “Fool!” muttered Annixter when the old man had gone. “Imagine farming a + ranch the size of his without a foreman.” + </p> + <p> + Harran showed Osterman and Annixter where they were to sleep, in adjoining + rooms. Magnus soon afterward retired. + </p> + <p> + Osterman found an excuse for going to bed, but Annixter and Harran + remained in the latter's room, in a haze of blue tobacco smoke, talking, + talking. But at length, at the end of all argument, Annixter got up, + remarking: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm going to turn in. It's nearly two o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + He went to his room, closing the door, and Harran, opening his window to + clear out the tobacco smoke, looked out for a moment across the country + toward the south. + </p> + <p> + The darkness was profound, impenetrable; the rain fell with an + uninterrupted roar. Near at hand one could hear the sound of dripping + eaves and foliage and the eager, sucking sound of the drinking earth, and + abruptly while Harran stood looking out, one hand upon the upraised sash, + a great puff of the outside air invaded the room, odourous with the reek + of the soaking earth, redolent with fertility, pungent, heavy, tepid. He + closed the window again and sat for a few moments on the edge of the bed, + one shoe in his hand, thoughtful and absorbed, wondering if his father + would involve himself in this new scheme, wondering if, after all, he + wanted him to. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly he was aware of a commotion, issuing from the direction of + Annixter's room, and the voice of Annixter himself upraised in + expostulation and exasperation. The door of the room to which Annixter had + been assigned opened with a violent wrench and an angry voice exclaimed to + anybody who would listen: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, funny, isn't it? In a way, it's funny, and then, again, in a way + it isn't.” + </p> + <p> + The door banged to so that all the windows of the house rattled in their + frames. + </p> + <p> + Harran hurried out into the dining-room and there met Presley and his + father, who had been aroused as well by Annixter's clamour. Osterman was + there, too, his bald head gleaming like a bulb of ivory in the light of + the lamp that Magnus carried. + </p> + <p> + “What's all up?” demanded Osterman. “Whatever in the world is the matter + with Buck?” + </p> + <p> + Confused and terrible sounds came from behind the door of Annixter's room. + A prolonged monologue of grievance, broken by explosions of wrath and the + vague noise of some one in a furious hurry. All at once and before Harran + had a chance to knock on the door, Annixter flung it open. His face was + blazing with anger, his outthrust lip more prominent than ever, his wiry, + yellow hair in disarray, the tuft on the crown sticking straight into the + air like the upraised hackles of an angry hound. Evidently he had been + dressing himself with the most headlong rapidity; he had not yet put on + his coat and vest, but carried them over his arm, while with his + disengaged hand he kept hitching his suspenders over his shoulders with a + persistent and hypnotic gesture. Without a moment's pause he gave vent to + his indignation in a torrent of words. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, in my bed, sloop, aha! I know the man who put it there,” he went + on, glaring at Osterman, “and that man is a PIP. Sloop! Slimy, disgusting + stuff; you heard me say I didn't like it when the Chink passed it to me at + dinner—and just for that reason you put it in my bed, and I stick my + feet into it when I turn in. Funny, isn't it? Oh, yes, too funny for any + use. I'd laugh a little louder if I was you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Buck,” protested Harran, as he noticed the hat in Annixter's hand, + “you're not going home just for——” + </p> + <p> + Annixter turned on him with a shout. + </p> + <p> + “I'll get plumb out of here,” he trumpeted. “I won't stay here another + minute.” + </p> + <p> + He swung into his waistcoat and coat, scrabbling at the buttons in the + violence of his emotions. “And I don't know but what it will make me sick + again to go out in a night like this. NO, I won't stay. Some things are + funny, and then, again, there are some things that are not. Ah, yes, + sloop! Well, that's all right. I can be funny, too, when you come to that. + You don't get a cent of money out of me. You can do your dirty bribery in + your own dirty way. I won't come into this scheme at all. I wash my hands + of the whole business. It's rotten and it's wild-eyed; it's dirt from + start to finish; and you'll all land in State's prison. You can count me + out.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Buck, look here, you crazy fool,” cried Harran, “I don't know who + put that stuff in your bed, but I'm not going; to let you go back to Quien + Sabe in a rain like this.” + </p> + <p> + “I know who put it in,” clamoured the other, shaking his fists, “and don't + call me Buck and I'll do as I please. I WILL go back home. I'll get plumb + out of here. Sorry I came. Sorry I ever lent myself to such a disgusting, + dishonest, dirty bribery game as this all to-night. I won't put a dime + into it, no, not a penny.” + </p> + <p> + He stormed to the door leading out upon the porch, deaf to all reason. + Harran and Presley followed him, trying to dissuade him from going home at + that time of night and in such a storm, but Annixter was not to be + placated. He stamped across to the barn where his horse and buggy had been + stabled, splashing through the puddles under foot, going out of his way to + drench himself, refusing even to allow Presley and Harran to help him + harness the horse. + </p> + <p> + “What's the use of making a fool of yourself, Annixter?” remonstrated + Presley, as Annixter backed the horse from the stall. “You act just like a + ten-year-old boy. If Osterman wants to play the goat, why should you help + him out?” + </p> + <p> + “He's a PIP,” vociferated Annixter. “You don't understand, Presley. It + runs in my family to hate anything sticky. It's—it's—it's + heredity. How would you like to get into bed at two in the morning and jam + your feet down into a slimy mess like that? Oh, no. It's not so funny + then. And you mark my words, Mr. Harran Derrick,” he continued, as he + climbed into the buggy, shaking the whip toward Harran, “this business we + talked over to-night—I'm OUT of it. It's yellow. It's too CURSED + dishonest.” + </p> + <p> + He cut the horse across the back with the whip and drove out into the + pelting rain. In a few seconds the sound of his buggy wheels was lost in + the muffled roar of the downpour. + </p> + <p> + Harran and Presley closed the barn and returned to the house, sheltering + themselves under a tarpaulin carriage cover. Once inside, Harran went to + remonstrate with Osterman, who was still up. Magnus had again retired. The + house had fallen quiet again. + </p> + <p> + As Presley crossed the dining-room on the way to his own apartment in the + second story of the house, he paused for a moment, looking about him. In + the dull light of the lowered lamps, the redwood panelling of the room + showed a dark crimson as though stained with blood. On the massive slab of + the dining table the half-emptied glasses and bottles stood about in the + confusion in which they had been left, reflecting themselves deep into the + polished wood; the glass doors of the case of stuffed birds was a subdued + shimmer; the many-coloured Navajo blanket over the couch seemed a mere + patch of brown. + </p> + <p> + Around the table the chairs in which the men had sat throughout the + evening still ranged themselves in a semi-circle, vaguely suggestive of + the conference of the past few hours, with all its possibilities of good + and evil, its significance of a future big with portent. The room was + still. Only on the cushions of the chair that Annixter had occupied, the + cat, Princess Nathalie, at last comfortably settled in her accustomed + place, dozed complacently, her paws tucked under her breast, filling the + deserted room with the subdued murmur of her contented purr. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + On the Quien Sabe ranch, in one of its western divisions, near the line + fence that divided it from the Osterman holding, Vanamee was harnessing + the horses to the plough to which he had been assigned two days before, a + stable-boy from the division barn helping him. + </p> + <p> + Promptly discharged from the employ of the sheep-raisers after the + lamentable accident near the Long Trestle, Vanamee had presented himself + to Harran, asking for employment. The season was beginning; on all the + ranches work was being resumed. The rain had put the ground into admirable + condition for ploughing, and Annixter, Broderson, and Osterman all had + their gangs at work. Thus, Vanamee was vastly surprised to find Los + Muertos idle, the horses still in the barns, the men gathering in the + shade of the bunk-house and eating-house, smoking, dozing, or going + aimlessly about, their arms dangling. The ploughs for which Magnus and + Harran were waiting in a fury of impatience had not yet arrived, and since + the management of Los Muertos had counted upon having these in hand long + before this time, no provision had been made for keeping the old stock in + repair; many of these old ploughs were useless, broken, and out of order; + some had been sold. It could not be said definitely when the new ploughs + would arrive. Harran had decided to wait one week longer, and then, in + case of their non-appearance, to buy a consignment of the old style of + plough from the dealers in Bonneville. He could afford to lose the money + better than he could afford to lose the season. + </p> + <p> + Failing of work on Los Muertos, Vanamee had gone to Quien Sabe. Annixter, + whom he had spoken to first, had sent him across the ranch to one of his + division superintendents, and this latter, after assuring himself of + Vanamee's familiarity with horses and his previous experience—even + though somewhat remote—on Los Muertos, had taken him on as a driver + of one of the gang ploughs, then at work on his division. + </p> + <p> + The evening before, when the foreman had blown his whistle at six o'clock, + the long line of ploughs had halted upon the instant, and the drivers, + unharnessing their teams, had taken them back to the division barns—leaving + the ploughs as they were in the furrows. But an hour after daylight the + next morning the work was resumed. After breakfast, Vanamee, riding one + horse and leading the others, had returned to the line of ploughs together + with the other drivers. Now he was busy harnessing the team. At the + division blacksmith shop—temporarily put up—he had been + obliged to wait while one of his lead horses was shod, and he had thus + been delayed quite five minutes. Nearly all the other teams were + harnessed, the drivers on their seats, waiting for the foreman's signal. + </p> + <p> + “All ready here?” inquired the foreman, driving up to Vanamee's team in + his buggy. + </p> + <p> + “All ready, sir,” answered Vanamee, buckling the last strap. + </p> + <p> + He climbed to his seat, shaking out the reins, and turning about, looked + back along the line, then all around him at the landscape inundated with + the brilliant glow of the early morning. + </p> + <p> + The day was fine. Since the first rain of the season, there had been no + other. Now the sky was without a cloud, pale blue, delicate, luminous, + scintillating with morning. The great brown earth turned a huge flank to + it, exhaling the moisture of the early dew. The atmosphere, washed clean + of dust and mist, was translucent as crystal. Far off to the east, the + hills on the other side of Broderson Creek stood out against the pallid + saffron of the horizon as flat and as sharply outlined as if pasted on the + sky. The campanile of the ancient Mission of San Juan seemed as fine as + frost work. All about between the horizons, the carpet of the land + unrolled itself to infinity. But now it was no longer parched with heat, + cracked and warped by a merciless sun, powdered with dust. The rain had + done its work; not a clod that was not swollen with fertility, not a + fissure that did not exhale the sense of fecundity. One could not take a + dozen steps upon the ranches without the brusque sensation that underfoot + the land was alive; roused at last from its sleep, palpitating with the + desire of reproduction. Deep down there in the recesses of the soil, the + great heart throbbed once more, thrilling with passion, vibrating with + desire, offering itself to the caress of the plough, insistent, eager, + imperious. Dimly one felt the deep-seated trouble of the earth, the uneasy + agitation of its members, the hidden tumult of its womb, demanding to be + made fruitful, to reproduce, to disengage the eternal renascent germ of + Life that stirred and struggled in its loins. + </p> + <p> + The ploughs, thirty-five in number, each drawn by its team of ten, + stretched in an interminable line, nearly a quarter of a mile in length, + behind and ahead of Vanamee. They were arranged, as it were, en echelon, + not in file—not one directly behind the other, but each succeeding + plough its own width farther in the field than the one in front of it. + Each of these ploughs held five shears, so that when the entire company + was in motion, one hundred and seventy-five furrows were made at the same + instant. At a distance, the ploughs resembled a great column of field + artillery. Each driver was in his place, his glance alternating between + his horses and the foreman nearest at hand. Other foremen, in their + buggies or buckboards, were at intervals along the line, like battery + lieutenants. Annixter himself, on horseback, in boots and campaign hat, a + cigar in his teeth, overlooked the scene. + </p> + <p> + The division superintendent, on the opposite side of the line, galloped + past to a position at the head. For a long moment there was a silence. A + sense of preparedness ran from end to end of the column. All things were + ready, each man in his place. The day's work was about to begin. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, from a distance at the head of the line came the shrill trilling + of a whistle. At once the foreman nearest Vanamee repeated it, at the same + time turning down the line, and waving one arm. The signal was repeated, + whistle answering whistle, till the sounds lost themselves in the + distance. At once the line of ploughs lost its immobility, moving forward, + getting slowly under way, the horses straining in the traces. A prolonged + movement rippled from team to team, disengaging in its passage a multitude + of sounds—-the click of buckles, the creak of straining leather, the + subdued clash of machinery, the cracking of whips, the deep breathing of + nearly four hundred horses, the abrupt commands and cries of the drivers, + and, last of all, the prolonged, soothing murmur of the thick brown earth + turning steadily from the multitude of advancing shears. + </p> + <p> + The ploughing thus commenced, continued. The sun rose higher. Steadily the + hundred iron hands kneaded and furrowed and stroked the brown, humid + earth, the hundred iron teeth bit deep into the Titan's flesh. Perched on + his seat, the moist living reins slipping and tugging in his hands, + Vanamee, in the midst of this steady confusion of constantly varying + sensation, sight interrupted by sound, sound mingling with sight, on this + swaying, vibrating seat, quivering with the prolonged thrill of the earth, + lapsed to a sort of pleasing numbness, in a sense, hypnotised by the + weaving maze of things in which he found himself involved. To keep his + team at an even, regular gait, maintaining the precise interval, to run + his furrows as closely as possible to those already made by the plough in + front—this for the moment was the entire sum of his duties. But + while one part of his brain, alert and watchful, took cognisance of these + matters, all the greater part was lulled and stupefied with the long + monotony of the affair. + </p> + <p> + The ploughing, now in full swing, enveloped him in a vague, slow-moving + whirl of things. Underneath him was the jarring, jolting, trembling + machine; not a clod was turned, not an obstacle encountered, that he did + not receive the swift impression of it through all his body, the very + friction of the damp soil, sliding incessantly from the shiny surface of + the shears, seemed to reproduce itself in his finger-tips and along the + back of his head. He heard the horse-hoofs by the myriads crushing down + easily, deeply, into the loam, the prolonged clinking of trace-chains, the + working of the smooth brown flanks in the harness, the clatter of wooden + hames, the champing of bits, the click of iron shoes against pebbles, the + brittle stubble of the surface ground crackling and snapping as the + furrows turned, the sonorous, steady breaths wrenched from the deep, + labouring chests, strap-bound, shining with sweat, and all along the line + the voices of the men talking to the horses. Everywhere there were visions + of glossy brown backs, straining, heaving, swollen with muscle; harness + streaked with specks of froth, broad, cup-shaped hoofs, heavy with brown + loam, men's faces red with tan, blue overalls spotted with axle-grease; + muscled hands, the knuckles whitened in their grip on the reins, and + through it all the ammoniacal smell of the horses, the bitter reek of + perspiration of beasts and men, the aroma of warm leather, the scent of + dead stubble—and stronger and more penetrating than everything else, + the heavy, enervating odour of the upturned, living earth. + </p> + <p> + At intervals, from the tops of one of the rare, low swells of the land, + Vanamee overlooked a wider horizon. On the other divisions of Quien Sabe + the same work was in progress. Occasionally he could see another column of + ploughs in the adjoining division—sometimes so close at hand that + the subdued murmur of its movements reached his ear; sometimes so distant + that it resolved itself into a long, brown streak upon the grey of the + ground. Farther off to the west on the Osterman ranch other columns came + and went, and, once, from the crest of the highest swell on his division, + Vanamee caught a distant glimpse of the Broderson ranch. There, too, + moving specks indicated that the ploughing was under way. And farther away + still, far off there beyond the fine line of the horizons, over the curve + of the globe, the shoulder of the earth, he knew were other ranches, and + beyond these others, and beyond these still others, the immensities + multiplying to infinity. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere throughout the great San Joaquin, unseen and unheard, a + thousand ploughs up-stirred the land, tens of thousands of shears clutched + deep into the warm, moist soil. + </p> + <p> + It was the long stroking caress, vigorous, male, powerful, for which the + Earth seemed panting. The heroic embrace of a multitude of iron hands, + gripping deep into the brown, warm flesh of the land that quivered + responsive and passionate under this rude advance, so robust as to be + almost an assault, so violent as to be veritably brutal. There, under the + sun and under the speckless sheen of the sky, the wooing of the Titan + began, the vast primal passion, the two world-forces, the elemental Male + and Female, locked in a colossal embrace, at grapples in the throes of an + infinite desire, at once terrible and divine, knowing no law, untamed, + savage, natural, sublime. + </p> + <p> + From time to time the gang in which Vanamee worked halted on the signal + from foreman or overseer. The horses came to a standstill, the vague + clamour of the work lapsed away. Then the minutes passed. The whole work + hung suspended. All up and down the line one demanded what had happened. + The division superintendent galloped past, perplexed and anxious. For the + moment, one of the ploughs was out of order, a bolt had slipped, a lever + refused to work, or a machine had become immobilised in heavy ground, or a + horse had lamed himself. Once, even, toward noon, an entire plough was + taken out of the line, so out of gear that a messenger had to be sent to + the division forge to summon the machinist. + </p> + <p> + Annixter had disappeared. He had ridden farther on to the other divisions + of his ranch, to watch the work in progress there. At twelve o'clock, + according to his orders, all the division superintendents put themselves + in communication with him by means of the telephone wires that connected + each of the division houses, reporting the condition of the work, the + number of acres covered, the prospects of each plough traversing its daily + average of twenty miles. + </p> + <p> + At half-past twelve, Vanamee and the rest of the drivers ate their lunch + in the field, the tin buckets having been distributed to them that morning + after breakfast. But in the evening, the routine of the previous day was + repeated, and Vanamee, unharnessing his team, riding one horse and leading + the others, returned to the division barns and bunk-house. + </p> + <p> + It was between six and seven o'clock. The half hundred men of the gang + threw themselves upon the supper the Chinese cooks had set out in the shed + of the eating-house, long as a bowling alley, unpainted, crude, the seats + benches, the table covered with oil cloth. Overhead a half-dozen kerosene + lamps flared and smoked. + </p> + <p> + The table was taken as if by assault; the clatter of iron knives upon the + tin plates was as the reverberation of hail upon a metal roof. The + ploughmen rinsed their throats with great draughts of wine, and, their + elbows wide, their foreheads flushed, resumed the attack upon the beef and + bread, eating as though they would never have enough. All up and down the + long table, where the kerosene lamps reflected themselves deep in the + oil-cloth cover, one heard the incessant sounds of mastication, and saw + the uninterrupted movement of great jaws. At every moment one or another + of the men demanded a fresh portion of beef, another pint of wine, another + half-loaf of bread. For upwards of an hour the gang ate. It was no longer + a supper. It was a veritable barbecue, a crude and primitive feasting, + barbaric, homeric. + </p> + <p> + But in all this scene Vanamee saw nothing repulsive. Presley would have + abhorred it—this feeding of the People, this gorging of the human + animal, eager for its meat. Vanamee, simple, uncomplicated, living so + close to nature and the rudimentary life, understood its significance. He + knew very well that within a short half-hour after this meal the men would + throw themselves down in their bunks to sleep without moving, inert and + stupefied with fatigue, till the morning. Work, food, and sleep, all life + reduced to its bare essentials, uncomplex, honest, healthy. They were + strong, these men, with the strength of the soil they worked, in touch + with the essential things, back again to the starting point of + civilisation, coarse, vital, real, and sane. + </p> + <p> + For a brief moment immediately after the meal, pipes were lit, and the air + grew thick with fragrant tobacco smoke. On a corner of the dining-room + table, a game of poker was begun. One of the drivers, a Swede, produced an + accordion; a group on the steps of the bunk-house listened, with alternate + gravity and shouts of laughter, to the acknowledged story-teller of the + gang. But soon the men began to turn in, stretching themselves at full + length on the horse blankets in the racklike bunks. The sounds of heavy + breathing increased steadily, lights were put out, and before the + afterglow had faded from the sky, the gang was asleep. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee, however, remained awake. The night was fine, warm; the sky + silver-grey with starlight. By and by there would be a moon. In the first + watch after the twilight, a faint puff of breeze came up out of the south. + From all around, the heavy penetrating smell of the new-turned earth + exhaled steadily into the darkness. After a while, when the moon came up, + he could see the vast brown breast of the earth turn toward it. Far off, + distant objects came into view: The giant oak tree at Hooven's ranch house + near the irrigating ditch on Los Muertos, the skeleton-like tower of the + windmill on Annixter's Home ranch, the clump of willows along Broderson + Creek close to the Long Trestle, and, last of all, the venerable tower of + the Mission of San Juan on the high ground beyond the creek. + </p> + <p> + Thitherward, like homing pigeons, Vanamee's thoughts turned irresistibly. + Near to that tower, just beyond, in the little hollow, hidden now from his + sight, was the Seed ranch where Angele Varian had lived. Straining his + eyes, peering across the intervening levels, Vanamee fancied he could + almost see the line of venerable pear trees in whose shadow she had been + accustomed to wait for him. On many such a night as this he had crossed + the ranches to find her there. His mind went back to that wonderful time + of his life sixteen years before this, when Angele was alive, when they + two were involved in the sweet intricacies of a love so fine, so pure, so + marvellous that it seemed to them a miracle, a manifestation, a thing + veritably divine, put into the life of them and the hearts of them by God + Himself. To that they had been born. For this love's sake they had come + into the world, and the mingling of their lives was to be the Perfect + Life, the intended, ordained union of the soul of man with the soul of + woman, indissoluble, harmonious as music, beautiful beyond all thought, a + foretaste of Heaven, a hostage of immortality. + </p> + <p> + No, he, Vanamee, could never, never forget, never was the edge of his + grief to lose its sharpness, never would the lapse of time blunt the tooth + of his pain. Once more, as he sat there, looking off across the ranches, + his eyes fixed on the ancient campanile of the Mission church, the anguish + that would not die leaped at his throat, tearing at his heart, shaking him + and rending him with a violence as fierce and as profound as if it all had + been but yesterday. The ache returned to his heart a physical keen pain; + his hands gripped tight together, twisting, interlocked, his eyes filled + with tears, his whole body shaken and riven from head to heel. + </p> + <p> + He had lost her. God had not meant it, after all. The whole matter had + been a mistake. That vast, wonderful love that had come upon them had been + only the flimsiest mockery. Abruptly Vanamee rose. He knew the night that + was before him. At intervals throughout the course of his prolonged + wanderings, in the desert, on the mesa, deep in the canon, lost and + forgotten on the flanks of unnamed mountains, alone under the stars and + under the moon's white eye, these hours came to him, his grief recoiling + upon him like the recoil of a vast and terrible engine. Then he must fight + out the night, wrestling with his sorrow, praying sometimes, incoherent, + hardly conscious, asking “Why” of the night and of the stars. + </p> + <p> + Such another night had come to him now. Until dawn he knew he must + struggle with his grief, torn with memories, his imagination assaulted + with visions of a vanished happiness. If this paroxysm of sorrow was to + assail him again that night, there was but one place for him to be. He + would go to the Mission—he would see Father Sarria; he would pass + the night in the deep shadow of the aged pear trees in the Mission garden. + </p> + <p> + He struck out across Quien Sabe, his face, the face of an ascetic, lean, + brown, infinitely sad, set toward the Mission church. In about an hour he + reached and crossed the road that led northward from Guadalajara toward + the Seed ranch, and, a little farther on, forded Broderson Creek where it + ran through one corner of the Mission land. He climbed the hill and + halted, out of breath from his brisk wall, at the end of the colonnade of + the Mission itself. + </p> + <p> + Until this moment Vanamee had not trusted himself to see the Mission at + night. On the occasion of his first daytime visit with Presley, he had + hurried away even before the twilight had set in, not daring for the + moment to face the crowding phantoms that in his imagination filled the + Mission garden after dark. In the daylight, the place had seemed strange + to him. None of his associations with the old building and its + surroundings were those of sunlight and brightness. Whenever, during his + long sojourns in the wilderness of the Southwest, he had called up the + picture in the eye of his mind, it had always appeared to him in the dim + mystery of moonless nights, the venerable pear trees black with shadow, + the fountain a thing to be heard rather than seen. + </p> + <p> + But as yet he had not entered the garden. That lay on the other side of + the Mission. Vanamee passed down the colonnade, with its uneven pavement + of worn red bricks, to the last door by the belfry tower, and rang the + little bell by pulling the leather thong that hung from a hole in the door + above the knob. + </p> + <p> + But the maid-servant, who, after a long interval opened the door, blinking + and confused at being roused from her sleep, told Vanamee that Sarria was + not in his room. Vanamee, however, was known to her as the priest's + protege and great friend, and she allowed him to enter, telling him that, + no doubt, he would find Sarria in the church itself. The servant led the + way down the cool adobe passage to a larger room that occupied the entire + width of the bottom of the belfry tower, and whence a flight of aged steps + led upward into the dark. At the foot of the stairs was a door opening + into the church. The servant admitted Vanamee, closing the door behind + her. + </p> + <p> + The interior of the Mission, a great oblong of white-washed adobe with a + flat ceiling, was lighted dimly by the sanctuary lamp that hung from three + long chains just over the chancel rail at the far end of the church, and + by two or three cheap kerosene lamps in brackets of imitation bronze. All + around the walls was the inevitable series of pictures representing the + Stations of the Cross. They were of a hideous crudity of design and + composition, yet were wrought out with an innocent, unquestioning + sincerity that was not without its charm. Each picture framed alike in + gilt, bore its suitable inscription in staring black letters. “Simon, The + Cyrenean, Helps Jesus to Carry His Cross.” “Saint Veronica Wipes the Face + of Jesus.” “Jesus Falls for the Fourth Time,” and so on. Half-way up the + length of the church the pews began, coffin-like boxes of blackened oak, + shining from years of friction, each with its door; while over them, and + built out from the wall, was the pulpit, with its tarnished gilt + sounding-board above it, like the raised cover of a great hat-box. Between + the pews, in the aisle, the violent vermilion of a strip of ingrain carpet + assaulted the eye. Farther on were the steps to the altar, the chancel + rail of worm-riddled oak, the high altar, with its napery from the bargain + counters of a San Francisco store, the massive silver candlesticks, each + as much as one man could lift, the gift of a dead Spanish queen, and, + last, the pictures of the chancel, the Virgin in a glory, a Christ in + agony on the cross, and St. John the Baptist, the patron saint of the + Mission, the San Juan Bautista, of the early days, a gaunt grey figure, in + skins, two fingers upraised in the gesture of benediction. + </p> + <p> + The air of the place was cool and damp, and heavy with the flat, sweet + scent of stale incense smoke. It was of a vault-like stillness, and the + closing of the door behind Vanamee reechoed from corner to corner with a + prolonged reverberation of thunder. + </p> + <p> + However, Father Sarria was not in the church. Vanamee took a couple of + turns the length of the aisle, looking about into the chapels on either + side of the chancel. But the building was deserted. The priest had been + there recently, nevertheless, for the altar furniture was in disarray, as + though he had been rearranging it but a moment before. On both sides of + the church and half-way up their length, the walls were pierced by low + archways, in which were massive wooden doors, clamped with iron bolts. One + of these doors, on the pulpit side of the church, stood ajar, and stepping + to it and pushing it wide open, Vanamee looked diagonally across a little + patch of vegetables—beets, radishes, and lettuce—to the rear + of the building that had once contained the cloisters, and through an open + window saw Father Sarria diligently polishing the silver crucifix that + usually stood on the high altar. Vanamee did not call to the priest. + Putting a finger to either temple, he fixed his eyes steadily upon him for + a moment as he moved about at his work. In a few seconds he closed his + eyes, but only part way. The pupils contracted; his forehead lowered to an + expression of poignant intensity. Soon afterward he saw the priest pause + abruptly in the act of drawing the cover over the crucifix, looking about + him from side to side. He turned again to his work, and again came to a + stop, perplexed, curious. With uncertain steps, and evidently wondering + why he did so, he came to the door of the room and opened it, looking out + into the night. Vanamee, hidden in the deep shadow of the archway, did not + move, but his eyes closed, and the intense expression deepened on his + face. The priest hesitated, moved forward a step, turned back, paused + again, then came straight across the garden patch, brusquely colliding + with Vanamee, still motionless in the recess of the archway. + </p> + <p> + Sarria gave a great start, catching his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—oh, it's you. Was it you I heard calling? No, I could not have + heard—I remember now. What a strange power! I am not sure that it is + right to do this thing, Vanamee. I—I HAD to come. I do not know why. + It is a great force—a power—I don't like it. Vanamee, + sometimes it frightens me.” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee put his chin in the air. + </p> + <p> + “If I had wanted to, sir, I could have made you come to me from back there + in the Quien Sabe ranch.” + </p> + <p> + The priest shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It troubles me,” he said, “to think that my own will can count for so + little. Just now I could not resist. If a deep river had been between us, + I must have crossed it. Suppose I had been asleep now?” “It would have + been all the easier,” answered Vanamee. “I understand as little of these + things as you. But I think if you had been asleep, your power of + resistance would have been so much the more weakened.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I should not have waked. Perhaps I should have come to you in my + sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + Sarria crossed himself. “It is occult,” he hazarded. “No; I do not like + it. Dear fellow,” he put his hand on Vanamee's shoulder, “don't—call + me that way again; promise. See,” he held out his hand, “I am all of a + tremble. There, we won't speak of it further. Wait for me a moment. I have + only to put the cross in its place, and a fresh altar cloth, and then I am + done. To-morrow is the feast of The Holy Cross, and I am preparing against + it. The night is fine. We will smoke a cigar in the cloister garden.” + </p> + <p> + A few moments later the two passed out of the door on the other side of + the church, opposite the pulpit, Sarria adjusting a silk skull cap on his + tonsured head. He wore his cassock now, and was far more the churchman in + appearance than when Vanamee and Presley had seen him on a former + occasion. + </p> + <p> + They were now in the cloister garden. The place was charming. Everywhere + grew clumps of palms and magnolia trees. A grapevine, over a century old, + occupied a trellis in one angle of the walls which surrounded the garden + on two sides. Along the third side was the church itself, while the fourth + was open, the wall having crumbled away, its site marked only by a line of + eight great pear trees, older even than the grapevine, gnarled, twisted, + bearing no fruit. Directly opposite the pear trees, in the south wall of + the garden, was a round, arched portal, whose gate giving upon the + esplanade in front of the Mission was always closed. Small gravelled + walks, well kept, bordered with mignonette, twisted about among the flower + beds, and underneath the magnolia trees. In the centre was a little + fountain in a stone basin green with moss, while just beyond, between the + fountain and the pear trees, stood what was left of a sun dial, the bronze + gnomon, green with the beatings of the weather, the figures on the + half-circle of the dial worn away, illegible. + </p> + <p> + But on the other side of the fountain, and directly opposite the door of + the Mission, ranged against the wall, were nine graves—three with + headstones, the rest with slabs. Two of Sarria's predecessors were buried + here; three of the graves were those of Mission Indians. One was thought + to contain a former alcalde of Guadalajara; two more held the bodies of De + La Cuesta and his young wife (taking with her to the grave the illusion of + her husband's love), and the last one, the ninth, at the end of the line, + nearest the pear trees, was marked by a little headstone, the smallest of + any, on which, together with the proper dates—only sixteen years + apart—was cut the name “Angele Varian.” + </p> + <p> + But the quiet, the repose, the isolation of the little cloister garden was + infinitely delicious. It was a tiny corner of the great valley that + stretched in all directions around it—shut off, discreet, romantic, + a garden of dreams, of enchantments, of illusions. Outside there, far off, + the great grim world went clashing through its grooves, but in here never + an echo of the grinding of its wheels entered to jar upon the subdued + modulation of the fountain's uninterrupted murmur. + </p> + <p> + Sarria and Vanamee found their way to a stone bench against the side wall + of the Mission, near the door from which they had just issued, and sat + down, Sarria lighting a cigar, Vanamee rolling and smoking cigarettes in + Mexican fashion. + </p> + <p> + All about them widened the vast calm night. All the stars were out. The + moon was coming up. There was no wind, no sound. The insistent flowing of + the fountain seemed only as the symbol of the passing of time, a thing + that was understood rather than heard, inevitable, prolonged. At long + intervals, a faint breeze, hardly more than a breath, found its way into + the garden over the enclosing walls, and passed overhead, spreading + everywhere the delicious, mingled perfume of magnolia blossoms, of + mignonette, of moss, of grass, and all the calm green life silently + teeming within the enclosure of the walls. + </p> + <p> + From where he sat, Vanamee, turning his head, could look out underneath + the pear trees to the north. Close at hand, a little valley lay between + the high ground on which the Mission was built, and the line of low hills + just beyond Broderson Creek on the Quien Sabe. In here was the Seed ranch, + which Angele's people had cultivated, a unique and beautiful stretch of + five hundred acres, planted thick with roses, violets, lilies, tulips, + iris, carnations, tube-roses, poppies, heliotrope—all manner and + description of flowers, five hundred acres of them, solid, thick, + exuberant; blooming and fading, and leaving their seed or slips to be + marketed broadcast all over the United States. This had been the vocation + of Angele's parents—raising flowers for their seeds. All over the + country the Seed ranch was known. Now it was arid, almost dry, but when in + full flower, toward the middle of summer, the sight of these half-thousand + acres royal with colour—vermilion, azure, flaming yellow—was a + marvel. When an east wind blew, men on the streets of Bonneville, nearly + twelve miles away, could catch the scent of this valley of flowers, this + chaos of perfume. + </p> + <p> + And into this life of flowers, this world of colour, this atmosphere + oppressive and clogged and cloyed and thickened with sweet odour, Angele + had been born. There she had lived her sixteen years. There she had died. + It was not surprising that Vanamee, with his intense, delicate + sensitiveness to beauty, his almost abnormal capacity for great happiness, + had been drawn to her, had loved her so deeply. + </p> + <p> + She came to him from out of the flowers, the smell of the roses in her + hair of gold, that hung in two straight plaits on either side of her face; + the reflection of the violets in the profound dark blue of her eyes, + perplexing, heavy-lidded, almond-shaped, oriental; the aroma and the + imperial red of the carnations in her lips, with their almost Egyptian + fulness; the whiteness of the lilies, the perfume of the lilies, and the + lilies' slender balancing grace in her neck. Her hands disengaged the + odour of the heliotropes. The folds of her dress gave off the enervating + scent of poppies. Her feet were redolent of hyacinths. + </p> + <p> + For a long time after sitting down upon the bench, neither the priest nor + Vanamee spoke. But after a while Sarria took his cigar from his lips, + saying: + </p> + <p> + “How still it is! This is a beautiful old garden, peaceful, very quiet. + Some day I shall be buried here. I like to remember that; and you, too, + Vanamee.” + </p> + <p> + “Quien sabe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you, too. Where else? No, it is better here, yonder, by the side of + the little girl.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not able to look forward yet, sir. The things that are to be are + somehow nothing to me at all. For me they amount to nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “They amount to everything, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to one part of me, but not to the part of me that belonged to Angele—the + best part. Oh, you don't know,” he exclaimed with a sudden movement, “no + one can understand. What is it to me when you tell me that sometime after + I shall die too, somewhere, in a vague place you call Heaven, I shall see + her again? Do you think that the idea of that ever made any one's sorrow + easier to bear? Ever took the edge from any one's grief?” + </p> + <p> + “But you believe that——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, believe, believe!” echoed the other. “What do I believe? I don't + know. I believe, or I don't believe. I can remember what she WAS, but I + cannot hope what she will be. Hope, after all, is only memory seen + reversed. When I try to see her in another life—whatever you call it—in + Heaven—beyond the grave—this vague place of yours; when I try + to see her there, she comes to my imagination only as what she was, + material, earthly, as I loved her. Imperfect, you say; but that is as I + saw her, and as I saw her, I loved her; and as she WAS, material, earthly, + imperfect, she loved me. It's that, that I want,” he exclaimed. “I don't + want her changed. I don't want her spiritualised, exalted, glorified, + celestial. I want HER. I think it is only this feeling that has kept me + from killing myself. I would rather be unhappy in the memory of what she + actually was, than be happy in the realisation of her transformed, + changed, made celestial. I am only human. Her soul! That was beautiful, no + doubt. But, again, it was something very vague, intangible, hardly more + than a phrase. But the touch of her hand was real, the sound of her voice + was real, the clasp of her arms about my neck was real. Oh,” he cried, + shaken with a sudden wrench of passion, “give those back to me. Tell your + God to give those back to me—the sound of her voice, the touch of + her hand, the clasp of her dear arms, REAL, REAL, and then you may talk to + me of Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + Sarria shook his head. “But when you meet her again,” he observed, “in + Heaven, you, too, will be changed. You will see her spiritualised, with + spiritual eyes. As she is now, she does not appeal to you. I understand + that. It is because, as you say, you are only human, while she is divine. + But when you come to be like her, as she is now, you will know her as she + really is, not as she seemed to be, because her voice was sweet, because + her hair was pretty, because her hand was warm in yours. Vanamee, your + talk is that of a foolish child. You are like one of the Corinthians to + whom Paul wrote. Do you remember? Listen now. I can recall the words, and + such words, beautiful and terrible at the same time, such a majesty. They + march like soldiers with trumpets. 'But some man will say'—as you + have said just now—'How are the dead raised up? And with what body + do they come? Thou fool! That which thou sowest is not quickened except it + die, and that which thou sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall be, + but bare grain. It may chance of wheat, or of some other grain. But God + giveth it a body as it hath pleased him, and to every seed his own + body.... It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.' It is + because you are a natural body that you cannot understand her, nor wish + for her as a spiritual body, but when you are both spiritual, then you + shall know each other as you are—know as you never knew before. Your + grain of wheat is your symbol of immortality. You bury it in the earth. It + dies, and rises again a thousand times more beautiful. Vanamee, your dear + girl was only a grain of humanity that we have buried here, and the end is + not yet. But all this is so old, so old. The world learned it a thousand + years ago, and yet each man that has ever stood by the open grave of any + one he loved must learn it all over again from the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee was silent for a moment, looking off with unseeing eyes between + the trunks of the pear trees, over the little valley. + </p> + <p> + “That may all be as you say,” he answered after a while. “I have not + learned it yet, in any case. Now, I only know that I love her—oh, as + if it all were yesterday—and that I am suffering, suffering, + always.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned forward, his head supported on his clenched fists, the infinite + sadness of his face deepening like a shadow, the tears brimming in his + deep-set eyes. A question that he must ask, which involved the thing that + was scarcely to be thought of, occurred to him at this moment. After + hesitating for a long moment, he said: + </p> + <p> + “I have been away a long time, and I have had no news of this place since + I left. Is there anything to tell, Father? Has any discovery been made, + any suspicion developed, as to—the Other?” + </p> + <p> + The priest shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word, not a whisper. It is a mystery. It always will be.” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee clasped his head between his clenched fists, rocking himself to + and fro. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the terror of it,” he murmured. “The horror of it. And she—think + of it, Sarria, only sixteen, a little girl; so innocent, that she never + knew what wrong meant, pure as a little child is pure, who believed that + all things were good; mature only in her love. And to be struck down like + that, while your God looked down from Heaven and would not take her part.” + All at once he seemed to lose control of himself. One of those furies of + impotent grief and wrath that assailed him from time to time, blind, + insensate, incoherent, suddenly took possession of him. A torrent of words + issued from his lips, and he flung out an arm, the fist clenched, in a + fierce, quick gesture, partly of despair, partly of defiance, partly of + supplication. “No, your God would not take her part. Where was God's mercy + in that? Where was Heaven's protection in that? Where was the loving + kindness you preach about? Why did God give her life if it was to be + stamped out? Why did God give her the power of love if it was to come to + nothing? Sarria, listen to me. Why did God make her so divinely pure if He + permitted that abomination? Ha!” he exclaimed bitterly, “your God! Why, an + Apache buck would have been more merciful. Your God! There is no God. + There is only the Devil. The Heaven you pray to is only a joke, a wretched + trick, a delusion. It is only Hell that is real.” + </p> + <p> + Sarria caught him by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “You are a fool and a child,” he exclaimed, “and it is blasphemy that you + are saying. I forbid it. You understand? I forbid it.” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee turned on him with a sudden cry. “Then, tell your God to give her + back to me!” + </p> + <p> + Sarria started away from him, his eyes widening in astonishment, surprised + out of all composure by the other's outburst. Vanamee's swarthy face was + pale, the sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes were marked with great black + shadows. The priest no longer recognised him. The face, that face of the + ascetic, lean, framed in its long black hair and pointed beard, was + quivering with the excitement of hallucination. It was the face of the + inspired shepherds of the Hebraic legends, living close to nature, the + younger prophets of Israel, dwellers in the wilderness, solitary, + imaginative, believing in the Vision, having strange delusions, gifted + with strange powers. In a brief second of thought, Sarria understood. Out + into the wilderness, the vast arid desert of the Southwest, Vanamee had + carried his grief. For days, for weeks, months even, he had been alone, a + solitary speck lost in the immensity of the horizons; continually he was + brooding, haunted with his sorrow, thinking, thinking, often hard put to + it for food. The body was ill-nourished, and the mind, concentrated + forever upon one subject, had recoiled upon itself, had preyed upon the + naturally nervous temperament, till the imagination had become exalted, + morbidly active, diseased, beset with hallucinations, forever in search of + the manifestation, of the miracle. It was small wonder that, bringing a + fancy so distorted back to the scene of a vanished happiness, Vanamee + should be racked with the most violent illusions, beset in the throes of a + veritable hysteria. + </p> + <p> + “Tell your God to give her back to me,” he repeated with fierce + insistence. + </p> + <p> + It was the pitch of mysticism, the imagination harassed and goaded beyond + the normal round, suddenly flipping from the circumference, spinning off + at a tangent, out into the void, where all things seemed possible, + hurtling through the dark there, groping for the supernatural, clamouring + for the miracle. And it was also the human, natural protest against the + inevitable, the irrevocable; the spasm of revolt under the sting of death, + the rebellion of the soul at the victory of the grave. + </p> + <p> + “He can give her back to me if He only will,” Vanamee cried. “Sarria, you + must help me. I tell you—I warn you, sir, I can't last much longer + under it. My head is all wrong with it—I've no more hold on my mind. + Something must happen or I shall lose my senses. I am breaking down under + it all, my body and my mind alike. Bring her to me; make God show her to + me. If all tales are true, it would not be the first time. If I cannot + have her, at least let me see her as she was, real, earthly, not her + spirit, her ghost. I want her real self, undefiled again. If this is + dementia, then let me be demented. But help me, you and your God; create + the delusion, do the miracle.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” cried the priest again, shaking him roughly by the shoulder. + “Stop. Be yourself. This is dementia; but I shall NOT let you be demented. + Think of what you are saying. Bring her back to you! Is that the way of + God? I thought you were a man; this is the talk of a weak-minded girl.” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee stirred abruptly in his place, drawing a long breath and looking + about him vaguely, as if he came to himself. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” he muttered. “I hardly know what I am saying at times. + But there are moments when my whole mind and soul seem to rise up in + rebellion against what has happened; when it seems to me that I am + stronger than death, and that if I only knew how to use the strength of my + will, concentrate my power of thought—volition—that I could—I + don't know—not call her back—but—something——” + </p> + <p> + “A diseased and distorted mind is capable of hallucinations, if that is + what you mean,” observed Sarria. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that is what I mean. Perhaps I want only the delusion, after + all.” + </p> + <p> + Sarria did not reply, and there was a long silence. In the damp south + corners of the walls a frog began to croak at exact intervals. The little + fountain rippled monotonously, and a magnolia flower dropped from one of + the trees, falling straight as a plummet through the motionless air, and + settling upon the gravelled walk with a faint rustling sound. Otherwise + the stillness was profound. + </p> + <p> + A little later, the priest's cigar, long since out, slipped from his + fingers to the ground. He began to nod gently. Vanamee touched his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Asleep, sir?” + </p> + <p> + The other started, rubbing his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, I believe I was.” + </p> + <p> + “Better go to bed, sir. I am not tired. I think I shall sit out here a + little longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps I would be better off in bed. YOUR bed is always ready for + you here whenever you want to use it.” + </p> + <p> + “No—I shall go back to Quien Sabe—later. Good-night, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee was left alone. For a long time he sat motionless in his place, + his elbows on his knees, his chin propped in his hands. The minutes passed—then + the hours. The moon climbed steadily higher among the stars. Vanamee + rolled and smoked cigarette after cigarette, the blue haze of smoke + hanging motionless above his head, or drifting in slowly weaving filaments + across the open spaces of the garden. + </p> + <p> + But the influence of the old enclosure, this corner of romance and + mystery, this isolated garden of dreams, savouring of the past, with its + legends, its graves, its crumbling sun dial, its fountain with its rime of + moss, was not to be resisted. Now that the priest had left him, the same + exaltation of spirit that had seized upon Vanamee earlier in the evening, + by degrees grew big again in his mind and imagination. His sorrow + assaulted him like the flagellations of a fine whiplash, and his love for + Angele rose again in his heart, it seemed to him never so deep, so tender, + so infinitely strong. No doubt, it was his familiarity with the Mission + garden, his clear-cut remembrance of it, as it was in the days when he had + met Angele there, tallying now so exactly with the reality there under his + eyes, that brought her to his imagination so vividly. As yet he dared not + trust himself near her grave, but, for the moment, he rose and, his hands + clasped behind him, walked slowly from point to point amid the tiny + gravelled walks, recalling the incidents of eighteen years ago. On the + bench he had quitted he and Angele had often sat. Here by the crumbling + sun dial, he recalled the night when he had kissed her for the first time. + Here, again, by the rim of the fountain, with its fringe of green, she + once had paused, and, baring her arm to the shoulder, had thrust it deep + into the water, and then withdrawing it, had given it to him to kiss, all + wet and cool; and here, at last, under the shadow of the pear trees they + had sat, evening after evening, looking off over the little valley below + them, watching the night build itself, dome-like, from horizon to zenith. + </p> + <p> + Brusquely Vanamee turned away from the prospect. The Seed ranch was dark + at this time of the year, and flowerless. Far off toward its centre, he + had caught a brief glimpse of the house where Angele had lived, and a + faint light burning in its window. But he turned from it sharply. The + deep-seated travail of his grief abruptly reached the paroxysm. With long + strides he crossed the garden and reentered the Mission church itself, + plunging into the coolness of its atmosphere as into a bath. What he + searched for he did not know, or, rather, did not define. He knew only + that he was suffering, that a longing for Angele, for some object around + which his great love could enfold itself, was tearing at his heart with + iron teeth. He was ready to be deluded; craved the hallucination; begged + pitifully for the illusion; anything rather than the empty, tenantless + night, the voiceless silence, the vast loneliness of the overspanning arc + of the heavens. + </p> + <p> + Before the chancel rail of the altar, under the sanctuary lamp, Vanamee + sank upon his knees, his arms folded upon the rail, his head bowed down + upon them. He prayed, with what words he could not say for what he did not + understand—for help, merely, for relief, for an Answer to his cry. + </p> + <p> + It was upon that, at length, that his disordered mind concentrated itself, + an Answer—he demanded, he implored an Answer. Not a vague visitation + of Grace, not a formless sense of Peace; but an Answer, something real, + even if the reality were fancied, a voice out of the night, responding to + his, a hand in the dark clasping his groping fingers, a breath, human, + warm, fragrant, familiar, like a soft, sweet caress on his shrunken + cheeks. Alone there in the dim half-light of the decaying Mission, with + its crumbling plaster, its naive crudity of ornament and picture, he + wrestled fiercely with his desires—words, fragments of sentences, + inarticulate, incoherent, wrenched from his tight-shut teeth. + </p> + <p> + But the Answer was not in the church. Above him, over the high altar, the + Virgin in a glory, with downcast eyes and folded hands, grew vague and + indistinct in the shadow, the colours fading, tarnished by centuries of + incense smoke. The Christ in agony on the Cross was but a lamentable + vision of tormented anatomy, grey flesh, spotted with crimson. The St. + John, the San Juan Bautista, patron saint of the Mission, the gaunt figure + in skins, two fingers upraised in the gesture of benediction, gazed + stolidly out into the half-gloom under the ceiling, ignoring the human + distress that beat itself in vain against the altar rail below, and Angele + remained as before—only a memory, far distant, intangible, lost. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee rose, turning his back upon the altar with a vague gesture of + despair. He crossed the church, and issuing from the low-arched door + opposite the pulpit, once more stepped out into the garden. Here, at + least, was reality. The warm, still air descended upon him like a cloak, + grateful, comforting, dispelling the chill that lurked in the damp mould + of plaster and crumbling adobe. + </p> + <p> + But now he found his way across the garden on the other side of the + fountain, where, ranged against the eastern wall, were nine graves. Here + Angele was buried, in the smallest grave of them all, marked by the little + headstone, with its two dates, only sixteen years apart. To this spot, at + last, he had returned, after the years spent in the desert, the wilderness—after + all the wanderings of the Long Trail. Here, if ever, he must have a sense + of her nearness. Close at hand, a short four feet under that mound of + grass, was the form he had so often held in the embrace of his arms; the + face, the very face he had kissed, that face with the hair of gold making + three-cornered the round white forehead, the violet-blue eyes, + heavy-lidded, with their strange oriental slant upward toward the temples; + the sweet full lips, almost Egyptian in their fulness—all that + strange, perplexing, wonderful beauty, so troublous, so enchanting, so out + of all accepted standards. + </p> + <p> + He bent down, dropping upon one knee, a hand upon the headstone, and read + again the inscription. Then instinctively his hand left the stone and + rested upon the low mound of turf, touching it with the softness of a + caress; and then, before he was aware of it, he was stretched at full + length upon the earth, beside the grave, his arms about the low mound, his + lips pressed against the grass with which it was covered. The pent-up + grief of nearly twenty years rose again within his heart, and overflowed, + irresistible, violent, passionate. There was no one to see, no one to + hear. Vanamee had no thought of restraint. He no longer wrestled with his + pain—strove against it. There was even a sense of relief in + permitting himself to be overcome. But the reaction from this outburst was + equally violent. His revolt against the inevitable, his protest against + the grave, shook him from head to foot, goaded him beyond all bounds of + reason, hounded him on and into the domain of hysteria, dementia. Vanamee + was no longer master of himself—no longer knew what he was doing. + </p> + <p> + At first, he had been content with merely a wild, unreasoned cry to Heaven + that Angele should be restored to him, but the vast egotism that seems to + run through all forms of disordered intelligence gave his fancy another + turn. He forgot God. He no longer reckoned with Heaven. He arrogated their + powers to himself—struggled to be, of his own unaided might, + stronger than death, more powerful than the grave. He had demanded of + Sarria that God should restore Angele to him, but now he appealed directly + to Angele herself. As he lay there, his arms clasped about her grave, she + seemed so near to him that he fancied she MUST hear. And suddenly, at this + moment, his recollection of his strange compelling power—the same + power by which he had called Presley to him half-way across the Quien Sabe + ranch, the same power which had brought Sarria to his side that very + evening—recurred to him. Concentrating his mind upon the one object + with which it had so long been filled, Vanamee, his eyes closed, his face + buried in his arms, exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Come to me—Angele—don't you hear? Come to me.” + </p> + <p> + But the Answer was not in the Grave. Below him the voiceless Earth lay + silent, moveless, withholding the secret, jealous of that which it held so + close in its grip, refusing to give up that which had been confided to its + keeping, untouched by the human anguish that above there, on its surface, + clutched with despairing hands at a grave long made. The Earth that only + that morning had been so eager, so responsive to the lightest summons, so + vibrant with Life, now at night, holding death within its embrace, + guarding inviolate the secret of the Grave, was deaf to all entreaty, + refused the Answer, and Angele remained as before, only a memory, far + distant, intangible, lost. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee lifted his head, looking about him with unseeing eyes, trembling + with the exertion of his vain effort. But he could not as yet allow + himself to despair. Never before had that curious power of attraction + failed him. He felt himself to be so strong in this respect that he was + persuaded if he exerted himself to the limit of his capacity, something—he + could not say what—must come of it. If it was only a self-delusion, + an hallucination, he told himself that he would be content. + </p> + <p> + Almost of its own accord, his distorted mind concentrated itself again, + every thought, all the power of his will riveting themselves upon Angele. + As if she were alive, he summoned her to him. His eyes, fixed upon the + name cut into the headstone, contracted, the pupils growing small, his + fists shut tight, his nerves braced rigid. + </p> + <p> + For a few seconds he stood thus, breathless, expectant, awaiting the + manifestation, the Miracle. Then, without knowing why, hardly conscious of + what was transpiring, he found that his glance was leaving the headstone, + was turning from the grave. Not only this, but his whole body was + following the direction of his eyes. Before he knew it, he was standing + with his back to Angele's grave, was facing the north, facing the line of + pear trees and the little valley where the Seed ranch lay. At first, he + thought this was because he had allowed his will to weaken, the + concentrated power of his mind to grow slack. And once more turning toward + the grave, he banded all his thoughts together in a consummate effort, his + teeth grinding together, his hands pressed to his forehead. He forced + himself to the notion that Angele was alive, and to this creature of his + imagination he addressed himself: + </p> + <p> + “Angele!” he cried in a low voice; “Angele, I am calling you—do you + hear? Come to me—come to me now, now.” + </p> + <p> + Instead of the Answer he demanded, that inexplicable counter-influence cut + across the current of his thought. Strive as he would against it, he must + veer to the north, toward the pear trees. Obeying it, he turned, and, + still wondering, took a step in that direction, then another and another. + The next moment he came abruptly to himself, in the black shadow of the + pear trees themselves, and, opening his eyes, found himself looking off + over the Seed ranch, toward the little house in the centre where Angele + had once lived. + </p> + <p> + Perplexed, he returned to the grave, once more calling upon the resources + of his will, and abruptly, so soon as these reached a certain point, the + same cross-current set in. He could no longer keep his eyes upon the + headstone, could no longer think of the grave and what it held. He must + face the north; he must be drawn toward the pear trees, and there left + standing in their shadow, looking out aimlessly over the Seed ranch, + wondering, bewildered. Farther than this the influence never drew him, but + up to this point—the line of pear trees—it was not to be + resisted. + </p> + <p> + For a time the peculiarity of the affair was of more interest to Vanamee + than even his own distress of spirit, and once or twice he repeated the + attempt, almost experimentally, and invariably with the same result: so + soon as he seemed to hold Angele in the grip of his mind, he was moved to + turn about toward the north, and hurry toward the pear trees on the crest + of the hill that over-looked the little valley. + </p> + <p> + But Vanamee's unhappiness was too keen this night for him to dwell long + upon the vagaries of his mind. Submitting at length, and abandoning the + grave, he flung himself down in the black shade of the pear trees, his + chin in his hands, and resigned himself finally and definitely to the + inrush of recollection and the exquisite grief of an infinite regret. + </p> + <p> + To his fancy, she came to him again. He put himself back many years. He + remembered the warm nights of July and August, profoundly still, the sky + encrusted with stars, the little Mission garden exhaling the mingled + perfumes that all through the scorching day had been distilled under the + steady blaze of a summer's sun. He saw himself as another person, arriving + at this, their rendezvous. All day long she had been in his mind. All day + long he had looked forward to this quiet hour that belonged to her. It was + dark. He could see nothing, but, by and by, he heard a step, a gentle + rustle of the grass on the slope of the hill pressed under an advancing + foot. Then he saw the faint gleam of pallid gold of her hair, a barely + visible glow in the starlight, and heard the murmur of her breath in the + lapse of the over-passing breeze. And then, in the midst of the gentle + perfumes of the garden, the perfumes of the magnolia flowers, of the + mignonette borders, of the crumbling walls, there expanded a new odour, or + the faint mingling of many odours, the smell of the roses that lingered in + her hair, of the lilies that exhaled from her neck, of the heliotrope that + disengaged itself from her hands and arms, and of the hyacinths with which + her little feet were redolent, And then, suddenly, it was herself—her + eyes, heavy-lidded, violet blue, full of the love of him; her sweet full + lips speaking his name; her hands clasping his hands, his shoulders, his + neck—her whole dear body giving itself into his embrace; her lips + against his; her hands holding his head, drawing his face down to hers. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee, as he remembered all this, flung out an arm with a cry of pain, + his eyes searching the gloom, all his mind in strenuous mutiny against the + triumph of Death. His glance shot swiftly out across the night, + unconsciously following the direction from which Angele used to come to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Come to me now,” he exclaimed under his breath, tense and rigid with the + vast futile effort of his will. “Come to me now, now. Don't you hear me, + Angele? You must, you must come.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Vanamee returned to himself with the abruptness of a blow. His + eyes opened. He half raised himself from the ground. Swiftly his scattered + wits readjusted themselves. Never more sane, never more himself, he rose + to his feet and stood looking off into the night across the Seed ranch. + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” he murmured, bewildered. + </p> + <p> + He looked around him from side to side, as if to get in touch with reality + once more. He looked at his hands, at the rough bark of the pear tree next + which he stood, at the streaked and rain-eroded walls of the Mission and + garden. The exaltation of his mind calmed itself; the unnatural strain + under which he laboured slackened. He became thoroughly master of himself + again, matter-of-fact, practical, keen. + </p> + <p> + But just so sure as his hands were his own, just so sure as the bark of + the pear tree was rough, the mouldering adobe of the Mission walls damp—just + so sure had Something occurred. It was vague, intangible, appealing only + to some strange, nameless sixth sense, but none the less perceptible. His + mind, his imagination, sent out from him across the night, across the + little valley below him, speeding hither and thither through the dark, + lost, confused, had suddenly paused, hovering, had found Something. It had + not returned to him empty-handed. It had come back, but now there was a + change—mysterious, illusive. There were no words for this that had + transpired. But for the moment, one thing only was certain. The night was + no longer voiceless, the dark was no longer empty. Far off there, beyond + the reach of vision, unlocalised, strange, a ripple had formed on the + still black pool of the night, had formed, flashed one instant to the + stars, then swiftly faded again. The night shut down once more. There was + no sound—nothing stirred. + </p> + <p> + For the moment, Vanamee stood transfixed, struck rigid in his place, + stupefied, his eyes staring, breathless with utter amazement. Then, step + by step, he shrank back into the deeper shadow, treading with the infinite + precaution of a prowling leopard. A qualm of something very much like fear + seized upon him. But immediately on the heels of this first impression + came the doubt of his own senses. Whatever had happened had been so + ephemeral, so faint, so intangible, that now he wondered if he had not + deceived himself, after all. But the reaction followed. Surely, there had + been Something. And from that moment began for him the most poignant + uncertainty of mind. Gradually he drew back into the garden, holding his + breath, listening to every faintest sound, walking upon tiptoe. He reached + the fountain, and wetting his hands, passed them across his forehead and + eyes. Once more he stood listening. The silence was profound. + </p> + <p> + Troubled, disturbed, Vanamee went away, passing out of the garden, + descending the hill. He forded Broderson Creek where it intersected the + road to Guadalajara, and went on across Quien Sabe, walking slowly, his + head bent down, his hands clasped behind his back, thoughtful, perplexed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + At seven o'clock, in the bedroom of his ranch house, in the white-painted + iron bedstead with its blue-grey army blankets and red counterpane, + Annixter was still asleep, his face red, his mouth open, his stiff yellow + hair in wild disorder. On the wooden chair at the bed-head, stood the + kerosene lamp, by the light of which he had been reading the previous + evening. Beside it was a paper bag of dried prunes, and the limp volume of + “Copperfield,” the place marked by a slip of paper torn from the edge of + the bag. + </p> + <p> + Annixter slept soundly, making great work of the business, unable to take + even his rest gracefully. His eyes were shut so tight that the skin at + their angles was drawn into puckers. Under his pillow, his two hands were + doubled up into fists. At intervals, he gritted his teeth ferociously, + while, from time to time, the abrupt sound of his snoring dominated the + brisk ticking of the alarm clock that hung from the brass knob of the + bed-post, within six inches of his ear. + </p> + <p> + But immediately after seven, this clock sprung its alarm with the + abruptness of an explosion, and within the second, Annixter had hurled the + bed-clothes from him and flung himself up to a sitting posture on the edge + of the bed, panting and gasping, blinking at the light, rubbing his head, + dazed and bewildered, stupefied at the hideous suddenness with which he + had been wrenched from his sleep. + </p> + <p> + His first act was to take down the alarm clock and stifle its prolonged + whirring under the pillows and blankets. But when this had been done, he + continued to sit stupidly on the edge of the bed, curling his toes away + from the cold of the floor; his half-shut eyes, heavy with sleep, fixed + and vacant, closing and opening by turns. For upwards of three minutes he + alternately dozed and woke, his head and the whole upper half of his body + sagging abruptly sideways from moment to moment. But at length, coming + more to himself, he straightened up, ran his fingers through his hair, and + with a prodigious yawn, murmured vaguely: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord! Oh-h, LORD!” + </p> + <p> + He stretched three or four times, twisting about in his place, curling and + uncurling his toes, muttering from time to time between two yawns: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” + </p> + <p> + He stared about the room, collecting his thoughts, readjusting himself for + the day's work. + </p> + <p> + The room was barren, the walls of tongue-and-groove sheathing—alternate + brown and yellow boards—like the walls of a stable, were adorned + with two or three unframed lithographs, the Christmas “souvenirs” of + weekly periodicals, fastened with great wire nails; a bunch of herbs or + flowers, lamentably withered and grey with dust, was affixed to the mirror + over the black walnut washstand by the window, and a yellowed photograph + of Annixter's combined harvester—himself and his men in a group + before it—hung close at hand. On the floor, at the bedside and + before the bureau, were two oval rag-carpet rugs. In the corners of the + room were muddy boots, a McClellan saddle, a surveyor's transit, an empty + coal-hod and a box of iron bolts and nuts. On the wall over the bed, in a + gilt frame, was Annixter's college diploma, while on the bureau, amid a + litter of hair-brushes, dirty collars, driving gloves, cigars and the + like, stood a broken machine for loading shells. + </p> + <p> + It was essentially a man's room, rugged, uncouth, virile, full of the + odours of tobacco, of leather, of rusty iron; the bare floor hollowed by + the grind of hob-nailed boots, the walls marred by the friction of heavy + things of metal. Strangely enough, Annixter's clothes were disposed of on + the single chair with the precision of an old maid. Thus he had placed + them the night before; the boots set carefully side by side, the trousers, + with the overalls still upon them, neatly folded upon the seat of the + chair, the coat hanging from its back. + </p> + <p> + The Quien Sabe ranch house was a six-room affair, all on one floor. By no + excess of charity could it have been called a home. Annixter was a wealthy + man; he could have furnished his dwelling with quite as much elegance as + that of Magnus Derrick. As it was, however, he considered his house merely + as a place to eat, to sleep, to change his clothes in; as a shelter from + the rain, an office where business was transacted—nothing more. + </p> + <p> + When he was sufficiently awake, Annixter thrust his feet into a pair of + wicker slippers, and shuffled across the office adjoining his bedroom, to + the bathroom just beyond, and stood under the icy shower a few minutes, + his teeth chattering, fulminating oaths at the coldness of the water. + Still shivering, he hurried into his clothes, and, having pushed the + button of the electric bell to announce that he was ready for breakfast, + immediately plunged into the business of the day. While he was thus + occupied, the butcher's cart from Bonneville drove into the yard with the + day's supply of meat. This cart also brought the Bonneville paper and the + mail of the previous night. In the bundle of correspondence that the + butcher handed to Annixter that morning, was a telegram from Osterman, at + that time on his second trip to Los Angeles. It read: + </p> + <p> + “Flotation of company in this district assured. Have secured services of + desirable party. Am now in position to sell you your share stock, as per + original plan.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter grunted as he tore the despatch into strips. “Well,” he muttered, + “that part is settled, then.” + </p> + <p> + He made a little pile of the torn strips on the top of the unlighted + stove, and burned them carefully, scowling down into the flicker of fire, + thoughtful and preoccupied. + </p> + <p> + He knew very well what Osterman referred to by “Flotation of company,” and + also who was the “desirable party” he spoke of. + </p> + <p> + Under protest, as he was particular to declare, and after interminable + argument, Annixter had allowed himself to be reconciled with Osterman, and + to be persuaded to reenter the proposed political “deal.” A committee had + been formed to finance the affair—Osterman, old Broderson, Annixter + himself, and, with reservations, hardly more than a looker-on, Harran + Derrick. Of this committee, Osterman was considered chairman. Magnus + Derrick had formally and definitely refused his adherence to the scheme. + He was trying to steer a middle course. His position was difficult, + anomalous. If freight rates were cut through the efforts of the members of + the committee, he could not very well avoid taking advantage of the new + schedule. He would be the gainer, though sharing neither the risk nor the + expense. But, meanwhile, the days were passing; the primary elections were + drawing nearer. The committee could not afford to wait, and by way of a + beginning, Osterman had gone to Los Angeles, fortified by a large sum of + money—a purse to which Annixter, Broderson and himself had + contributed. He had put himself in touch with Disbrow, the political man + of the Denver, Pueblo and Mojave road, and had had two interviews with + him. The telegram that Annixter received that morning was to say that + Disbrow had been bought over, and would adopt Parrell as the D., P. and M. + candidate for Railroad Commissioner from the third district. + </p> + <p> + One of the cooks brought up Annixter's breakfast that morning, and he went + through it hastily, reading his mail at the same time and glancing over + the pages of the “Mercury,” Genslinger's paper. The “Mercury,” Annixter + was persuaded, received a subsidy from the Pacific and Southwestern + Railroad, and was hardly better than the mouthpiece by which Shelgrim and + the General Office spoke to ranchers about Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + An editorial in that morning's issue said: + </p> + <p> + “It would not be surprising to the well-informed, if the long-deferred + re-grade of the value of the railroad sections included in the Los + Muertos, Quien Sabe, Osterman and Broderson properties was made before the + first of the year. Naturally, the tenants of these lands feel an interest + in the price which the railroad will put upon its holdings, and it is + rumoured they expect the land will be offered to them for two dollars and + fifty cents per acre. It needs no seventh daughter of a seventh daughter + to foresee that these gentlemen will be disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + “Rot!” vociferated Annixter to himself as he finished. He rolled the paper + into a wad and hurled it from him. + </p> + <p> + “Rot! rot! What does Genslinger know about it? I stand on my agreement + with the P. and S. W.—from two fifty to five dollars an acre—there + it is in black and white. The road IS obligated. And my improvements! I + made the land valuable by improving it, irrigating it, draining it, and + cultivating it. Talk to ME. I know better.” + </p> + <p> + The most abiding impression that Genslinger's editorial made upon him was, + that possibly the “Mercury” was not subsidised by the corporation after + all. If it was; Genslinger would not have been led into making his mistake + as to the value of the land. He would have known that the railroad was + under contract to sell at two dollars and a half an acre, and not only + this, but that when the land was put upon the market, it was to be offered + to the present holders first of all. Annixter called to mind the explicit + terms of the agreement between himself and the railroad, and dismissed the + matter from his mind. He lit a cigar, put on his hat and went out. + </p> + <p> + The morning was fine, the air nimble, brisk. On the summit of the + skeleton-like tower of the artesian well, the windmill was turning + steadily in a breeze from the southwest. The water in the irrigating ditch + was well up. There was no cloud in the sky. Far off to the east and west, + the bulwarks of the valley, the Coast Range and the foothills of the + Sierras stood out, pale amethyst against the delicate pink and white sheen + of the horizon. The sunlight was a veritable flood, crystal, limpid, + sparkling, setting a feeling of gayety in the air, stirring up an + effervescence in the blood, a tumult of exuberance in the veins. + </p> + <p> + But on his way to the barns, Annixter was obliged to pass by the open door + of the dairy-house. Hilma Tree was inside, singing at her work; her voice + of a velvety huskiness, more of the chest than of the throat, mingling + with the liquid dashing of the milk in the vats and churns, and the clear, + sonorous clinking of the cans and pans. Annixter turned into the + dairy-house, pausing on the threshold, looking about him. Hilma stood + bathed from head to foot in the torrent of sunlight that poured in upon + her from the three wide-open windows. She was charming, delicious, radiant + of youth, of health, of well-being. Into her eyes, wide open, brown, + rimmed with their fine, thin line of intense black lashes, the sun set a + diamond flash; the same golden light glowed all around her thick, moist + hair, lambent, beautiful, a sheen of almost metallic lustre, and reflected + itself upon her wet lips, moving with the words of her singing. The + whiteness of her skin under the caress of this hale, vigorous morning + light was dazzling, pure, of a fineness beyond words. Beneath the sweet + modulation of her chin, the reflected light from the burnished copper + vessel she was carrying set a vibration of pale gold. Overlaying the flush + of rose in her cheeks, seen only when she stood against the sunlight, was + a faint sheen of down, a lustrous floss, delicate as the pollen of a + flower, or the impalpable powder of a moth's wing. She was moving to and + fro about her work, alert, joyous, robust; and from all the fine, full + amplitude of her figure, from her thick white neck, sloping downward to + her shoulders, from the deep, feminine swell of her breast, the vigorous + maturity of her hips, there was disengaged a vibrant note of gayety, of + exuberant animal life, sane, honest, strong. She wore a skirt of plain + blue calico and a shirtwaist of pink linen, clean, trim; while her sleeves + turned back to her shoulders, showed her large, white arms, wet with milk, + redolent and fragrant with milk, glowing and resplendent in the early + morning light. + </p> + <p> + On the threshold, Annixter took off his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Miss Hilma.” + </p> + <p> + Hilma, who had set down the copper can on top of the vat, turned about + quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, GOOD morning, sir;” and, unconsciously, she made a little gesture of + salutation with her hand, raising it part way toward her head, as a man + would have done. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” began Annixter vaguely, “how are you getting along down here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very fine. To-day, there is not so much to do. We drew the whey hours + ago, and now we are just done putting the curd to press. I have been + cleaning. See my pans. Wouldn't they do for mirrors, sir? And the copper + things. I have scrubbed and scrubbed. Oh, you can look into the tiniest + corners, everywhere, you won't find so much as the littlest speck of dirt + or grease. I love CLEAN things, and this room is my own particular place. + Here I can do just as I please, and that is, to keep the cement floor, and + the vats, and the churns and the separators, and especially the cans and + coppers, clean; clean, and to see that the milk is pure, oh, so that a + little baby could drink it; and to have the air always sweet, and the sun—oh, + lots and lots of sun, morning, noon and afternoon, so that everything + shines. You know, I never see the sun set that it don't make me a little + sad; yes, always, just a little. Isn't it funny? I should want it to be + day all the time. And when the day is gloomy and dark, I am just as sad as + if a very good friend of mine had left me. Would you believe it? Just + until within a few years, when I was a big girl, sixteen and over, mamma + had to sit by my bed every night before I could go to sleep. I was afraid + in the dark. Sometimes I am now. Just imagine, and now I am nineteen—a + young lady.” + </p> + <p> + “You were, hey?” observed Annixter, for the sake of saying something. + “Afraid in the dark? What of—ghosts?” + </p> + <p> + “N-no; I don't know what. I wanted the light, I wanted——” She + drew a deep breath, turning towards the window and spreading her pink + finger-tips to the light. “Oh, the SUN. I love the sun. See, put your hand + there—here on the top of the vat—like that. Isn't it warm? + Isn't it fine? And don't you love to see it coming in like that through + the windows, floods of it; and all the little dust in it shining? Where + there is lots of sunlight, I think the people must be very good. It's only + wicked people that love the dark. And the wicked things are always done + and planned in the dark, I think. Perhaps, too, that's why I hate things + that are mysterious—things that I can't see, that happen in the + dark.” She wrinkled her nose with a little expression of aversion. “I hate + a mystery. Maybe that's why I am afraid in the dark—or was. I + shouldn't like to think that anything could happen around me that I + couldn't see or understand or explain.” + </p> + <p> + She ran on from subject to subject, positively garrulous, talking in her + low-pitched voice of velvety huskiness for the mere enjoyment of putting + her ideas into speech, innocently assuming that they were quite as + interesting to others as to herself. She was yet a great child, ignoring + the fact that she had ever grown up, taking a child's interest in her + immediate surroundings, direct, straightforward, plain. While speaking, + she continued about her work, rinsing out the cans with a mixture of hot + water and soda, scouring them bright, and piling them in the sunlight on + top of the vat. + </p> + <p> + Obliquely, and from between his narrowed lids, Annixter scrutinised her + from time to time, more and more won over by her adorable freshness, her + clean, fine youth. The clumsiness that he usually experienced in the + presence of women was wearing off. Hilma Tree's direct simplicity put him + at his ease. He began to wonder if he dared to kiss Hilma, and if he did + dare, how she would take it. A spark of suspicion flickered up in his + mind. Did not her manner imply, vaguely, an invitation? One never could + tell with feemales. That was why she was talking so much, no doubt, + holding him there, affording the opportunity. Aha! She had best look out, + or he would take her at her word. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I had forgotten,” suddenly exclaimed Hilma, “the very thing I wanted + to show you—the new press. You remember I asked for one last month? + This is it. See, this is how it works. Here is where the curds go; look. + And this cover is screwed down like this, and then you work the lever this + way.” She grasped the lever in both hands, throwing her weight upon it, + her smooth, bare arm swelling round and firm with the effort, one slim + foot, in its low shoe set off with the bright, steel buckle, braced + against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “My, but that takes strength,” she panted, looking up at him and smiling. + “But isn't it a fine press? Just what we needed.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” Annixter cleared his throat, “and where do you keep the cheeses and + the butter?” He thought it very likely that these were in the cellar of + the dairy. + </p> + <p> + “In the cellar,” answered Hilma. “Down here, see?” She raised the flap of + the cellar door at the end of the room. “Would you like to see? Come down; + I'll show you.” + </p> + <p> + She went before him down into the cool obscurity underneath, redolent of + new cheese and fresh butter. Annixter followed, a certain excitement + beginning to gain upon him. He was almost sure now that Hilma wanted him + to kiss her. At all events, one could but try. But, as yet, he was not + absolutely sure. Suppose he had been mistaken in her; suppose she should + consider herself insulted and freeze him with an icy stare. Annixter + winced at the very thought of it. Better let the whole business go, and + get to work. He was wasting half the morning. Yet, if she DID want to give + him the opportunity of kissing her, and he failed to take advantage of it, + what a ninny she would think him; she would despise him for being afraid. + He afraid! He, Annixter, afraid of a fool, feemale girl. Why, he owed it + to himself as a man to go as far as he could. He told himself that that + goat Osterman would have kissed Hilma Tree weeks ago. To test his state of + mind, he imagined himself as having decided to kiss her, after all, and at + once was surprised to experience a poignant qualm of excitement, his heart + beating heavily, his breath coming short. At the same time, his courage + remained with him. He was not afraid to try. He felt a greater respect for + himself because of this. His self-assurance hardened within him, and as + Hilma turned to him, asking him to taste a cut from one of the ripe + cheeses, he suddenly stepped close to her, throwing an arm about her + shoulders, advancing his head. + </p> + <p> + But at the last second, he bungled, hesitated; Hilma shrank from him, + supple as a young reed; Annixter clutched harshly at her arm, and trod his + full weight upon one of her slender feet, his cheek and chin barely + touching the delicate pink lobe of one of her ears, his lips brushing + merely a fold of her shirt waist between neck and shoulder. The thing was + a failure, and at once he realised that nothing had been further from + Hilma's mind than the idea of his kissing her. + </p> + <p> + She started back from him abruptly, her hands nervously clasped against + her breast, drawing in her breath sharply and holding it with a little, + tremulous catch of the throat that sent a quivering vibration the length + of her smooth, white neck. Her eyes opened wide with a childlike look, + more of astonishment than anger. She was surprised, out of all measure, + discountenanced, taken all aback, and when she found her breath, gave + voice to a great “Oh” of dismay and distress. + </p> + <p> + For an instant, Annixter stood awkwardly in his place, ridiculous, clumsy, + murmuring over and over again: + </p> + <p> + “Well—well—that's all right—who's going to hurt you? You + needn't be afraid—who's going to hurt you—that's all right.” + </p> + <p> + Then, suddenly, with a quick, indefinite gesture of one arm, he exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, I—I'm sorry.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away, striding up the stairs, crossing the dairy-room, and + regained the open air, raging and furious. He turned toward the barns, + clapping his hat upon his head, muttering the while under his breath: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you goat! You beastly fool PIP. Good LORD, what an ass you've made of + yourself now!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he resolved to put Hilma Tree out of his thoughts. The matter was + interfering with his work. This kind of thing was sure not earning any + money. He shook himself as though freeing his shoulders of an irksome + burden, and turned his entire attention to the work nearest at hand. + </p> + <p> + The prolonged rattle of the shinglers' hammers upon the roof of the big + barn attracted him, and, crossing over between the ranch house and the + artesian well, he stood for some time absorbed in the contemplation of the + vast building, amused and interested with the confusion of sounds—the + clatter of hammers, the cadenced scrape of saws, and the rhythmic shuffle + of planes—that issued from the gang of carpenters who were at that + moment putting the finishing touches upon the roof and rows of stalls. A + boy and two men were busy hanging the great sliding door at the south end, + while the painters—come down from Bonneville early that morning—were + engaged in adjusting the spray and force engine, by means of which + Annixter had insisted upon painting the vast surfaces of the barn, + condemning the use of brushes and pots for such work as old-fashioned and + out-of-date. + </p> + <p> + He called to one of the foremen, to ask when the barn would be entirely + finished, and was told that at the end of the week the hay and stock could + be installed. + </p> + <p> + “And a precious long time you've been at it, too,” Annixter declared. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know the rain——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rot the rain! I work in the rain. You and your unions make me sick.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Mr. Annixter, we couldn't have begun painting in the rain. The job + would have been spoiled.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoh, yes, spoiled. That's all very well. Maybe it would, and then, again, + maybe it wouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + But when the foreman had left him, Annixter could not forbear a growl of + satisfaction. It could not be denied that the barn was superb, monumental + even. Almost any one of the other barns in the county could be swung, + bird-cage fashion, inside of it, with room to spare. In every sense, the + barn was precisely what Annixter had hoped of it. In his pleasure over the + success of his idea, even Hilma for the moment was forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “And, now,” murmured Annixter, “I'll give that dance in it. I'll make 'em + sit up.” + </p> + <p> + It occurred to him that he had better set about sending out the + invitations for the affair. He was puzzled to decide just how the thing + should be managed, and resolved that it might be as well to consult Magnus + and Mrs. Derrick. + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk of this telegram of the goat's with Magnus, anyhow,” he + said to himself reflectively, “and there's things I got to do in + Bonneville before the first of the month.” + </p> + <p> + He turned about on his heel with a last look at the barn, and set off + toward the stable. He had decided to have his horse saddled and ride over + to Bonneville by way of Los Muertos. He would make a day of it, would see + Magnus, Harran, old Broderson and some of the business men of Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + A few moments later, he rode out of the barn and the stable-yard, a fresh + cigar between his teeth, his hat slanted over his face against the rays of + the sun, as yet low in the east. He crossed the irrigating ditch and + gained the trail—the short cut over into Los Muertos, by way of + Hooven's. It led south and west into the low ground overgrown by + grey-green willows by Broderson Creek, at this time of the rainy season a + stream of considerable volume, farther on dipping sharply to pass + underneath the Long Trestle of the railroad. On the other side of the + right of way, Annixter was obliged to open the gate in Derrick's line + fence. He managed this without dismounting, swearing at the horse the + while, and spurring him continually. But once inside the gate he cantered + forward briskly. + </p> + <p> + This part of Los Muertos was Hooven's holding, some five hundred acres + enclosed between the irrigating ditch and Broderson Creek, and half the + way across, Annixter came up with Hooven himself, busily at work replacing + a broken washer in his seeder. Upon one of the horses hitched to the + machine, her hands gripped tightly upon the harness of the collar, Hilda, + his little daughter, with her small, hob-nailed boots and boy's canvas + overalls, sat, exalted and petrified with ecstasy and excitement, her eyes + wide opened, her hair in a tangle. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Bismarck,” said Annixter, drawing up beside him. “What are YOU + doing here? I thought the Governor was going to manage without his tenants + this year.” + </p> + <p> + “Ach, Meest'r Ennixter,” cried the other, straightening up. “Ach, dat's + you, eh? Ach, you bedt he doand menege mitout me. Me, I gotta stay. I talk + der straighd talk mit der Governor. I fix 'em. Ach, you bedt. Sieben yahr + I hef bei der rench ge-stopped; yais, sir. Efery oder sohn-of-a-guhn bei + der plaice ged der sach bud me. Eh? Wat you tink von dose ting?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that's a crazy-looking monkey-wrench you've got there,” observed + Annixter, glancing at the instrument in Hooven's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ach, dot wrainch,” returned Hooven. “Soh! Wail, I tell you dose ting now + whair I got 'em. Say, you see dot wrainch. Dat's not Emericen wrainch at + alle. I got 'em at Gravelotte der day we licked der stuffun oudt der + Frainch, ach, you bedt. Me, I pelong to der Wurtemberg redgimend, dot dey + use to suppord der batterie von der Brince von Hohenlohe. Alle der day we + lay down bei der stomach in der feildt behindt der batterie, und der + schells von der Frainch cennon hef eggsblode—ach, donnerwetter!—I + tink efery schell eggsblode bei der beckside my neck. Und dat go on der + whole day, noddun else, noddun aber der Frainch schell, b-r-r, b-r-r + b-r-r, b-r-AM, und der smoag, und unzer batterie, dat go off slow, steady, + yoost like der glock, eins, zwei, boom! eins, zwei, boom! yoost like der + glock, ofer und ofer again, alle der day. Den vhen der night come dey say + we hev der great victorie made. I doand know. Vhat do I see von der + bettle? Noddun. Den we gedt oop und maerch und maerch alle night, und in + der morgen we hear dose cennon egain, hell oaf der way, far-off, I doand + know vhair. Budt, nef'r mindt. Bretty qnick, ach, Gott—” his face + flamed scarlet, “Ach, du lieber Gott! Bretty zoon, dere wass der Kaiser, + glose bei, und Fritz, Unzer Fritz. Bei Gott, den I go grazy, und yell, + ach, you bedt, der whole redgimend: 'Hoch der Kaiser! Hoch der Vaterland!' + Und der dears come to der eyes, I doand know because vhy, und der mens gry + und shaike der hend, und der whole redgimend maerch off like dat, fairy + broudt, bei Gott, der head oop high, und sing 'Die Wacht am Rhein.' Dot + wass Gravelotte.” + </p> + <p> + “And the monkey-wrench?” + </p> + <p> + “Ach, I pick 'um oop vhen der batterie go. Der cennoniers hef forgedt und + leaf 'um. I carry 'um in der sack. I tink I use 'um vhen I gedt home in + der business. I was maker von vagons in Carlsruhe, und I nef'r gedt home + again. Vhen der war hef godt over, I go beck to Ulm und gedt marriet, und + den I gedt demn sick von der armie. Vhen I gedt der release, I clair oudt, + you bedt. I come to Emerica. First, New Yor-ruk; den Milwaukee; den + Sbringfieldt-Illinoy; den Galifornie, und heir I stay.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Fatherland? Ever want to go back?” + </p> + <p> + “Wail, I tell you dose ting, Meest'r Ennixter. Alle-ways, I tink a lot oaf + Shairmany, und der Kaiser, und nef'r I forgedt Gravelotte. Budt, say, I + tell you dose ting. Vhair der wife is, und der kinder—der leedle + girl Hilda—DERE IS DER VATERLAND. Eh? Emerica, dat's my gountry now, + und dere,” he pointed behind him to the house under the mammoth oak tree + on the Lower Road, “dat's my home. Dat's goot enough Vaterland for me.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter gathered up the reins, about to go on. + </p> + <p> + “So you like America, do you, Bismarck?” he said. “Who do you vote for?” + </p> + <p> + “Emerica? I doand know,” returned the other, insistently. “Dat's my home + yonder. Dat's my Vaterland. Alle von we Shairmens yoost like dot. + Shairmany, dot's hell oaf some fine plaice, sure. Budt der Vaterland iss + vhair der home und der wife und kinder iss. Eh? Yes? Voad? Ach, no. Me, I + nef'r voad. I doand bodder der haid mit dose ting. I maig der wheat grow, + und ged der braid fur der wife und Hilda, dot's all. Dot's me; dot's + Bismarck.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” commented Annixter, moving off. + </p> + <p> + Hooven, the washer replaced, turned to his work again, starting up the + horses. The seeder advanced, whirring. + </p> + <p> + “Ach, Hilda, leedle girl,” he cried, “hold tight bei der shdrap on. Hey + MULE! Hoop! Gedt oop, you.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter cantered on. In a few moments, he had crossed Broderson Creek and + had entered upon the Home ranch of Los Muertos. Ahead of him, but so far + off that the greater portion of its bulk was below the horizon, he could + see the Derricks' home, a roof or two between the dull green of cypress + and eucalyptus. Nothing else was in sight. The brown earth, smooth, + unbroken, was as a limitless, mud-coloured ocean. The silence was + profound. + </p> + <p> + Then, at length, Annixter's searching eye made out a blur on the horizon + to the northward; the blur concentrated itself to a speck; the speck grew + by steady degrees to a spot, slowly moving, a note of dull colour, barely + darker than the land, but an inky black silhouette as it topped a low rise + of ground and stood for a moment outlined against the pale blue of the + sky. Annixter turned his horse from the road and rode across the ranch + land to meet this new object of interest. As the spot grew larger, it + resolved itself into constituents, a collection of units; its shape grew + irregular, fragmentary. A disintegrated, nebulous confusion advanced + toward Annixter, preceded, as he discovered on nearer approach, by a + medley of faint sounds. Now it was no longer a spot, but a column, a + column that moved, accompanied by spots. As Annixter lessened the + distance, these spots resolved themselves into buggies or men on horseback + that kept pace with the advancing column. There were horses in the column + itself. At first glance, it appeared as if there were nothing else, a + riderless squadron tramping steadily over the upturned plough land of the + ranch. But it drew nearer. The horses were in lines, six abreast, + harnessed to machines. The noise increased, defined itself. There was a + shout or two; occasionally a horse blew through his nostrils with a + prolonged, vibrating snort. The click and clink of metal work was + incessant, the machines throwing off a continual rattle of wheels and cogs + and clashing springs. The column approached nearer; was close at hand. The + noises mingled to a subdued uproar, a bewildering confusion; the impact of + innumerable hoofs was a veritable rumble. Machine after machine appeared; + and Annixter, drawing to one side, remained for nearly ten minutes + watching and interested, while, like an array of chariots—clattering, + jostling, creaking, clashing, an interminable procession, machine + succeeding machine, six-horse team succeeding six-horse team—bustling, + hurried—Magnus Derrick's thirty-three grain drills, each with its + eight hoes, went clamouring past, like an advance of military, seeding the + ten thousand acres of the great ranch; fecundating the living soil; + implanting deep in the dark womb of the Earth the germ of life, the + sustenance of a whole world, the food of an entire People. + </p> + <p> + When the drills had passed, Annixter turned and rode back to the Lower + Road, over the land now thick with seed. He did not wonder that the + seeding on Los Muertos seemed to be hastily conducted. Magnus and Harran + Derrick had not yet been able to make up the time lost at the beginning of + the season, when they had waited so long for the ploughs to arrive. They + had been behindhand all the time. On Annixter's ranch, the land had not + only been harrowed, as well as seeded, but in some cases, cross-harrowed + as well. The labour of putting in the vast crop was over. Now there was + nothing to do but wait, while the seed silently germinated; nothing to do + but watch for the wheat to come up. + </p> + <p> + When Annixter reached the ranch house of Los Muertos, under the shade of + the cypress and eucalyptus trees, he found Mrs. Derrick on the porch, + seated in a long wicker chair. She had been washing her hair, and the + light brown locks that yet retained so much of their brightness, were + carefully spread in the sun over the back of her chair. Annixter could not + but remark that, spite of her more than fifty years, Annie Derrick was yet + rather pretty. Her eyes were still those of a young girl, just touched + with an uncertain expression of innocence and inquiry, but as her glance + fell upon him, he found that that expression changed to one of uneasiness, + of distrust, almost of aversion. + </p> + <p> + The night before this, after Magnus and his wife had gone to bed, they had + lain awake for hours, staring up into the dark, talking, talking. Magnus + had not long been able to keep from his wife the news of the coalition + that was forming against the railroad, nor the fact that this coalition + was determined to gain its ends by any means at its command. He had told + her of Osterman's scheme of a fraudulent election to seat a Board of + Railroad Commissioners, who should be nominees of the farming interests. + Magnus and his wife had talked this matter over and over again; and the + same discussion, begun immediately after supper the evening before, had + lasted till far into the night. + </p> + <p> + At once, Annie Derrick had been seized with a sudden terror lest Magnus, + after all, should allow himself to be persuaded; should yield to the + pressure that was every day growing stronger. None better than she knew + the iron integrity of her husband's character. None better than she + remembered how his dearest ambition, that of political preferment, had + been thwarted by his refusal to truckle, to connive, to compromise with + his ideas of right. Now, at last, there seemed to be a change. Long + continued oppression, petty tyranny, injustice and extortion had driven + him to exasperation. S. Behrman's insults still rankled. He seemed nearly + ready to countenance Osterman's scheme. The very fact that he was willing + to talk of it to her so often and at such great length, was proof positive + that it occupied his mind. The pity of it, the tragedy of it! He, Magnus, + the “Governor,” who had been so staunch, so rigidly upright, so loyal to + his convictions, so bitter in his denunciation of the New Politics, so + scathing in his attacks on bribery and corruption in high places; was it + possible that now, at last, he could be brought to withhold his + condemnation of the devious intrigues of the unscrupulous, going on there + under his very eyes? That Magnus should not command Harran to refrain from + all intercourse with the conspirators, had been a matter of vast surprise + to Mrs. Derrick. Time was when Magnus would have forbidden his son to so + much as recognise a dishonourable man. + </p> + <p> + But besides all this, Derrick's wife trembled at the thought of her + husband and son engaging in so desperate a grapple with the railroad—that + great monster, iron-hearted, relentless, infinitely powerful. Always it + had issued triumphant from the fight; always S. Behrman, the Corporation's + champion, remained upon the field as victor, placid, unperturbed, + unassailable. But now a more terrible struggle than any hitherto loomed + menacing over the rim of the future; money was to be spent like water; + personal reputations were to be hazarded in the issue; failure meant ruin + in all directions, financial ruin, moral ruin, ruin of prestige, ruin of + character. Success, to her mind, was almost impossible. Annie Derrick + feared the railroad. At night, when everything else was still, the distant + roar of passing trains echoed across Los Muertos, from Guadalajara, from + Bonneville, or from the Long Trestle, straight into her heart. At such + moments she saw very plainly the galloping terror of steam and steel, with + its single eye, cyclopean, red, shooting from horizon to horizon, symbol + of a vast power, huge and terrible; the leviathan with tentacles of steel, + to oppose which meant to be ground to instant destruction beneath the + clashing wheels. No, it was better to submit, to resign oneself to the + inevitable. She obliterated herself, shrinking from the harshness of the + world, striving, with vain hands, to draw her husband back with her. + </p> + <p> + Just before Annixter's arrival, she had been sitting, thoughtful, in her + long chair, an open volume of poems turned down upon her lap, her glance + losing itself in the immensity of Los Muertos that, from the edge of the + lawn close by, unrolled itself, gigantic, toward the far, southern + horizon, wrinkled and serrated after the season's ploughing. The earth, + hitherto grey with dust, was now upturned and brown. As far as the eye + could reach, it was empty of all life, bare, mournful, absolutely still; + and, as she looked, there seemed to her morbid imagination—diseased + and disturbed with long brooding, sick with the monotony of repeated + sensation—to be disengaged from all this immensity, a sense of a + vast oppression, formless, disquieting. The terror of sheer bigness grew + slowly in her mind; loneliness beyond words gradually enveloped her. She + was lost in all these limitless reaches of space. Had she been abandoned + in mid-ocean, in an open boat, her terror could hardly have been greater. + She felt vividly that certain uncongeniality which, when all is said, + forever remains between humanity and the earth which supports it. She + recognised the colossal indifference of nature, not hostile, even kindly + and friendly, so long as the human ant-swarm was submissive, working with + it, hurrying along at its side in the mysterious march of the centuries. + Let, however, the insect rebel, strive to make head against the power of + this nature, and at once it became relentless, a gigantic engine, a vast + power, huge, terrible; a leviathan with a heart of steel, knowing no + compunction, no forgiveness, no tolerance; crushing out the human atom + with sound less calm, the agony of destruction sending never a jar, never + the faintest tremour through all that prodigious mechanism of wheels and + cogs. + </p> + <p> + Such thoughts as these did not take shape distinctly in her mind. She + could not have told herself exactly what it was that disquieted her. She + only received the vague sensation of these things, as it were a breath of + wind upon her face, confused, troublous, an indefinite sense of hostility + in the air. + </p> + <p> + The sound of hoofs grinding upon the gravel of the driveway brought her to + herself again, and, withdrawing her gaze from the empty plain of Los + Muertos, she saw young Annixter stopping his horse by the carriage steps. + But the sight of him only diverted her mind to the other trouble. She + could not but regard him with aversion. He was one of the conspirators, + was one of the leaders in the battle that impended; no doubt, he had come + to make a fresh attempt to win over Magnus to the unholy alliance. + </p> + <p> + However, there was little trace of enmity in her greeting. Her hair was + still spread, like a broad patch of back, and she made that her excuse for + not getting up. In answer to Annixter's embarrassed inquiry after Magnus, + she sent the Chinese cook to call him from the office; and Annixter, after + tying his horse to the ring driven into the trunk of one of the eucalyptus + trees, came up to the porch, and, taking off his hat, sat down upon the + steps. + </p> + <p> + “Is Harran anywhere about?” he asked. “I'd like to see Harran, too.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Derrick, “Harran went to Bonneville early this morning.” + </p> + <p> + She glanced toward Annixter nervously, without turning her head, lest she + should disturb her outspread hair. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you want to see Mr. Derrick about?” she inquired hastily. “Is + it about this plan to elect a Railroad Commission? Magnus does not approve + of it,” she declared with energy. “He told me so last night.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter moved about awkwardly where he sat, smoothing down with his hand + the one stiff lock of yellow hair that persistently stood up from his + crown like an Indian's scalp-lock. At once his suspicions were all + aroused. Ah! this feemale woman was trying to get a hold on him, trying to + involve him in a petticoat mess, trying to cajole him. Upon the instant, + he became very crafty; an excess of prudence promptly congealed his + natural impulses. In an actual spasm of caution, he scarcely trusted + himself to speak, terrified lest he should commit himself to something. He + glanced about apprehensively, praying that Magnus might join them + speedily, relieving the tension. + </p> + <p> + “I came to see about giving a dance in my new barn,” he answered, scowling + into the depths of his hat, as though reading from notes he had concealed + there. “I wanted to ask how I should send out the invites. I thought of + just putting an ad. in the 'Mercury.'” + </p> + <p> + But as he spoke, Presley had come up behind Annixter in time to get the + drift of the conversation, and now observed: + </p> + <p> + “That's nonsense, Buck. You're not giving a public ball. You MUST send out + invitations.” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Presley, you there?” exclaimed Annixter, turning round. The two + shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “Send out invitations?” repeated Annixter uneasily. “Why must I?” + </p> + <p> + “Because that's the only way to do.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, is it?” answered Annixter, perplexed and troubled. No other man of + his acquaintance could have so contradicted Annixter without provoking a + quarrel upon the instant. Why the young rancher, irascible, obstinate, + belligerent, should invariably defer to the poet, was an inconsistency + never to be explained. It was with great surprise that Mrs. Derrick heard + him continue: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose you know what you're talking about, Pres. Must have + written invites, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Typewritten?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what an ass you are, Buck,” observed Presley calmly. “Before you get + through with it, you will probably insult three-fourths of the people you + intend to invite, and have about a hundred quarrels on your hands, and a + lawsuit or two.” + </p> + <p> + However, before Annixter could reply, Magnus came out on the porch, erect, + grave, freshly shaven. Without realising what he was doing, Annixter + instinctively rose to his feet. It was as though Magnus was a + commander-in-chief of an unseen army, and he a subaltern. There was some + little conversation as to the proposed dance, and then Annixter found an + excuse for drawing the Governor aside. Mrs. Derrick watched the two with + eyes full of poignant anxiety, as they slowly paced the length of the + gravel driveway to the road gate, and stood there, leaning upon it, + talking earnestly; Magnus tall, thin-lipped, impassive, one hand in the + breast of his frock coat, his head bare, his keen, blue eyes fixed upon + Annixter's face. Annixter came at once to the main point. + </p> + <p> + “I got a wire from Osterman this morning, Governor, and, well—we've + got Disbrow. That means that the Denver, Pueblo and Mojave is back of us. + There's half the fight won, first off.” + </p> + <p> + “Osterman bribed him, I suppose,” observed Magnus. + </p> + <p> + Annixter raised a shoulder vexatiously. + </p> + <p> + “You've got to pay for what you get,” he returned. “You don't get + something for nothing, I guess. Governor,” he went on, “I don't see how + you can stay out of this business much longer. You see how it will be. + We're going to win, and I don't see how you can feel that it's right of + you to let us do all the work and stand all the expense. There's never + been a movement of any importance that went on around you that you weren't + the leader in it. All Tulare County, all the San Joaquin, for that matter, + knows you. They want a leader, and they are looking to you. I know how you + feel about politics nowadays. But, Governor, standards have changed since + your time; everybody plays the game now as we are playing it—the + most honourable men. You can't play it any other way, and, pshaw! if the + right wins out in the end, that's the main thing. We want you in this + thing, and we want you bad. You've been chewing on this affair now a long + time. Have you made up your mind? Do you come in? I tell you what, you've + got to look at these things in a large way. You've got to judge by + results. Well, now, what do you think? Do you come in?” + </p> + <p> + Magnus's glance left Annixter's face, and for an instant sought the + ground. His frown lowered, but now it was in perplexity, rather than in + anger. His mind was troubled, harassed with a thousand dissensions. + </p> + <p> + But one of Magnus's strongest instincts, one of his keenest desires, was + to be, if only for a short time, the master. To control men had ever been + his ambition; submission of any kind, his greatest horror. His energy + stirred within him, goaded by the lash of his anger, his sense of + indignity, of insult. Oh for one moment to be able to strike back, to + crush his enemy, to defeat the railroad, hold the Corporation in the grip + of his fist, put down S. Behrman, rehabilitate himself, regain his + self-respect. To be once more powerful, to command, to dominate. His thin + lips pressed themselves together; the nostrils of his prominent hawk-like + nose dilated, his erect, commanding figure stiffened unconsciously. For a + moment, he saw himself controlling the situation, the foremost figure in + his State, feared, respected, thousands of men beneath him, his ambition + at length gratified; his career, once apparently brought to naught, + completed; success a palpable achievement. What if this were his chance, + after all, come at last after all these years. His chance! The instincts + of the old-time gambler, the most redoubtable poker player of El Dorado + County, stirred at the word. Chance! To know it when it came, to recognise + it as it passed fleet as a wind-flurry, grip at it, catch at it, blind, + reckless, staking all upon the hazard of the issue, that was genius. Was + this his Chance? All of a sudden, it seemed to him that it was. But his + honour! His cherished, lifelong integrity, the unstained purity of his + principles? At this late date, were they to be sacrificed? Could he now go + counter to all the firm built fabric of his character? How, afterward, + could he bear to look Harran and Lyman in the face? And, yet—and, + yet—back swung the pendulum—to neglect his Chance meant + failure; a life begun in promise, and ended in obscurity, perhaps in + financial ruin, poverty even. To seize it meant achievement, fame, + influence, prestige, possibly great wealth. + </p> + <p> + “I am so sorry to interrupt,” said Mrs. Derrick, as she came up. “I hope + Mr. Annixter will excuse me, but I want Magnus to open the safe for me. I + have lost the combination, and I must have some money. Phelps is going + into town, and I want him to pay some bills for me. Can't you come right + away, Magnus? Phelps is ready and waiting.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter struck his heel into the ground with a suppressed oath. Always + these fool feemale women came between him and his plans, mixing themselves + up in his affairs. Magnus had been on the very point of saying something, + perhaps committing himself to some course of action, and, at precisely the + wrong moment, his wife had cut in. The opportunity was lost. The three + returned toward the ranch house; but before saying good-bye, Annixter had + secured from Magnus a promise to the effect that, before coming to a + definite decision in the matter under discussion, he would talk further + with him. + </p> + <p> + Presley met him at the porch. He was going into town with Phelps, and + proposed to Annixter that he should accompany them. + </p> + <p> + “I want to go over and see old Broderson,” Annixter objected. + </p> + <p> + But Presley informed him that Broderson had gone to Bonneville earlier in + the morning. He had seen him go past in his buckboard. The three men set + off, Phelps and Annixter on horseback, Presley on his bicycle. + </p> + <p> + When they had gone, Mrs. Derrick sought out her husband in the office of + the ranch house. She was at her prettiest that morning, her cheeks flushed + with excitement, her innocent, wide-open eyes almost girlish. She had + fastened her hair, still moist, with a black ribbon tied at the back of + her head, and the soft mass of light brown reached to below her waist, + making her look very young. + </p> + <p> + “What was it he was saying to you just now,” she exclaimed, as she came + through the gate in the green-painted wire railing of the office. “What + was Mr. Annixter saying? I know. He was trying to get you to join him, + trying to persuade you to be dishonest, wasn't that it? Tell me, Magnus, + wasn't that it?” + </p> + <p> + Magnus nodded. + </p> + <p> + His wife drew close to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “But you won't, will you? You won't listen to him again; you won't so much + as allow him—anybody—to even suppose you would lend yourself + to bribery? Oh, Magnus, I don't know what has come over you these last few + weeks. Why, before this, you would have been insulted if any one thought + you would even consider anything like dishonesty. Magnus, it would break + my heart if you joined Mr. Annixter and Mr. Osterman. Why, you couldn't be + the same man to me afterward; you, who have kept yourself so clean till + now. And the boys; what would Lyman say, and Harran, and every one who + knows you and respects you, if you lowered yourself to be just a political + adventurer!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment, Derrick leaned his head upon his hand, avoiding her gaze. At + length, he said, drawing a deep breath: “I am troubled, Annie. These are + the evil days. I have much upon my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Evil days or not,” she insisted, “promise me this one thing, that you + will not join Mr. Annixter's scheme.” She had taken his hand in both of + hers and was looking into his face, her pretty eyes full of pleading. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me,” she repeated; “give me your word. Whatever happens, let me + always be able to be proud of you, as I always have been. Give me your + word. I know you never seriously thought of joining Mr. Annixter, but I am + so nervous and frightened sometimes. Just to relieve my mind, Magnus, give + me your word.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—you are right,” he answered. “No, I never thought seriously of + it. Only for a moment, I was ambitious to be—I don't know what—what + I had hoped to be once—well, that is over now. Annie, your husband + is a disappointed man.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your word,” she insisted. “We can talk about other things + afterward.” + </p> + <p> + Again Magnus wavered, about to yield to his better instincts and to the + entreaties of his wife. He began to see how perilously far he had gone in + this business. He was drifting closer to it every hour. Already he was + entangled, already his foot was caught in the mesh that was being spun. + Sharply he recoiled. Again all his instincts of honesty revolted. No, + whatever happened, he would preserve his integrity. His wife was right. + Always she had influenced his better side. At that moment, Magnus's + repugnance of the proposed political campaign was at its pitch of + intensity. He wondered how he had ever allowed himself to so much as + entertain the idea of joining with the others. Now, he would wrench free, + would, in a single instant of power, clear himself of all compromising + relations. He turned to his wife. Upon his lips trembled the promise she + implored. But suddenly there came to his mind the recollection of his + new-made pledge to Annixter. He had given his word that before arriving at + a decision he would have a last interview with him. To Magnus, his given + word was sacred. Though now he wanted to, he could not as yet draw back, + could not promise his wife that he would decide to do right. The matter + must be delayed a few days longer. + </p> + <p> + Lamely, he explained this to her. Annie Derrick made but little response + when he had done. She kissed his forehead and went out of the room, + uneasy, depressed, her mind thronging with vague fears, leaving Magnus + before his office desk, his head in his hands, thoughtful, gloomy, + assaulted by forebodings. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Annixter, Phelps, and Presley continued on their way toward + Bonneville. In a short time they had turned into the County Road by the + great watering-tank, and proceeded onward in the shade of the interminable + line of poplar trees, the wind-break that stretched along the roadside + bordering the Broderson ranch. But as they drew near to Caraher's saloon + and grocery, about half a mile outside of Bonneville, they recognised + Harran's horse tied to the railing in front of it. Annixter left the + others and went in to see Harran. + </p> + <p> + “Harran,” he said, when the two had sat down on either side of one of the + small tables, “you've got to make up your mind one way or another pretty + soon. What are you going to do? Are you going to stand by and see the rest + of the Committee spending money by the bucketful in this thing and keep + your hands in your pockets? If we win, you'll benefit just as much as the + rest of us. I suppose you've got some money of your own—you have, + haven't you? You are your father's manager, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + Disconcerted at Annixter's directness, Harran stammered an affirmative, + adding: + </p> + <p> + “It's hard to know just what to do. It's a mean position for me, Buck. I + want to help you others, but I do want to play fair. I don't know how to + play any other way. I should like to have a line from the Governor as to + how to act, but there's no getting a word out of him these days. He seems + to want to let me decide for myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, look here,” put in Annixter. “Suppose you keep out of the thing + till it's all over, and then share and share alike with the Committee on + campaign expenses.” + </p> + <p> + Harran fell thoughtful, his hands in his pockets, frowning moodily at the + toe of his boot. There was a silence. Then: + </p> + <p> + “I don't like to go it blind,” he hazarded. “I'm sort of sharing the + responsibility of what you do, then. I'm a silent partner. And, then—I + don't want to have any difficulties with the Governor. We've always got + along well together. He wouldn't like it, you know, if I did anything like + that.” “Say,” exclaimed Annixter abruptly, “if the Governor says he will + keep his hands off, and that you can do as you please, will you come in? + For God's sake, let us ranchers act together for once. Let's stand in with + each other in ONE fight.” + </p> + <p> + Without knowing it, Annixter had touched the right spring. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know but what you're right,” Harran murmured vaguely. His sense + of discouragement, that feeling of what's-the-use, was never more + oppressive. All fair means had been tried. The wheat grower was at last + with his back to the wall. If he chose his own means of fighting, the + responsibility must rest upon his enemies, not on himself. + </p> + <p> + “It's the only way to accomplish anything,” he continued, “standing in + with each other... well,... go ahead and see what you can do. If the + Governor is willing, I'll come in for my share of the campaign fund.” + </p> + <p> + “That's some sense,” exclaimed Annixter, shaking him by the hand. “Half + the fight is over already. We've got Disbrow you know; and the next thing + is to get hold of some of those rotten San Francisco bosses. Osterman will——” + But Harran interrupted him, making a quick gesture with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell me about it,” he said. “I don't want to know what you and + Osterman are going to do. If I did, I shouldn't come in.” + </p> + <p> + Yet, for all this, before they said good-bye Annixter had obtained + Harran's promise that he would attend the next meeting of the Committee, + when Osterman should return from Los Angeles and make his report. Harran + went on toward Los Muertos. Annixter mounted and rode into Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + Bonneville was very lively at all times. It was a little city of some + twenty or thirty thousand inhabitants, where, as yet, the city hall, the + high school building, and the opera house were objects of civic pride. It + was well governed, beautifully clean, full of the energy and strenuous + young life of a new city. An air of the briskest activity pervaded its + streets and sidewalks. The business portion of the town, centring about + Main Street, was always crowded. Annixter, arriving at the Post Office, + found himself involved in a scene of swiftly shifting sights and sounds. + Saddle horses, farm wagons—the inevitable Studebakers—buggies + grey with the dust of country roads, buckboards with squashes and grocery + packages stowed under the seat, two-wheeled sulkies and training carts, + were hitched to the gnawed railings and zinc-sheathed telegraph poles + along the curb. Here and there, on the edge of the sidewalk, were + bicycles, wedged into bicycle racks painted with cigar advertisements. + Upon the asphalt sidewalk itself, soft and sticky with the morning's heat, + was a continuous movement. Men with large stomachs, wearing linen coats + but no vests, laboured ponderously up and down. Girls in lawn skirts, + shirt waists, and garden hats, went to and fro, invariably in couples, + coming in and out of the drug store, the grocery store, and haberdasher's, + or lingering in front of the Post Office, which was on a corner under the + I.O.O.F. hall. Young men, in shirt sleeves, with brown, wicker + cuff-protectors over their forearms, and pencils behind their ears, + bustled in front of the grocery store, anxious and preoccupied. A very old + man, a Mexican, in ragged white trousers and bare feet, sat on a + horse-block in front of the barber shop, holding a horse by a rope around + its neck. A Chinaman went by, teetering under the weight of his market + baskets slung on a pole across his shoulders. In the neighbourhood of the + hotel, the Yosemite House, travelling salesmen, drummers for jewelry firms + of San Francisco, commercial agents, insurance men, well-dressed, + metropolitan, debonair, stood about cracking jokes, or hurried in and out + of the flapping white doors of the Yosemite barroom. The Yosemite 'bus and + City 'bus passed up the street, on the way from the morning train, each + with its two or three passengers. A very narrow wagon, belonging to the + Cole & Colemore Harvester Works, went by, loaded with long strips of + iron that made a horrible din as they jarred over the unevenness of the + pavement. The electric car line, the city's boast, did a brisk business, + its cars whirring from end to end of the street, with a jangling of bells + and a moaning plaint of gearing. On the stone bulkheads of the grass plat + around the new City Hall, the usual loafers sat, chewing tobacco, swapping + stories. In the park were the inevitable array of nursemaids, skylarking + couples, and ragged little boys. A single policeman, in grey coat and + helmet, friend and acquaintance of every man and woman in the town, stood + by the park entrance, leaning an elbow on the fence post, twirling his + club. + </p> + <p> + But in the centre of the best business block of the street was a + three-story building of rough brown stone, set off with plate glass + windows and gold-lettered signs. One of these latter read, “Pacific and + Southwestern Railroad, Freight and Passenger Office,” while another much + smaller, beneath the windows of the second story bore the inscription, “P. + and S. W. Land Office.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter hitched his horse to the iron post in front of this building, and + tramped up to the second floor, letting himself into an office where a + couple of clerks and bookkeepers sat at work behind a high wire screen. + One of these latter recognised him and came forward. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” said Annixter abruptly, scowling the while. “Is your boss in? Is + Ruggles in?” + </p> + <p> + The bookkeeper led Annixter to the private office in an adjoining room, + ushering him through a door, on the frosted glass of which was painted the + name, “Cyrus Blakelee Ruggles.” Inside, a man in a frock coat, shoestring + necktie, and Stetson hat, sat writing at a roller-top desk. Over this desk + was a vast map of the railroad holdings in the country about Bonneville + and Guadalajara, the alternate sections belonging to the Corporation + accurately plotted. Ruggles was cordial in his welcome of Annixter. He had + a way of fiddling with his pencil continually while he talked, scribbling + vague lines and fragments of words and names on stray bits of paper, and + no sooner had Annixter sat down than he had begun to write, in + full-bellied script, ANN ANN all over his blotting pad. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see about those lands of mine—I mean of yours—of + the railroad's,” Annixter commenced at once. “I want to know when I can + buy. I'm sick of fooling along like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Annixter,” observed Ruggles, writing a great L before the ANN, + and finishing it off with a flourishing D. “The lands”—he crossed + out one of the N's and noted the effect with a hasty glance—“the + lands are practically yours. You have an option on them indefinitely, and, + as it is, you don't have to pay the taxes.” + </p> + <p> + “Rot your option! I want to own them,” Annixter declared. “What have you + people got to gain by putting off selling them to us. Here this thing has + dragged along for over eight years. When I came in on Quien Sabe, the + understanding was that the lands—your alternate sections—were + to be conveyed to me within a few months.” + </p> + <p> + “The land had not been patented to us then,” answered Ruggles. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it has been now, I guess,” retorted Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I couldn't tell you, Mr. Annixter.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter crossed his legs weariedly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what's the good of lying, Ruggles? You know better than to talk that + way to me.” + </p> + <p> + Ruggles's face flushed on the instant, but he checked his answer and + laughed instead. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you know so much about it—” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when are you going to sell to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm only acting for the General Office, Mr. Annixter,” returned Ruggles. + “Whenever the Directors are ready to take that matter up, I'll be only too + glad to put it through for you.” + </p> + <p> + “As if you didn't know. Look here, you're not talking to old Broderson. + Wake up, Ruggles. What's all this talk in Genslinger's rag about the + grading of the value of our lands this winter and an advance in the + price?” + </p> + <p> + Ruggles spread out his hands with a deprecatory gesture. + </p> + <p> + “I don't own the 'Mercury,'” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, your company does.” + </p> + <p> + “If it does, I don't know anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rot! As if you and Genslinger and S. Behrman didn't run the whole + show down here. Come on, let's have it, Ruggles. What does S. Behrman pay + Genslinger for inserting that three-inch ad. of the P. and S. W. in his + paper? Ten thousand a year, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why not a hundred thousand and be done with it?” returned the other, + willing to take it as a joke. + </p> + <p> + Instead of replying, Annixter drew his check-book from his inside pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Let me take that fountain pen of yours,” he said. Holding the book on his + knee he wrote out a check, tore it carefully from the stub, and laid it on + the desk in front of Ruggles. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” asked Ruggles. + </p> + <p> + “Three-fourths payment for the sections of railroad land included in my + ranch, based on a valuation of two dollars and a half per acre. You can + have the balance in sixty-day notes.” + </p> + <p> + Ruggles shook his head, drawing hastily back from the check as though it + carried contamination. + </p> + <p> + “I can't touch it,” he declared. “I've no authority to sell to you yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you people,” exclaimed Annixter. “I offered to buy of + you the same way four years ago and you sang the same song. Why, it isn't + business. You lose the interest on your money. Seven per cent. of that + capital for four years—you can figure it out. It's big money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I don't see why you're so keen on parting with it. You can + get seven per cent. the same as us.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to own my own land,” returned Annixter. “I want to feel that every + lump of dirt inside my fence is my personal property. Why, the very house + I live in now—the ranch house—stands on railroad ground.” + </p> + <p> + “But, you've an option” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I don't want your cursed option. I want ownership; and it's + the same with Magnus Derrick and old Broderson and Osterman and all the + ranchers of the county. We want to own our land, want to feel we can do as + we blame please with it. Suppose I should want to sell Quien Sabe. I can't + sell it as a whole till I've bought of you. I can't give anybody a clear + title. The land has doubled in value ten times over again since I came in + on it and improved it. It's worth easily twenty an acre now. But I can't + take advantage of that rise in value so long as you won't sell, so long as + I don't own it. You're blocking me.” + </p> + <p> + “But, according to you, the railroad can't take advantage of the rise in + any case. According to you, you can sell for twenty dollars, but we can + only get two and a half.” + </p> + <p> + “Who made it worth twenty?” cried Annixter. “I've improved it up to that + figure. Genslinger seems to have that idea in his nut, too. Do you people + think you can hold that land, untaxed, for speculative purposes until it + goes up to thirty dollars and then sell out to some one else—sell it + over our heads? You and Genslinger weren't in office when those contracts + were drawn. You ask your boss, you ask S. Behrman, he knows. The General + Office is pledged to sell to us in preference to any one else, for two and + a half.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” observed Ruggles decidedly, tapping the end of his pencil on his + desk and leaning forward to emphasise his words, “we're not selling NOW. + That's said and signed, Mr. Annixter.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Come, spit it out. What's the bunco game this time?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we're not ready. Here's your check.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't take it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll make it a cash payment, money down—the whole of it—payable + to Cyrus Blakelee Ruggles, for the P. and S. W.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Third and last time.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go to the devil!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like your tone, Mr. Annixter,” returned Ruggles, flushing + angrily. “I don't give a curse whether you like it or not,” retorted + Annixter, rising and thrusting the check into his pocket, “but never you + mind, Mr. Ruggles, you and S. Behrman and Genslinger and Shelgrim and the + whole gang of thieves of you—you'll wake this State of California up + some of these days by going just one little bit too far, and there'll be + an election of Railroad Commissioners of, by, and for the people, that'll + get a twist of you, my bunco-steering friend—you and your backers + and cappers and swindlers and thimble-riggers, and smash you, lock, stock, + and barrel. That's my tip to you and be damned to you, Mr. Cyrus Blackleg + Ruggles.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and + Ruggles, trembling with anger, turned to his desk and to the blotting pad + written all over with the words LANDS, TWENTY DOLLARS, TWO AND A HALF, + OPTION, and, over and over again, with great swelling curves and + flourishes, RAILROAD, RAILROAD, RAILROAD. + </p> + <p> + But as Annixter passed into the outside office, on the other side of the + wire partition he noted the figure of a man at the counter in conversation + with one of the clerks. There was something familiar to Annixter's eye + about the man's heavy built frame, his great shoulders and massive back, + and as he spoke to the clerk in a tremendous, rumbling voice, Annixter + promptly recognised Dyke. + </p> + <p> + There was a meeting. Annixter liked Dyke, as did every one else in and + about Bonneville. He paused now to shake hands with the discharged + engineer and to ask about his little daughter, Sidney, to whom he knew + Dyke was devotedly attached. + </p> + <p> + “Smartest little tad in Tulare County,” asserted Dyke. “She's getting + prettier every day, Mr. Annixter. THERE'S a little tad that was just born + to be a lady. Can recite the whole of 'Snow Bound' without ever stopping. + You don't believe that, maybe, hey? Well, it's true. She'll be just old + enough to enter the Seminary up at Marysville next winter, and if my hop + business pays two per cent. on the investment, there's where she's going + to go.” + </p> + <p> + “How's it coming on?” inquired Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “The hop ranch? Prime. I've about got the land in shape, and I've engaged + a foreman who knows all about hops. I've been in luck. Everybody will go + into the business next year when they see hops go to a dollar, and they'll + overstock the market and bust the price. But I'm going to get the cream of + it now. I say two per cent. Why, Lord love you, it will pay a good deal + more than that. It's got to. It's cost more than I figured to start the + thing, so, perhaps, I may have to borrow somewheres; but then on such a + sure game as this—and I do want to make something out of that little + tad of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Through here?” inquired Annixter, making ready to move off. + </p> + <p> + “In just a minute,” answered Dyke. “Wait for me and I'll walk down the + street with you.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter grumbled that he was in a hurry, but waited, nevertheless, while + Dyke again approached the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “I shall want some empty cars of you people this fall,” he explained. “I'm + a hop-raiser now, and I just want to make sure what your rates on hops + are. I've been told, but I want to make sure. Savvy?” There was a long + delay while the clerk consulted the tariff schedules, and Annixter fretted + impatiently. Dyke, growing uneasy, leaned heavily on his elbows, watching + the clerk anxiously. If the tariff was exorbitant, he saw his plans + brought to naught, his money jeopardised, the little tad, Sidney, deprived + of her education. He began to blame himself that he had not long before + determined definitely what the railroad would charge for moving his hops. + He told himself he was not much of a business man; that he managed + carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Two cents,” suddenly announced the clerk with a certain surly + indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Two cents a pound?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, two cents a pound—that's in car-load lots, of course. I won't + give you that rate on smaller consignments.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, car-load lots, of course... two cents. Well, all right.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away with a great sigh of relief. + </p> + <p> + “He sure did have me scared for a minute,” he said to Annixter, as the two + went down to the street, “fiddling and fussing so long. Two cents is all + right, though. Seems fair to me. That fiddling of his was all put on. I + know 'em, these railroad heelers. He knew I was a discharged employee + first off, and he played the game just to make me seem small because I had + to ask favours of him. I don't suppose the General Office tips its slavees + off to act like swine, but there's the feeling through the whole herd of + them. 'Ye got to come to us. We let ye live only so long as we choose, and + what are ye going to do about it? If ye don't like it, git out.'” + </p> + <p> + Annixter and the engineer descended to the street and had a drink at the + Yosemite bar, and Annixter went into the General Store while Dyke bought a + little pair of red slippers for Sidney. Before the salesman had wrapped + them up, Dyke slipped a dime into the toe of each with a wink at Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “Let the little tad find 'em there,” he said behind his hand in a hoarse + whisper. “That'll be one on Sid.” + </p> + <p> + “Where to now?” demanded Annixter as they regained the street. “I'm going + down to the Post Office and then pull out for the ranch. Going my way?” + </p> + <p> + Dyke hesitated in some confusion, tugging at the ends of his fine blonde + beard. + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I guess I'll leave you here. I've got—got other things to + do up the street. So long.” + </p> + <p> + The two separated, and Annixter hurried through the crowd to the Post + Office, but the mail that had come in on that morning's train was + unusually heavy. It was nearly half an hour before it was distributed. + Naturally enough, Annixter placed all the blame of the delay upon the + railroad, and delivered himself of some pointed remarks in the midst of + the waiting crowd. He was irritated to the last degree when he finally + emerged upon the sidewalk again, cramming his mail into his pockets. One + cause of his bad temper was the fact that in the bundle of Quien Sabe + letters was one to Hilma Tree in a man's handwriting. + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” Annixter had growled to himself, “that pip Delaney. Seems now that + I'm to act as go-between for 'em. Well, maybe that feemale girl gets this + letter, and then, again, maybe she don't.” + </p> + <p> + But suddenly his attention was diverted. Directly opposite the Post + Office, upon the corner of the street, stood quite the best business + building of which Bonneville could boast. It was built of Colusa granite, + very solid, ornate, imposing. Upon the heavy plate of the window of its + main floor, in gold and red letters, one read the words: “Loan and Savings + Bank of Tulare County.” It was of this bank that S. Behrman was president. + At the street entrance of the building was a curved sign of polished + brass, fixed upon the angle of the masonry; this sign bore the name, “S. + Behrman,” and under it in smaller letters were the words, “Real Estate, + Mortgages.” + </p> + <p> + As Annixter's glance fell upon this building, he was surprised to see Dyke + standing upon the curb in front of it, apparently reading from a newspaper + that he held in his hand. But Annixter promptly discovered that he was not + reading at all. From time to time the former engineer shot a swift glance + out of the corner of his eye up and down the street. Annixter jumped at a + conclusion. An idea suddenly occurred to him. Dyke was watching to see if + he was observed—was waiting an opportunity when no one who knew him + should be in sight. Annixter stepped back a little, getting a telegraph + pole somewhat between him and the other. Very interested, he watched what + was going on. Pretty soon Dyke thrust the paper into his pocket and + sauntered slowly to the windows of a stationery store, next the street + entrance of S. Behrman's offices. For a few seconds he stood there, his + back turned, seemingly absorbed in the display, but eyeing the street + narrowly nevertheless; then he turned around, gave a last look about and + stepped swiftly into the doorway by the great brass sign. He disappeared. + Annixter came from behind the telegraph pole with a flush of actual shame + upon his face. There had been something so slinking, so mean, in the + movements and manner of this great, burly honest fellow of an engineer, + that he could not help but feel ashamed for him. Circumstances were such + that a simple business transaction was to Dyke almost culpable, a + degradation, a thing to be concealed. + </p> + <p> + “Borrowing money of S. Behrman,” commented Annixter, “mortgaging your + little homestead to the railroad, putting your neck in the halter. Poor + fool! The pity of it. Good Lord, your hops must pay you big, now, old + man.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter lunched at the Yosemite Hotel, and then later on, toward the + middle of the afternoon, rode out of the town at a canter by the way of + the Upper Road that paralleled the railroad tracks and that ran + diametrically straight between Bonneville and Guadalajara. About half-way + between the two places he overtook Father Sarria trudging back to San + Juan, his long cassock powdered with dust. He had a wicker crate in one + hand, and in the other, in a small square valise, the materials for the + Holy Sacrament. Since early morning the priest had covered nearly fifteen + miles on foot, in order to administer Extreme Unction to a moribund + good-for-nothing, a greaser, half Indian, half Portuguese, who lived in a + remote corner of Osterman's stock range, at the head of a canon there. But + he had returned by way of Bonneville to get a crate that had come for him + from San Diego. He had been notified of its arrival the day before. + </p> + <p> + Annixter pulled up and passed the time of day with the priest. + </p> + <p> + “I don't often get up your way,” he said, slowing down his horse to + accommodate Sarria's deliberate plodding. Sarria wiped the perspiration + from his smooth, shiny face. + </p> + <p> + “You? Well, with you it is different,” he answered. “But there are a great + many Catholics in the county—some on your ranch. And so few come to + the Mission. At High Mass on Sundays, there are a few—Mexicans and + Spaniards from Guadalajara mostly; but weekdays, for matins, vespers, and + the like, I often say the offices to an empty church—'the voice of + one crying in the wilderness.' You Americans are not good churchmen. + Sundays you sleep—you read the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's Vanamee,” observed Annixter. “I suppose he's there early + and late.” + </p> + <p> + Sarria made a sharp movement of interest. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Vanamee—a strange lad; a wonderful character, for all that. If + there were only more like him. I am troubled about him. You know I am a + very owl at night. I come and go about the Mission at all hours. Within + the week, three times I have seen Vanamee in the little garden by the + Mission, and at the dead of night. He had come without asking for me. He + did not see me. It was strange. Once, when I had got up at dawn to ring + for early matins, I saw him stealing away out of the garden. He must have + been there all the night. He is acting queerly. He is pale; his cheeks are + more sunken than ever. There is something wrong with him. I can't make it + out. It is a mystery. Suppose you ask him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I. I've enough to bother myself about. Vanamee is crazy in the head. + Some morning he will turn up missing again, and drop out of sight for + another three years. Best let him alone, Sarria. He's a crank. How is that + greaser of yours up on Osterman's stock range?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the poor fellow—the poor fellow,” returned the other, the tears + coming to his eyes. “He died this morning—as you might say, in my + arms, painfully, but in the faith, in the faith. A good fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “A lazy, cattle-stealing, knife-in-his-boot Dago.” + </p> + <p> + “You misjudge him. A really good fellow on better acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter grunted scornfully. Sarria's kindness and good-will toward the + most outrageous reprobates of the ranches was proverbial. He practically + supported some half-dozen families that lived in forgotten cabins, lost + and all but inaccessible, in the far corners of stock range and canyon. + This particular greaser was the laziest, the dirtiest, the most worthless + of the lot. But in Sarria's mind, the lout was an object of affection, + sincere, unquestioning. Thrice a week the priest, with a basket of + provisions—cold ham, a bottle of wine, olives, loaves of bread, even + a chicken or two—toiled over the interminable stretch of country + between the Mission and his cabin. Of late, during the rascal's sickness, + these visits had been almost daily. Hardly once did the priest leave the + bedside that he did not slip a half-dollar into the palm of his wife or + oldest daughter. And this was but one case out of many. + </p> + <p> + His kindliness toward animals was the same. A horde of mange-corroded curs + lived off his bounty, wolfish, ungrateful, often marking him with their + teeth, yet never knowing the meaning of a harsh word. A burro, over-fed, + lazy, incorrigible, browsed on the hill back of the Mission, obstinately + refusing to be harnessed to Sarria's little cart, squealing and biting + whenever the attempt was made; and the priest suffered him, submitting to + his humour, inventing excuses for him, alleging that the burro was + foundered, or was in need of shoes, or was feeble from extreme age. The + two peacocks, magnificent, proud, cold-hearted, resenting all familiarity, + he served with the timorous, apologetic affection of a queen's + lady-in-waiting, resigned to their disdain, happy if only they + condescended to enjoy the grain he spread for them. + </p> + <p> + At the Long Trestle, Annixter and the priest left the road and took the + trail that crossed Broderson Creek by the clumps of grey-green willows and + led across Quien Sabe to the ranch house, and to the Mission farther on. + They were obliged to proceed in single file here, and Annixter, who had + allowed the priest to go in front, promptly took notice of the wicker + basket he carried. Upon his inquiry, Sarria became confused. “It was a + basket that he had had sent down to him from the city.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I know—but what's in it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—I'm sure—ah, poultry—a chicken or two.” + </p> + <p> + “Fancy breed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, that's it, a fancy breed.” At the ranch house, where they + arrived toward five o'clock, Annixter insisted that the priest should stop + long enough for a glass of sherry. Sarria left the basket and his small + black valise at the foot of the porch steps, and sat down in a rocker on + the porch itself, fanning himself with his broad-brimmed hat, and shaking + the dust from his cassock. Annixter brought out the decanter of sherry and + glasses, and the two drank to each other's health. + </p> + <p> + But as the priest set down his glass, wiping his lips with a murmur of + satisfaction, the decrepit Irish setter that had attached himself to + Annixter's house came out from underneath the porch, and nosed vigorously + about the wicker basket. He upset it. The little peg holding down the + cover slipped, the basket fell sideways, opening as it fell, and a cock, + his head enclosed in a little chamois bag such as are used for gold + watches, struggled blindly out into the open air. A second, similarly + hooded, followed. The pair, stupefied in their headgear, stood rigid and + bewildered in their tracks, clucking uneasily. Their tails were closely + sheared. Their legs, thickly muscled, and extraordinarily long, were + furnished with enormous cruel-looking spurs. The breed was unmistakable. + Annixter looked once at the pair, then shouted with laughter. + </p> + <p> + “'Poultry'—'a chicken or two'—'fancy breed'—ho! yes, I + should think so. Game cocks! Fighting cocks! Oh, you old rat! You'll be a + dry nurse to a burro, and keep a hospital for infirm puppies, but you will + fight game cocks. Oh, Lord! Why, Sarria, this is as good a grind as I ever + heard. There's the Spanish cropping out, after all.” + </p> + <p> + Speechless with chagrin, the priest bundled the cocks into the basket and + catching up the valise, took himself abruptly away, almost running till he + had put himself out of hearing of Annixter's raillery. And even ten + minutes later, when Annixter, still chuckling, stood upon the porch steps, + he saw the priest, far in the distance, climbing the slope of the high + ground, in the direction of the Mission, still hurrying on at a great + pace, his cassock flapping behind him, his head bent; to Annixter's notion + the very picture of discomfiture and confusion. + </p> + <p> + As Annixter turned about to reenter the house, he found himself almost + face to face with Hilma Tree. She was just going in at the doorway, and a + great flame of the sunset, shooting in under the eaves of the porch, + enveloped her from her head, with its thick, moist hair that hung low over + her neck, to her slim feet, setting a golden flash in the little steel + buckles of her low shoes. She had come to set the table for Annixter's + supper. Taken all aback by the suddenness of the encounter, Annixter + ejaculated an abrupt and senseless, “Excuse me.” But Hilma, without + raising her eyes, passed on unmoved into the dining-room, leaving Annixter + trying to find his breath, and fumbling with the brim of his hat, that he + was surprised to find he had taken from his head. Resolutely, and taking a + quick advantage of his opportunity, he followed her into the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “I see that dog has turned up,” he announced with brisk cheerfulness. + “That Irish setter I was asking about.” + </p> + <p> + Hilma, a swift, pink flush deepening the delicate rose of her cheeks, did + not reply, except by nodding her head. She flung the table-cloth out from + under her arms across the table, spreading it smooth, with quick little + caresses of her hands. There was a moment's silence. Then Annixter said: + </p> + <p> + “Here's a letter for you.” He laid it down on the table near her, and + Hilma picked it up. “And see here, Miss Hilma,” Annixter continued, “about + that—this morning—I suppose you think I am a first-class + mucker. If it will do any good to apologise, why, I will. I want to be + friends with you. I made a bad mistake, and started in the wrong way. I + don't know much about women people. I want you to forget about that—this + morning, and not think I am a galoot and a mucker. Will you do it? Will + you be friends with me?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma set the plate and coffee cup by Annixter's place before answering, + and Annixter repeated his question. Then she drew a deep, quick breath, + the flush in her cheeks returning. + </p> + <p> + “I think it was—it was so wrong of you,” she murmured. “Oh! you + don't know how it hurt me. I cried—oh, for an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's just it,” returned Annixter vaguely, moving his head + uneasily. “I didn't know what kind of a girl you were—I mean, I made + a mistake. I thought it didn't make much difference. I thought all + feemales were about alike.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you know now,” murmured Hilma ruefully. “I've paid enough to have + you find out. I cried—you don't know. Why, it hurt me worse than + anything I can remember. I hope you know now.” “Well, I do know now,” he + exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't so much that you tried to do—what you did,” answered + Hilma, the single deep swell from her waist to her throat rising and + falling in her emotion. “It was that you thought that you could—that + anybody could that wanted to—that I held myself so cheap. Oh!” she + cried, with a sudden sobbing catch in her throat, “I never can forget it, + and you don't know what it means to a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's just what I do want,” he repeated. “I want you to forget it + and have us be good friends.” + </p> + <p> + In his embarrassment, Annixter could think of no other words. He kept + reiterating again and again during the pauses of the conversation: + </p> + <p> + “I want you to forget it. Will you? Will you forget it—that—this + morning, and have us be good friends?” + </p> + <p> + He could see that her trouble was keen. He was astonished that the matter + should be so grave in her estimation. After all, what was it that a girl + should be kissed? But he wanted to regain his lost ground. + </p> + <p> + “Will you forget it, Miss Hilma? I want you to like me.” + </p> + <p> + She took a clean napkin from the sideboard drawer and laid it down by the + plate. + </p> + <p> + “I—I do want you to like me,” persisted Annixter. “I want you to + forget all about this business and like me.” + </p> + <p> + Hilma was silent. Annixter saw the tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “How about that? Will you forget it? Will you—will—will you + LIKE me?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No what? You won't like me? Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma, blinking at the napkin through her tears, nodded to say, Yes, that + was it. Annixter hesitated a moment, frowning, harassed and perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “You don't like me at all, hey?” + </p> + <p> + At length Hilma found her speech. In her low voice, lower and more velvety + than ever, she said: + </p> + <p> + “No—I don't like you at all.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as the tears suddenly overpowered her, she dashed a hand across her + eyes, and ran from the room and out of doors. + </p> + <p> + Annixter stood for a moment thoughtful, his protruding lower lip thrust + out, his hands in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she'll quit now,” he muttered. “Suppose she'll leave the ranch—if + she hates me like that. Well, she can go—that's all—she can + go. Fool feemale girl,” he muttered between his teeth, “petticoat mess.” + He was about to sit down to his supper when his eye fell upon the Irish + setter, on his haunches in the doorway. There was an expectant, + ingratiating look on the dog's face. No doubt, he suspected it was time + for eating. + </p> + <p> + “Get out—YOU!” roared Annixter in a tempest of wrath. + </p> + <p> + The dog slunk back, his tail shut down close, his ears drooping, but + instead of running away, he lay down and rolled supinely upon his back, + the very image of submission, tame, abject, disgusting. It was the one + thing to drive Annixter to a fury. He kicked the dog off the porch in a + rolling explosion of oaths, and flung himself down to his seat before the + table, fuming and panting. + </p> + <p> + “Damn the dog and the girl and the whole rotten business—and now,” + he exclaimed, as a sudden fancied qualm arose in his stomach, “now, it's + all made me sick. Might have known it. Oh, it only lacked that to wind up + the whole day. Let her go, I don't care, and the sooner the better.” + </p> + <p> + He countermanded the supper and went to bed before it was dark, lighting + his lamp, on the chair near the head of the bed, and opening his + “Copperfield” at the place marked by the strip of paper torn from the bag + of prunes. For upward of an hour he read the novel, methodically + swallowing one prune every time he reached the bottom of a page. About + nine o'clock he blew out the lamp and, punching up his pillow, settled + himself for the night. + </p> + <p> + Then, as his mind relaxed in that strange, hypnotic condition that comes + just before sleep, a series of pictures of the day's doings passed before + his imagination like the roll of a kinetoscope. + </p> + <p> + First, it was Hilma Tree, as he had seen her in the dairy-house—charming, + delicious, radiant of youth, her thick, white neck with its pale amber + shadows under the chin; her wide, open eyes rimmed with fine, black + lashes; the deep swell of her breast and hips, the delicate, lustrous + floss on her cheek, impalpable as the pollen of a flower. He saw her + standing there in the scintillating light of the morning, her smooth arms + wet with milk, redolent and fragrant of milk, her whole, desirable figure + moving in the golden glory of the sun, steeped in a lambent flame, + saturated with it, glowing with it, joyous as the dawn itself. + </p> + <p> + Then it was Los Muertos and Hooven, the sordid little Dutchman, grimed + with the soil he worked in, yet vividly remembering a period of military + glory, exciting himself with recollections of Gravelotte and the Kaiser, + but contented now in the country of his adoption, defining the Fatherland + as the place where wife and children lived. Then came the ranch house of + Los Muertos, under the grove of cypress and eucalyptus, with its smooth, + gravelled driveway and well-groomed lawns; Mrs. Derrick with her + wide-opened eyes, that so easily took on a look of uneasiness, of + innocence, of anxious inquiry, her face still pretty, her brown hair that + still retained so much of its brightness spread over her chair back, + drying in the sun; Magnus, erect as an officer of cavalry, smooth-shaven, + grey, thin-lipped, imposing, with his hawk-like nose and forward-curling + grey hair; Presley with his dark face, delicate mouth and sensitive, loose + lips, in corduroys and laced boots, smoking cigarettes—an + interesting figure, suggestive of a mixed origin, morbid, excitable, + melancholy, brooding upon things that had no names. Then it was + Bonneville, with the gayety and confusion of Main Street, the whirring + electric cars, the zinc-sheathed telegraph poles, the buckboards with + squashes stowed under the seats; Ruggles in frock coat, Stetson hat and + shoe-string necktie, writing abstractedly upon his blotting pad; Dyke, the + engineer, big-boned. Powerful, deep-voiced, good-natured, with his fine + blonde beard and massive arms, rehearsing the praises of his little + daughter Sidney, guided only by the one ambition that she should be + educated at a seminary, slipping a dime into the toe of her diminutive + slipper, then, later, overwhelmed with shame, slinking into S. Behrman's + office to mortgage his homestead to the heeler of the corporation that had + discharged him. By suggestion, Annixter saw S. Behrman, too, fat, with a + vast stomach, the check and neck meeting to form a great, tremulous jowl, + the roll of fat over his collar, sprinkled with sparse, stiff hairs; saw + his brown, round-topped hat of varnished straw, the linen vest stamped + with innumerable interlocked horseshoes, the heavy watch chain, clinking + against the pearl vest buttons; invariably placid, unruffled, never losing + his temper, serene, unassailable, enthroned. + </p> + <p> + Then, at the end of all, it was the ranch again, seen in a last brief + glance before he had gone to bed; the fecundated earth, calm at last, + nursing the emplanted germ of life, ruddy with the sunset, the horizons + purple, the small clamour of the day lapsing into quiet, the great, still + twilight, building itself, dome-like, toward the zenith. The barn fowls + were roosting in the trees near the stable, the horses crunching their + fodder in the stalls, the day's work ceasing by slow degrees; and the + priest, the Spanish churchman, Father Sarria, relic of a departed regime, + kindly, benign, believing in all goodness, a lover of his fellows and of + dumb animals, yet, for all that, hurrying away in confusion and + discomfiture, carrying in one hand the vessels of the Holy Communion and + in the other a basket of game cocks. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + It was high noon, and the rays of the sun, that hung poised directly + overhead in an intolerable white glory, fell straight as plummets upon the + roofs and streets of Guadalajara. The adobe walls and sparse brick + sidewalks of the drowsing town radiated the heat in an oily, quivering + shimmer. The leaves of the eucalyptus trees around the Plaza drooped + motionless, limp and relaxed under the scorching, searching blaze. The + shadows of these trees had shrunk to their smallest circumference, + contracting close about the trunks. The shade had dwindled to the breadth + of a mere line. The sun was everywhere. The heat exhaling from brick and + plaster and metal met the heat that steadily descended blanketwise and + smothering, from the pale, scorched sky. Only the lizards—they lived + in chinks of the crumbling adobe and in interstices of the sidewalk—remained + without, motionless, as if stuffed, their eyes closed to mere slits, + basking, stupefied with heat. At long intervals the prolonged drone of an + insect developed out of the silence, vibrated a moment in a soothing, + somnolent, long note, then trailed slowly into the quiet again. Somewhere + in the interior of one of the 'dobe houses a guitar snored and hummed + sleepily. On the roof of the hotel a group of pigeons cooed incessantly + with subdued, liquid murmurs, very plaintive; a cat, perfectly white, with + a pink nose and thin, pink lips, dozed complacently on a fence rail, full + in the sun. In a corner of the Plaza three hens wallowed in the baking hot + dust their wings fluttering, clucking comfortably. + </p> + <p> + And this was all. A Sunday repose prevailed the whole moribund town, + peaceful, profound. A certain pleasing numbness, a sense of grateful + enervation exhaled from the scorching plaster. There was no movement, no + sound of human business. The faint hum of the insect, the intermittent + murmur of the guitar, the mellow complainings of the pigeons, the + prolonged purr of the white cat, the contented clucking of the hens—all + these noises mingled together to form a faint, drowsy bourdon, prolonged, + stupefying, suggestive of an infinite quiet, of a calm, complacent life, + centuries old, lapsing gradually to its end under the gorgeous loneliness + of a cloudless, pale blue sky and the steady fire of an interminable sun. + </p> + <p> + In Solotari's Spanish-Mexican restaurant, Vanamee and Presley sat opposite + each other at one of the tables near the door, a bottle of white wine, + tortillas, and an earthen pot of frijoles between them. They were the sole + occupants of the place. It was the day that Annixter had chosen for his + barn-dance and, in consequence, Quien Sabe was in fete and work suspended. + Presley and Vanamee had arranged to spend the day in each other's company, + lunching at Solotari's and taking a long tramp in the afternoon. For the + moment they sat back in their chairs, their meal all but finished. + Solotari brought black coffee and a small carafe of mescal, and retiring + to a corner of the room, went to sleep. + </p> + <p> + All through the meal Presley had been wondering over a certain change he + observed in his friend. He looked at him again. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee's lean, spare face was of an olive pallor. His long, black hair, + such as one sees in the saints and evangelists of the pre-Raphaelite + artists, hung over his ears. Presley again remarked his pointed beard, + black and fine, growing from the hollow cheeks. He looked at his face, a + face like that of a young seer, like a half-inspired shepherd of the + Hebraic legends, a dweller in the wilderness, gifted with strange powers. + He was dressed as when Presley had first met him, herding his sheep, in + brown canvas overalls, thrust into top boots; grey flannel shirt, open at + the throat, showing the breast ruddy with tan; the waist encircled with a + cartridge belt, empty of cartridges. + </p> + <p> + But now, as Presley took more careful note of him, he was surprised to + observe a certain new look in Vanamee's deep-set eyes. He remembered now + that all through the morning Vanamee had been singularly reserved. He was + continually drifting into reveries, abstracted, distrait. Indubitably, + something of moment had happened. + </p> + <p> + At length Vanamee spoke. Leaning back in his chair, his thumbs in his + belt, his bearded chin upon his breast, his voice was the even monotone of + one speaking in his sleep. + </p> + <p> + He told Presley in a few words what had happened during the first night he + had spent in the garden of the old Mission, of the Answer, half-fancied, + half-real, that had come to him. + </p> + <p> + “To no other person but you would I speak of this,” he said, “but you, I + think, will understand—will be sympathetic, at least, and I feel the + need of unburdening myself of it to some one. At first I would not trust + my own senses. I was sure I had deceived myself, but on a second night it + happened again. Then I was afraid—or no, not afraid, but disturbed—oh, + shaken to my very heart's core. I resolved to go no further in the matter, + never again to put it to test. For a long time I stayed away from the + Mission, occupying myself with my work, keeping it out of my mind. But the + temptation was too strong. One night I found myself there again, under the + black shadow of the pear trees calling for Angele, summoning her from out + the dark, from out the night. This time the Answer was prompt, + unmistakable. I cannot explain to you what it was, nor how it came to me, + for there was no sound. I saw absolutely nothing but the empty night. + There was no moon. But somewhere off there over the little valley, far + off, the darkness was troubled; that ME that went out upon my thought—out + from the Mission garden, out over the valley, calling for her, searching + for her, found, I don't know what, but found a resting place—a + companion. Three times since then I have gone to the Mission garden at + night. Last night was the third time.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, his eyes shining with excitement. Presley leaned forward toward + him, motionless with intense absorption. + </p> + <p> + “Well—and last night,” he prompted. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee stirred in his seat, his glance fell, he drummed an instant upon + the table. + </p> + <p> + “Last night,” he answered, “there was—there was a change. The Answer + was—” he drew a deep breath—“nearer.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure?” + </p> + <p> + The other smiled with absolute certainty. + </p> + <p> + “It was not that I found the Answer sooner, easier. I could not be + mistaken. No, that which has troubled the darkness, that which has entered + into the empty night—is coming nearer to me—physically nearer, + actually nearer.” + </p> + <p> + His voice sank again. His face like the face of younger prophets, the + seers, took on a half-inspired expression. He looked vaguely before him + with unseeing eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” he murmured, “suppose I stand there under the pear trees at + night and call her again and again, and each time the Answer comes nearer + and nearer and I wait until at last one night, the supreme night of all, + she—she——” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the tension broke. With a sharp cry and a violent uncertain + gesture of the hand Vanamee came to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he exclaimed, “what is it? Do I dare? What does it mean? There are + times when it appals me and there are times when it thrills me with a + sweetness and a happiness that I have not known since she died. The + vagueness of it! How can I explain it to you, this that happens when I + call to her across the night—that faint, far-off, unseen tremble in + the darkness, that intangible, scarcely perceptible stir. Something + neither heard nor seen, appealing to a sixth sense only. Listen, it is + something like this: On Quien Sabe, all last week, we have been seeding + the earth. The grain is there now under the earth buried in the dark, in + the black stillness, under the clods. Can you imagine the first—the + very first little quiver of life that the grain of wheat must feel after + it is sown, when it answers to the call of the sun, down there in the dark + of the earth, blind, deaf; the very first stir from the inert, long, long + before any physical change has occurred,—long before the microscope + could discover the slightest change,—when the shell first tightens + with the first faint premonition of life? Well, it is something as + illusive as that.” He paused again, dreaming, lost in a reverie, then, + just above a whisper, murmured: + </p> + <p> + “'That which thou sowest is not quickened except it die,'... and she, + Angele... died.” + </p> + <p> + “You could not have been mistaken?” said Presley. “You were sure that + there was something? Imagination can do so much and the influence of the + surroundings was strong. How impossible it would be that anything SHOULD + happen. And you say you heard nothing, saw nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” answered Vanamee, “in a sixth sense, or, rather, a whole + system of other unnamed senses beyond the reach of our understanding. + People who live much alone and close to nature experience the sensation of + it. Perhaps it is something fundamental that we share with plants and + animals. The same thing that sends the birds south long before the first + colds, the same thing that makes the grain of wheat struggle up to meet + the sun. And this sense never deceives. You may see wrong, hear wrong, but + once touch this sixth sense and it acts with absolute fidelity, you are + certain. No, I hear nothing in the Mission garden. I see nothing, nothing + touches me, but I am CERTAIN for all that.” + </p> + <p> + Presley hesitated for a moment, then he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Shall you go back to the garden again? Make the test again?” “I don't + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange enough,” commented Presley, wondering. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee sank back in his chair, his eyes growing vacant again: + </p> + <p> + “Strange enough,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. Neither spoke nor moved. There, in that + moribund, ancient town, wrapped in its siesta, flagellated with heat, + deserted, ignored, baking in a noon-day silence, these two strange men, + the one a poet by nature, the other by training, both out of tune with + their world, dreamers, introspective, morbid, lost and unfamiliar at that + end-of-the-century time, searching for a sign, groping and baffled amidst + the perplexing obscurity of the Delusion, sat over empty wine glasses, + silent with the pervading silence that surrounded them, hearing only the + cooing of doves and the drone of bees, the quiet so profound, that at + length they could plainly distinguish at intervals the puffing and + coughing of a locomotive switching cars in the station yard of Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + It was, no doubt, this jarring sound that at length roused Presley from + his lethargy. The two friends rose; Solotari very sleepily came forward; + they paid for the luncheon, and stepping out into the heat and glare of + the streets of the town, passed on through it and took the road that led + northward across a corner of Dyke's hop fields. They were bound for the + hills in the northeastern corner of Quien Sabe. It was the same walk which + Presley had taken on the previous occasion when he had first met Vanamee + herding the sheep. This encompassing detour around the whole country-side + was a favorite pastime of his and he was anxious that Vanamee should share + his pleasure in it. + </p> + <p> + But soon after leaving Guadalajara, they found themselves upon the land + that Dyke had bought and upon which he was to raise his famous crop of + hops. Dyke's house was close at hand, a very pleasant little cottage, + painted white, with green blinds and deep porches, while near it and yet + in process of construction, were two great storehouses and a drying and + curing house, where the hops were to be stored and treated. All about were + evidences that the former engineer had already been hard at work. The + ground had been put in readiness to receive the crop and a bewildering, + innumerable multitude of poles, connected with a maze of wire and twine, + had been set out. Farther on at a turn of the road, they came upon Dyke + himself, driving a farm wagon loaded with more poles. He was in his shirt + sleeves, his massive, hairy arms bare to the elbow, glistening with sweat, + red with heat. In his bell-like, rumbling voice, he was calling to his + foreman and a boy at work in stringing the poles together. At sight of + Presley and Vanamee he hailed them jovially, addressing them as “boys,” + and insisting that they should get into the wagon with him and drive to + the house for a glass of beer. His mother had only the day before returned + from Marysville, where she had been looking up a seminary for the little + tad. She would be delighted to see the two boys; besides, Vanamee must see + how the little tad had grown since he last set eyes on her; wouldn't know + her for the same little girl; and the beer had been on ice since morning. + Presley and Vanamee could not well refuse. + </p> + <p> + They climbed into the wagon and jolted over the uneven ground through the + bare forest of hop-poles to the house. Inside they found Mrs. Dyke, an old + lady with a very gentle face, who wore a cap and a very old-fashioned gown + with hoop skirts, dusting the what-not in a corner of the parlor. The two + men were presented and the beer was had from off the ice. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” said Dyke, as he wiped the froth from his great blond beard, + “ain't Sid anywheres about? I want Mr. Vanamee to see how she has grown. + Smartest little tad in Tulare County, boys. Can recite the whole of 'Snow + Bound,' end to end, without skipping or looking at the book. Maybe you + don't believe that. Mother, ain't I right—without skipping a line, + hey?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dyke nodded to say that it was so, but explained that Sidney was in + Guadalajara. In putting on her new slippers for the first time the morning + before, she had found a dime in the toe of one of them and had had the + whole house by the ears ever since till she could spend it. + </p> + <p> + “Was it for licorice to make her licorice water?” inquired Dyke gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Dyke. “I made her tell me what she was going to get + before she went, and it was licorice.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke, though his mother protested that he was foolish and that Presley and + Vanamee had no great interest in “young ones,” insisted upon showing the + visitors Sidney's copy-books. They were monuments of laborious, elaborate + neatness, the trite moralities and ready-made aphorisms of the + philanthropists and publicists, repeated from page to page with wearying + insistence. “I, too, am an American Citizen. S. D.,” “As the Twig is Bent + the Tree is Inclined,” “Truth Crushed to Earth Will Rise Again,” “As for + Me, Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death,” and last of all, a strange + intrusion amongst the mild, well-worn phrases, two legends. “My motto—Public + Control of Public Franchises,” and “The P. and S. W. is an Enemy of the + State.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” commented Presley, “you mean the little tad to understand 'the + situation' early.” + </p> + <p> + “I told him he was foolish to give that to Sid to copy,” said Mrs. Dyke, + with indulgent remonstrance. “What can she understand of public + franchises?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” observed Dyke, “she'll remember it when she grows up and + when the seminary people have rubbed her up a bit, and then she'll begin + to ask questions and understand. And don't you make any mistake, mother,” + he went on, “about the little tad not knowing who her dad's enemies are. + What do you think, boys? Listen, here. Precious little I've ever told her + of the railroad or how I was turned off, but the other day I was working + down by the fence next the railroad tracks and Sid was there. She'd + brought her doll rags down and she was playing house behind a pile of hop + poles. Well, along comes a through freight—mixed train from Missouri + points and a string of empties from New Orleans,—and when it had + passed, what do you suppose the tad did? SHE didn't know I was watching + her. She goes to the fence and spits a little spit after the caboose and + puts out her little head and, if you'll believe me, HISSES at the train; + and mother says she does that same every time she sees a train go by, and + never crosses the tracks that she don't spit her little spit on 'em. What + do you THINK of THAT?” + </p> + <p> + “But I correct her every time,” protested Mrs. Dyke seriously. “Where she + picked up the trick of hissing I don't know. No, it's not funny. It seems + dreadful to see a little girl who's as sweet and gentle as can be in every + other way, so venomous. She says the other little girls at school and the + boys, too, are all the same way. Oh, dear,” she sighed, “why will the + General Office be so unkind and unjust? Why, I couldn't be happy, with all + the money in the world, if I thought that even one little child hated me—hated + me so that it would spit and hiss at me. And it's not one child, it's all + of them, so Sidney says; and think of all the grown people who hate the + road, women and men, the whole county, the whole State, thousands and + thousands of people. Don't the managers and the directors of the road ever + think of that? Don't they ever think of all the hate that surrounds them, + everywhere, everywhere, and the good people that just grit their teeth + when the name of the road is mentioned? Why do they want to make the + people hate them? No,” she murmured, the tears starting to her eyes, “No, + I tell you, Mr. Presley, the men who own the railroad are wicked, + bad-hearted men who don't care how much the poor people suffer, so long as + the road makes its eighteen million a year. They don't care whether the + people hate them or love them, just so long as they are afraid of them. + It's not right and God will punish them sooner or later.” + </p> + <p> + A little after this the two young men took themselves away, Dyke + obligingly carrying them in the wagon as far as the gate that opened into + the Quien Sabe ranch. On the way, Presley referred to what Mrs. Dyke had + said and led Dyke, himself, to speak of the P. and S. W. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Dyke said, “it's like this, Mr. Presley. I, personally, haven't + got the right to kick. With you wheat-growing people I guess it's + different, but hops, you see, don't count for much in the State. It's such + a little business that the road don't want to bother themselves to tax it. + It's the wheat growers that the road cinches. The rates on hops ARE FAIR. + I've got to admit that; I was in to Bonneville a while ago to find out. + It's two cents a pound, and Lord love you, that's reasonable enough to + suit any man. No,” he concluded, “I'm on the way to make money now. The + road sacking me as they did was, maybe, a good thing for me, after all. It + came just at the right time. I had a bit of money put by and here was the + chance to go into hops with the certainty that hops would quadruple and + quintuple in price inside the year. No, it was my chance, and though they + didn't mean it by a long chalk, the railroad people did me a good turn + when they gave me my time—and the tad'll enter the seminary next + fall.” + </p> + <p> + About a quarter of an hour after they had said goodbye to the one-time + engineer, Presley and Vanamee, tramping briskly along the road that led + northward through Quien Sabe, arrived at Annixter's ranch house. At once + they were aware of a vast and unwonted bustle that revolved about the + place. They stopped a few moments looking on, amused and interested in + what was going forward. + </p> + <p> + The colossal barn was finished. Its freshly white-washed sides glared + intolerably in the sun, but its interior was as yet innocent of paint and + through the yawning vent of the sliding doors came a delicious odour of + new, fresh wood and shavings. A crowd of men—Annixter's farm hands—were + swarming all about it. Some were balanced on the topmost rounds of + ladders, hanging festoons of Japanese lanterns from tree to tree, and all + across the front of the barn itself. Mrs. Tree, her daughter Hilma and + another woman were inside the barn cutting into long strips bolt after + bolt of red, white and blue cambric and directing how these strips should + be draped from the ceiling and on the walls; everywhere resounded the + tapping of tack hammers. A farm wagon drove up loaded to overflowing with + evergreens and with great bundles of palm leaves, and these were + immediately seized upon and affixed as supplementary decorations to the + tri-coloured cambric upon the inside walls of the barn. Two of the larger + evergreen trees were placed on either side the barn door and their tops + bent over to form an arch. In the middle of this arch it was proposed to + hang a mammoth pasteboard escutcheon with gold letters, spelling the word + WELCOME. Piles of chairs, rented from I.O.O.F. hall in Bonneville, heaped + themselves in an apparently hopeless entanglement on the ground; while at + the far extremity of the barn a couple of carpenters clattered about the + impromptu staging which was to accommodate the band. + </p> + <p> + There was a strenuous gayety in the air; everybody was in the best of + spirits. Notes of laughter continually interrupted the conversation on + every hand. At every moment a group of men involved themselves in + uproarious horse-play. They passed oblique jokes behind their hands to + each other—grossly veiled double-meanings meant for the women—and + bellowed with laughter thereat, stamping on the ground. The relations + between the sexes grew more intimate, the women and girls pushing the + young fellows away from their sides with vigorous thrusts of their elbows. + It was passed from group to group that Adela Vacca, a division + superintendent's wife, had lost her garter; the daughter of the foreman of + the Home ranch was kissed behind the door of the dairy-house. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, in execrable temper, appeared from time to time, hatless, his + stiff yellow hair in wild disorder. He hurried between the barn and the + ranch house, carrying now a wickered demijohn, now a case of wine, now a + basket of lemons and pineapples. Besides general supervision, he had + elected to assume the responsibility of composing the punch—something + stiff, by jingo, a punch that would raise you right out of your boots; a + regular hairlifter. + </p> + <p> + The harness room of the barn he had set apart for: himself and intimates. + He had brought a long table down from the house and upon it had set out + boxes of cigars, bottles of whiskey and of beer and the great china bowls + for the punch. It would be no fault of his, he declared, if half the + number of his men friends were not uproarious before they left. His barn + dance would be the talk of all Tulare County for years to come. For this + one day he had resolved to put all thoughts of business out of his head. + For the matter of that, things were going well enough. Osterman was back + from Los Angeles with a favourable report as to his affair with Disbrow + and Darrell. There had been another meeting of the committee. Harran + Derrick had attended. Though he had taken no part in the discussion, + Annixter was satisfied. The Governor had consented to allow Harran to + “come in,” if he so desired, and Harran had pledged himself to share + one-sixth of the campaign expenses, providing these did not exceed a + certain figure. + </p> + <p> + As Annixter came to the door of the barn to shout abuse at the distraught + Chinese cook who was cutting up lemons in the kitchen, he caught sight of + Presley and Vanamee and hailed them. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Pres,” he called. “Come over here and see how she looks;” he + indicated the barn with a movement of his head. “Well, we're getting ready + for you tonight,” he went on as the two friends came up. “But how we are + going to get straightened out by eight o'clock I don't know. Would you + believe that pip Caraher is short of lemons—at this last minute and + I told him I'd want three cases of 'em as much as a month ago, and here, + just when I want a good lively saddle horse to get around on, somebody + hikes the buckskin out the corral. STOLE her, by jingo. I'll have the law + on that thief if it breaks me—and a sixty-dollar saddle 'n' + head-stall gone with her; and only about half the number of Jap lanterns + that I ordered have shown up and not candles enough for those. It's enough + to make a dog sick. There's nothing done that you don't do yourself, + unless you stand over these loafers with a club. I'm sick of the whole + business—and I've lost my hat; wish to God I'd never dreamed of + givin' this rotten fool dance. Clutter the whole place up with a lot of + feemales. I sure did lose my presence of mind when I got THAT idea.” + </p> + <p> + Then, ignoring the fact that it was he, himself, who had called the young + men to him, he added: + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is my busy day. Sorry I can't stop and talk to you longer.” + </p> + <p> + He shouted a last imprecation at the Chinaman and turned back into the + barn. Presley and Vanamee went on, but Annixter, as he crossed the floor + of the barn, all but collided with Hilma Tree, who came out from one of + the stalls, a box of candles in her arms. + </p> + <p> + Gasping out an apology, Annixter reentered the harness room, closing the + door behind him, and forgetting all the responsibility of the moment, lit + a cigar and sat down in one of the hired chairs, his hands in his pockets, + his feet on the table, frowning thoughtfully through the blue smoke. + </p> + <p> + Annixter was at last driven to confess to himself that he could not get + the thought of Hilma Tree out of his mind. Finally she had “got a hold on + him.” The thing that of all others he most dreaded had happened. A feemale + girl had got a hold on him, and now there was no longer for him any such + thing as peace of mind. The idea of the young woman was with him + continually. He went to bed with it; he got up with it. At every moment of + the day he was pestered with it. It interfered with his work, got mixed up + in his business. What a miserable confession for a man to make; a fine way + to waste his time. Was it possible that only the other day he had stood in + front of the music store in Bonneville and seriously considered making + Hilma a present of a music-box? Even now, the very thought of it made him + flush with shame, and this after she had told him plainly that she did not + like him. He was running after her—he, Annixter! He ripped out a + furious oath, striking the table with his boot heel. Again and again he + had resolved to put the whole affair from out his mind. Once he had been + able to do so, but of late it was becoming harder and harder with every + successive day. He had only to close his eyes to see her as plain as if + she stood before him; he saw her in a glory of sunlight that set a fine + tinted lustre of pale carnation and gold on the silken sheen of her white + skin, her hair sparkled with it, her thick, strong neck, sloping to her + shoulders with beautiful, full curves, seemed to radiate the light; her + eyes, brown, wide, innocent in expression, disclosing the full disc of the + pupil upon the slightest provocation, flashed in this sunlight like + diamonds. + </p> + <p> + Annixter was all bewildered. With the exception of the timid little + creature in the glove-cleaning establishment in Sacramento, he had had no + acquaintance with any woman. His world was harsh, crude, a world of men + only—men who were to be combatted, opposed—his hand was + against nearly every one of them. Women he distrusted with the instinctive + distrust of the overgrown schoolboy. Now, at length, a young woman had + come into his life. Promptly he was struck with discomfiture, annoyed + almost beyond endurance, harassed, bedevilled, excited, made angry and + exasperated. He was suspicious of the woman, yet desired her, totally + ignorant of how to approach her, hating the sex, yet drawn to the + individual, confusing the two emotions, sometimes even hating Hilma as a + result of this confusion, but at all times disturbed, vexed, irritated + beyond power of expression. + </p> + <p> + At length, Annixter cast his cigar from him and plunged again into the + work of the day. The afternoon wore to evening, to the accompaniment of + wearying and clamorous endeavour. In some unexplained fashion, the labour + of putting the great barn in readiness for the dance was accomplished; the + last bolt of cambric was hung in place from the rafters. The last + evergreen tree was nailed to the joists of the walls; the last lantern + hung, the last nail driven into the musicians' platform. The sun set. + There was a great scurry to have supper and dress. Annixter, last of all + the other workers, left the barn in the dusk of twilight. He was alone; he + had a saw under one arm, a bag of tools was in his hand. He was in his + shirt sleeves and carried his coat over his shoulder; a hammer was thrust + into one of his hip pockets. He was in execrable temper. The day's work + had fagged him out. He had not been able to find his hat. + </p> + <p> + “And the buckskin with sixty dollars' worth of saddle gone, too,” he + groaned. “Oh, ain't it sweet?” + </p> + <p> + At his house, Mrs. Tree had set out a cold supper for him, the inevitable + dish of prunes serving as dessert. After supper Annixter bathed and + dressed. He decided at the last moment to wear his usual town-going suit, + a sack suit of black, made by a Bonneville tailor. But his hat was gone. + There were other hats he might have worn, but because this particular one + was lost he fretted about it all through his dressing and then decided to + have one more look around the barn for it. + </p> + <p> + For over a quarter of an hour he pottered about the barn, going from stall + to stall, rummaging the harness room and feed room, all to no purpose. At + last he came out again upon the main floor, definitely giving up the + search, looking about him to see if everything was in order. + </p> + <p> + The festoons of Japanese lanterns in and around the barn were not yet + lighted, but some half-dozen lamps, with great, tin reflectors, that hung + against the walls, were burning low. A dull half light pervaded the vast + interior, hollow, echoing, leaving the corners and roof thick with + impenetrable black shadows. The barn faced the west and through the open + sliding doors was streaming a single bright bar from the after-glow, + incongruous and out of all harmony with the dull flare of the kerosene + lamps. + </p> + <p> + As Annixter glanced about him, he saw a figure step briskly out of the + shadows of one corner of the building, pause for the fraction of one + instant in the bar of light, then, at sight of him, dart back again. There + was a sound of hurried footsteps. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, with recollections of the stolen buckskin in his mind, cried out + sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Who's there?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. In a second his pistol was in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Who's there? Quick, speak up or I'll shoot.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no, don't shoot,” cried an answering voice. “Oh, be careful. It's + I—Hilma Tree.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter slid the pistol into his pocket with a great qualm of + apprehension. He came forward and met Hilma in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord,” he murmured, “that sure did give me a start. If I HAD shot——” + </p> + <p> + Hilma stood abashed and confused before him. She was dressed in a white + organdie frock of the most rigorous simplicity and wore neither flower nor + ornament. The severity of her dress made her look even larger than usual, + and even as it was her eyes were on a level with Annixter's. There was a + certain fascination in the contradiction of stature and character of Hilma—a + great girl, half-child as yet, but tall as a man for all that. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's awkward silence, then Hilma explained: + </p> + <p> + “I—I came back to look for my hat. I thought I left it here this + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was looking for my hat,” cried Annixter. “Funny enough, hey?” + </p> + <p> + They laughed at this as heartily as children might have done. The + constraint of the situation was a little relaxed and Annixter, with sudden + directness, glanced sharply at the young woman and demanded: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss Hilma, hate me as much as ever?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, sir,” she answered, “I never said I hated you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,—dislike me, then; I know you said that.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I disliked what you did—TRIED to do. It made me angry and + it hurt me. I shouldn't have said what I did that time, but it was your + fault.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you shouldn't have said you didn't like me?” asked Annixter. + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,—I don't—I don't DISlike anybody,” admitted Hilma. + </p> + <p> + “Then I can take it that you don't dislike ME? Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't dislike anybody,” persisted Hilma. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I asked you more than that, didn't I?” queried Annixter uneasily. + “I asked you to like me, remember, the other day. I'm asking you that + again, now. I want you to like me.” + </p> + <p> + Hilma lifted her eyes inquiringly to his. In her words was an unmistakable + ring of absolute sincerity. Innocently she inquired: + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + Annixter was struck speechless. In the face of such candour, such perfect + ingenuousness, he was at a loss for any words. + </p> + <p> + “Well—well,” he stammered, “well—I don't know,” he suddenly + burst out. “That is,” he went on, groping for his wits, “I can't quite say + why.” The idea of a colossal lie occurred to him, a thing actually royal. + </p> + <p> + “I like to have the people who are around me like me,” he declared. “I—I + like to be popular, understand? Yes, that's it,” he continued, more + reassured. “I don't like the idea of any one disliking me. That's the way + I am. It's my nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then,” returned Hilma, “you needn't bother. No, I don't dislike you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's good,” declared Annixter judicially. “That's good. But hold + on,” he interrupted, “I'm forgetting. It's not enough to not dislike me. I + want you to like me. How about THAT?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma paused for a moment, glancing vaguely out of the doorway toward the + lighted window of the dairy-house, her head tilted. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that I ever thought about that,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, think about it now,” insisted Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “But I never thought about liking anybody particularly,” she observed. + “It's because I like everybody, don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've got to like some people more than other people,” hazarded + Annixter, “and I want to be one of those 'some people,' savvy? Good Lord, + I don't know how to say these fool things. I talk like a galoot when I get + talking to feemale girls and I can't lay my tongue to anything that sounds + right. It isn't my nature. And look here, I lied when I said I liked to + have people like me—to be popular. Rot! I don't care a curse about + people's opinions of me. But there's a few people that are more to me than + most others—that chap Presley, for instance—and those people I + DO want to have like me. What they think counts. Pshaw! I know I've got + enemies; piles of them. I could name you half a dozen men right now that + are naturally itching to take a shot at me. How about this ranch? Don't I + know, can't I hear the men growling oaths under their breath after I've + gone by? And in business ways, too,” he went on, speaking half to himself, + “in Bonneville and all over the county there's not a man of them wouldn't + howl for joy if they got a chance to down Buck Annixter. Think I care? + Why, I LIKE it. I run my ranch to suit myself and I play my game my own + way. I'm a 'driver,' I know it, and a 'bully,' too. Oh, I know what they + call me—'a brute beast, with a twist in my temper that would rile up + a new-born lamb,' and I'm 'crusty' and 'pig-headed' and 'obstinate.' They + say all that, but they've got to say, too, that I'm cleverer than any + man-jack in the running. There's nobody can get ahead of me.” His eyes + snapped. “Let 'em grind their teeth. They can't 'down' me. When I shut my + fist there's not one of them can open it. No, not with a CHISEL.” He + turned to Hilma again. “Well, when a man's hated as much as that, it + stands to reason, don't it, Miss Hilma, that the few friends he has got he + wants to keep? I'm not such an entire swine to the people that know me + best—that jackass, Presley, for instance. I'd put my hand in the + fire to do him a real service. Sometimes I get kind of lonesome; wonder if + you would understand? It's my fault, but there's not a horse about the + place that don't lay his ears back when I get on him; there's not a dog + don't put his tail between his legs as soon as I come near him. The cayuse + isn't foaled yet here on Quien Sabe that can throw me, nor the dog whelped + that would dare show his teeth at me. I kick that Irish setter every time + I see him—but wonder what I'd do, though, if he didn't slink so + much, if he wagged his tail and was glad to see me? So it all comes to + this: I'd like to have you—well, sort of feel that I was a good + friend of yours and like me because of it.” + </p> + <p> + The flame in the lamp on the wall in front of Hilma stretched upward tall + and thin and began to smoke. She went over to where the lamp hung and, + standing on tip-toe, lowered the wick. As she reached her hand up, + Annixter noted how the sombre, lurid red of the lamp made a warm + reflection on her smooth, round arm. + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, why, yes,” she answered, turning around. “It's very good of you to + want to be a friend of mine. I didn't think so, though, when you tried to + kiss me. But maybe it's all right since you've explained things. You see + I'm different from you. I like everybody to like me and I like to like + everybody. It makes one so much happier. You wouldn't believe it, but you + ought to try it, sir, just to see. It's so good to be good to people and + to have people good to you. And everybody has always been so good to me. + Mamma and papa, of course, and Billy, the stableman, and Montalegre, the + Portugee foreman, and the Chinese cook, even, and Mr. Delaney—only + he went away—and Mrs. Vacca and her little——” + </p> + <p> + “Delaney, hey?” demanded Annixter abruptly. “You and he were pretty good + friends, were you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she answered. “He was just as GOOD to me. Every day in the + summer time he used to ride over to the Seed ranch back of the Mission and + bring me a great armful of flowers, the prettiest things, and I used to + pretend to pay him for them with dollars made of cheese that I cut out of + the cheese with a biscuit cutter. It was such fun. We were the best of + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “There's another lamp smoking,” growled Annixter. “Turn it down, will you?—and + see that somebody sweeps this floor here. It's all littered up with pine + needles. I've got a lot to do. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter returned to the ranch house, his teeth clenched, enraged, his + face flushed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he muttered, “Delaney, hey? Throwing it up to me that I fired him.” + His teeth gripped together more fiercely than ever. “The best of friends, + hey? By God, I'll have that girl yet. I'll show that cow-puncher. Ain't I + her employer, her boss? I'll show her—and Delaney, too. It would be + easy enough—and then Delaney can have her—if he wants her—after + me.” + </p> + <p> + An evil light flashing from under his scowl, spread over his face. The + male instincts of possession, unreasoned, treacherous, oblique, came + twisting to the surface. All the lower nature of the man, ignorant of + women, racked at one and the same time with enmity and desire, roused + itself like a hideous and abominable beast. And at the same moment, Hilma + returned to her house, humming to herself as she walked, her white dress + glowing with a shimmer of faint saffron light in the last ray of the + after-glow. + </p> + <p> + A little after half-past seven, the first carry-all, bearing the druggist + of Bonneville and his women-folk, arrived in front of the new barn. + Immediately afterward an express wagon loaded down with a swarming family + of Spanish-Mexicans, gorgeous in red and yellow colours, followed. Billy, + the stableman, and his assistant took charge of the teams, unchecking the + horses and hitching them to a fence back of the barn. Then Caraher, the + saloon-keeper, in “derby” hat, “Prince Albert” coat, pointed yellow shoes + and inevitable red necktie, drove into the yard on his buckboard, the + delayed box of lemons under the seat. It looked as if the whole array of + invited guests was to arrive in one unbroken procession, but for a long + half-hour nobody else appeared. Annixter and Caraher withdrew to the + harness room and promptly involved themselves in a wrangle as to the + make-up of the famous punch. From time to time their voices could be heard + uplifted in clamorous argument. + </p> + <p> + “Two quarts and a half and a cupful of chartreuse.” + </p> + <p> + “Rot, rot, I know better. Champagne straight and a dash of brandy.” + </p> + <p> + The druggist's wife and sister retired to the feed room, where a bureau + with a swinging mirror had been placed for the convenience of the women. + The druggist stood awkwardly outside the door of the feed room, his coat + collar turned up against the draughts that drifted through the barn, his + face troubled, debating anxiously as to the propriety of putting on his + gloves. The Spanish-Mexican family, a father, mother and five children and + sister-in-law, sat rigid on the edges of the hired chairs, silent, + constrained, their eyes lowered, their elbows in at their sides, glancing + furtively from under their eyebrows at the decorations or watching with + intense absorption young Vacca, son of one of the division + superintendents, who wore a checked coat and white thread gloves and who + paced up and down the length of the barn, frowning, very important, + whittling a wax candle over the floor to make it slippery for dancing. + </p> + <p> + The musicians arrived, the City Band of Bonneville—Annixter having + managed to offend the leader of the “Dirigo” Club orchestra, at the very + last moment, to such a point that he had refused his services. These + members of the City Band repaired at once to their platform in the corner. + At every instant they laughed uproariously among themselves, joshing one + of their number, a Frenchman, whom they called “Skeezicks.” Their hilarity + reverberated in a hollow, metallic roll among the rafters overhead. The + druggist observed to young Vacca as he passed by that he thought them + pretty fresh, just the same. + </p> + <p> + “I'm busy, I'm very busy,” returned the young man, continuing on his way, + still frowning and paring the stump of candle. + </p> + <p> + “Two quarts 'n' a half. Two quarts 'n' a half.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, in a way, that's so; and then, again, in a way, it ISN'T. I know + better.” + </p> + <p> + All along one side of the barn were a row of stalls, fourteen of them, + clean as yet, redolent of new cut wood, the sawdust still in the cracks of + the flooring. Deliberately the druggist went from one to the other, + pausing contemplatively before each. He returned down the line and again + took up his position by the door of the feed room, nodding his head + judicially, as if satisfied. He decided to put on his gloves. + </p> + <p> + By now it was quite dark. Outside, between the barn and the ranch houses + one could see a group of men on step-ladders lighting the festoons of + Japanese lanterns. In the darkness, only their faces appeared here and + there, high above the ground, seen in a haze of red, strange, grotesque. + Gradually as the multitude of lanterns were lit, the light spread. The + grass underfoot looked like green excelsior. Another group of men invaded + the barn itself, lighting the lamps and lanterns there. Soon the whole + place was gleaming with points of light. Young Vacca, who had disappeared, + returned with his pockets full of wax candles. He resumed his whittling, + refusing to answer any questions, vociferating that he was busy. + </p> + <p> + Outside there was a sound of hoofs and voices. More guests had arrived. + The druggist, seized with confusion, terrified lest he had put on his + gloves too soon, thrust his hands into his pockets. It was Cutter, Magnus + Derrick's division superintendent, who came, bringing his wife and her two + girl cousins. They had come fifteen miles by the trail from the far + distant division house on “Four” of Los Muertos and had ridden on + horseback instead of driving. Mrs. Cutter could be heard declaring that + she was nearly dead and felt more like going to bed than dancing. The two + girl cousins, in dresses of dotted Swiss over blue sateen, were doing + their utmost to pacify her. She could be heard protesting from moment to + moment. One distinguished the phrases “straight to my bed,” “back nearly + broken in two,” “never wanted to come in the first place.” The druggist, + observing Cutter take a pair of gloves from Mrs. Cutter's reticule, drew + his hands from his pockets. + </p> + <p> + But abruptly there was an interruption. In the musicians' corner a scuffle + broke out. A chair was overturned. There was a noise of imprecations + mingled with shouts of derision. Skeezicks, the Frenchman, had turned upon + the joshers. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no,” he was heard to exclaim, “at the end of the end it is too much. + Kind of a bad canary—we will go to see about that. Aha, let him + close up his face before I demolish it with a good stroke of the fist.” + </p> + <p> + The men who were lighting the lanterns were obliged to intervene before he + could be placated. + </p> + <p> + Hooven and his wife and daughters arrived. Minna was carrying little + Hilda, already asleep, in her arms. Minna looked very pretty, striking + even, with her black hair, pale face, very red lips and greenish-blue + eyes. She was dressed in what had been Mrs. Hooven's wedding gown, a cheap + affair of “farmer's satin.” Mrs. Hooven had pendent earrings of imitation + jet in her ears. Hooven was wearing an old frock coat of Magnus Derrick's, + the sleeves too long, the shoulders absurdly too wide. He and Cutter at + once entered into an excited conversation as to the ownership of a certain + steer. + </p> + <p> + “Why, the brand——” + </p> + <p> + “Ach, Gott, der brendt,” Hooven clasped his head, “ach, der brendt, dot + maks me laugh some laughs. Dot's goot—der brendt—doand I see + um—shoor der boole mit der bleck star bei der vore-head in der + middle oaf. Any someones you esk tell you dot is mein boole. You esk any + someones. Der brendt? To hell mit der brendt. You aindt got some memorie + aboudt does ting I guess nodt.” + </p> + <p> + “Please step aside, gentlemen,” said young Vacca, who was still making the + rounds of the floor. + </p> + <p> + Hooven whirled about. “Eh? What den,” he exclaimed, still excited, willing + to be angry at any one for the moment. “Doand you push soh, you. I tink + berhapz you doand OWN dose barn, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm busy, I'm very busy.” The young man pushed by with grave + preoccupation. + </p> + <p> + “Two quarts 'n' a half. Two quarts 'n' a half.” + </p> + <p> + “I know better. That's all rot.” + </p> + <p> + But the barn was filling up rapidly. At every moment there was a rattle of + a newly arrived vehicle from outside. Guest after guest appeared in the + doorway, singly or in couples, or in families, or in garrulous parties of + five and six. Now it was Phelps and his mother from Los Muertos, now a + foreman from Broderson's with his family, now a gayly apparelled clerk + from a Bonneville store, solitary and bewildered, looking for a place to + put his hat, now a couple of Spanish-Mexican girls from Guadalajara with + coquettish effects of black and yellow about their dress, now a group of + Osterman's tenants, Portuguese, swarthy, with plastered hair and curled + mustaches, redolent of cheap perfumes. Sarria arrived, his smooth, shiny + face glistening with perspiration. He wore a new cassock and carried his + broad-brimmed hat under his arm. His appearance made quite a stir. He + passed from group to group, urbane, affable, shaking hands right and left; + he assumed a set smile of amiability which never left his face the whole + evening. + </p> + <p> + But abruptly there was a veritable sensation. From out the little crowd + that persistently huddled about the doorway came Osterman. He wore a + dress-suit with a white waistcoat and patent leather pumps—what a + wonder! A little qualm of excitement spread around the barn. One exchanged + nudges of the elbow with one's neighbour, whispering earnestly behind the + hand. What astonishing clothes! Catch on to the coat-tails! It was a + masquerade costume, maybe; that goat Osterman was such a josher, one never + could tell what he would do next. + </p> + <p> + The musicians began to tune up. From their corner came a medley of mellow + sounds, the subdued chirps of the violins, the dull bourdon of the bass + viol, the liquid gurgling of the flageolet and the deep-toned snarl of the + big horn, with now and then a rasping stridulating of the snare drum. A + sense of gayety began to spread throughout the assembly. At every moment + the crowd increased. The aroma of new-sawn timber and sawdust began to be + mingled with the feminine odour of sachet and flowers. There was a babel + of talk in the air—male baritone and soprano chatter—varied by + an occasional note of laughter and the swish of stiffly starched + petticoats. On the row of chairs that went around three sides of the wall + groups began to settle themselves. For a long time the guests huddled + close to the doorway; the lower end of the floor was crowded! the upper + end deserted; but by degrees the lines of white muslin and pink and blue + sateen extended, dotted with the darker figures of men in black suits. The + conversation grew louder as the timidity of the early moments wore off. + Groups at a distance called back and forth; conversations were carried on + at top voice. Once, even a whole party hurried across the floor from one + side of the barn to the other. + </p> + <p> + Annixter emerged from the harness room, his face red with wrangling. He + took a position to the right of the door, shaking hands with newcomers, + inviting them over and over again to cut loose and whoop it along. Into + the ears of his more intimate male acquaintances he dropped a word as to + punch and cigars in the harness room later on, winking with vast + intelligence. Ranchers from remoter parts of the country appeared: + Garnett, from the Ruby rancho, Keast, from the ranch of the same name, + Gethings, of the San Pablo, Chattern, of the Bonanza, and others and still + others, a score of them—elderly men, for the most part, bearded, + slow of speech, deliberate, dressed in broadcloth. Old Broderson, who + entered with his wife on his arm, fell in with this type, and with them + came a certain Dabney, of whom nothing but his name was known, a silent + old man, who made no friends, whom nobody knew or spoke to, who was seen + only upon such occasions as this, coming from no one knew where, going, no + one cared to inquire whither. + </p> + <p> + Between eight and half-past, Magnus Derrick and his family were seen. + Magnus's entry caused no little impression. Some said: “There's the + Governor,” and called their companions' attention to the thin, erect + figure, commanding, imposing, dominating all in his immediate + neighbourhood. Harran came with him, wearing a cut-away suit of black. He + was undeniably handsome, young and fresh looking, his cheeks highly + coloured, quite the finest looking of all the younger men; blond, strong, + with that certain courtliness of manner that had always made him liked. He + took his mother upon his arm and conducted her to a seat by the side of + Mrs. Broderson. + </p> + <p> + Annie Derrick was very pretty that evening. She was dressed in a grey silk + gown with a collar of pink velvet. Her light brown hair that yet retained + so much of its brightness was transfixed by a high, shell comb, very + Spanish. But the look of uneasiness in her large eyes—the eyes of a + young girl—was deepening every day. The expression of innocence and + inquiry which they so easily assumed, was disturbed by a faint suggestion + of aversion, almost of terror. She settled herself in her place, in the + corner of the hall, in the rear rank of chairs, a little frightened by the + glare of lights, the hum of talk and the shifting crowd, glad to be out of + the way, to attract no attention, willing to obliterate herself. + </p> + <p> + All at once Annixter, who had just shaken hands with Dyke, his mother and + the little tad, moved abruptly in his place, drawing in his breath + sharply. The crowd around the great, wide-open main door of the barn had + somewhat thinned out and in the few groups that still remained there he + had suddenly recognised Mr. and Mrs. Tree and Hilma, making their way + towards some empty seats near the entrance of the feed room. + </p> + <p> + In the dusky light of the barn earlier in the evening, Annixter had not + been able to see Hilma plainly. Now, however, as she passed before his + eyes in the glittering radiance of the lamps and lanterns, he caught his + breath in astonishment. Never had she appeared more beautiful in his eyes. + It did not seem possible that this was the same girl whom he saw every day + in and around the ranch house and dairy, the girl of simple calico frocks + and plain shirt waists, who brought him his dinner, who made up his bed. + Now he could not take his eyes from her. Hilma, for the first time, was + wearing her hair done high upon her head. The thick, sweet-smelling + masses, bitumen brown in the shadows, corruscated like golden filaments in + the light. Her organdie frock was long, longer than any she had yet worn. + It left a little of her neck and breast bare and all of her arm. + </p> + <p> + Annixter muttered an exclamation. Such arms! How did she manage to keep + them hid on ordinary occasions. Big at the shoulder, tapering with + delicious modulations to the elbow and wrist, overlaid with a delicate, + gleaming lustre. As often as she turned her head the movement sent a slow + undulation over her neck and shoulders, the pale amber-tinted shadows + under her chin, coming and going over the creamy whiteness of the skin + like the changing moire of silk. The pretty rose colour of her cheek had + deepened to a pale carnation. Annixter, his hands clasped behind him, + stood watching. + </p> + <p> + In a few moments Hilma was surrounded by a group of young men, clamouring + for dances. They came from all corners of the barn, leaving the other + girls precipitately, almost rudely. There could be little doubt as to who + was to be the belle of the occasion. Hilma's little triumph was immediate, + complete. Annixter could hear her voice from time to time, its usual + velvety huskiness vibrating to a note of exuberant gayety. + </p> + <p> + All at once the orchestra swung off into a march—the Grand March. + There was a great rush to secure “partners.” Young Vacca, still going the + rounds, was pushed to one side. The gayly apparelled clerk from the + Bonneville store lost his head in the confusion. He could not find his + “partner.” He roamed wildly about the barn, bewildered, his eyes rolling. + He resolved to prepare an elaborate programme card on the back of an old + envelope. Rapidly the line was formed, Hilma and Harran Derrick in the + lead, Annixter having obstinately refused to engage in either march, set + or dance the whole evening. Soon the confused shuffling of feet settled to + a measured cadence; the orchestra blared and wailed, the snare drum, + rolling at exact intervals, the cornet marking the time. It was half-past + eight o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Annixter drew a long breath: + </p> + <p> + “Good,” he muttered, “the thing is under way at last.” + </p> + <p> + Singularly enough, Osterman also refused to dance. The week before he had + returned from Los Angeles, bursting with the importance of his mission. He + had been successful. He had Disbrow “in his pocket.” He was impatient to + pose before the others of the committee as a skilful political agent, a + manipulator. He forgot his attitude of the early part of the evening when + he had drawn attention to himself with his wonderful clothes. Now his + comic actor's face, with its brownish-red cheeks, protuberant ears and + horizontal slit of a mouth, was overcast with gravity. His bald forehead + was seamed with the wrinkles of responsibility. He drew Annixter into one + of the empty stalls and began an elaborate explanation, glib, voluble, + interminable, going over again in detail what he had reported to the + committee in outline. + </p> + <p> + “I managed—I schemed—I kept dark—I lay low——” + </p> + <p> + But Annixter refused to listen. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rot your schemes. There's a punch in the harness room that will make + the hair grow on the top of your head in the place where the hair ought to + grow. Come on, we'll round up some of the boys and walk into it.” + </p> + <p> + They edged their way around the hall outside “The Grand March,” toward the + harness room, picking up on their way Caraher, Dyke, Hooven and old + Broderson. Once in the harness room, Annixter shot the bolt. + </p> + <p> + “That affair outside,” he observed, “will take care of itself, but here's + a little orphan child that gets lonesome without company.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter began ladling the punch, filling the glasses. + </p> + <p> + Osterman proposed a toast to Quien Sabe and the Biggest Barn. Their elbows + crooked in silence. Old Broderson set down his glass, wiping his long + beard and remarking: + </p> + <p> + “That—that certainly is very—very agreeable. I remember a + punch I drank on Christmas day in '83, or no, it was '84—anyhow, + that punch—it was in Ukiah—'TWAS '83—” He wandered on + aimlessly, unable to stop his flow of speech, losing himself in details, + involving his talk in a hopeless maze of trivialities to which nobody paid + any attention. + </p> + <p> + “I don't drink myself,” observed Dyke, “but just a taste of that with a + lot of water wouldn't be bad for the little tad. She'd think it was + lemonade.” He was about to mix a glass for Sidney, but thought better of + it at the last moment. + </p> + <p> + “It's the chartreuse that's lacking,” commented Caraher, lowering at + Annixter. The other flared up on the instant. + </p> + <p> + “Rot, rot. I know better. In some punches it goes; and then, again, in + others it don't.” + </p> + <p> + But it was left to Hooven to launch the successful phrase: + </p> + <p> + “Gesundheit,” he exclaimed, holding out his second glass. After drinking, + he replaced it on the table with a long breath. “Ach Gott!” he cried, “dat + poonsch, say I tink dot poonsch mek some demn goot vertilizer, hey?” + </p> + <p> + Fertiliser! The others roared with laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Good eye, Bismarck,” commented Annixter. The name had a great success. + Thereafter throughout the evening the punch was invariably spoken of as + the “Fertiliser.” Osterman, having spilt the bottom of a glassful on the + floor, pretended that he saw shoots of grain coming up on the spot. + Suddenly he turned upon old Broderson. “I'm bald, ain't I? Want to know + how I lost my hair? Promise you won't ask a single other question and I'll + tell you. Promise your word of honour.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What—wh—I—I don't understand. Your hair? Yes, I'll + promise. How did you lose it?” + </p> + <p> + “It was bit off.” + </p> + <p> + The other gazed at him stupefied; his jaw dropped. The company shouted, + and old Broderson, believing he had somehow accomplished a witticism, + chuckled in his beard, wagging his head. But suddenly he fell grave, + struck with an idea. He demanded: + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I know—but—but what bit it off?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” vociferated Osterman, “that's JUST what you promised not to ask.” + </p> + <p> + The company doubled up with hilarity. Caraher leaned against the door, + holding his sides, but Hooven, all abroad, unable to follow, gazed from + face to face with a vacant grin, thinking it was still a question of his + famous phrase. + </p> + <p> + “Vertilizer, hey? Dots some fine joke, hey? You bedt.” + </p> + <p> + What with the noise of their talk and laughter, it was some time before + Dyke, first of all, heard a persistent knocking on the bolted door. He + called Annixter's attention to the sound. Cursing the intruder, Annixter + unbolted and opened the door. But at once his manner changed. + </p> + <p> + “Hello. It's Presley. Come in, come in, Pres.” + </p> + <p> + There was a shout of welcome from the others. A spirit of effusive + cordiality had begun to dominate the gathering. Annixter caught sight of + Vanamee back of Presley, and waiving for the moment the distinction of + employer and employee, insisted that both the friends should come in. + </p> + <p> + “Any friend of Pres is my friend,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + But when the two had entered and had exchanged greetings, Presley drew + Annixter aside. + </p> + <p> + “Vanamee and I have just come from Bonneville,” he explained. “We saw + Delaney there. He's got the buckskin, and he's full of bad whiskey and + dago-red. You should see him; he's wearing all his cow-punching outfit, + hair trousers, sombrero, spurs and all the rest of it, and he has strapped + himself to a big revolver. He says he wasn't invited to your barn dance + but that he's coming over to shoot up the place. He says you promised to + show him off Quien Sabe at the toe of your boot and that he's going to + give you the chance to-night!” “Ah,” commented Annixter, nodding his head, + “he is, is he?” + </p> + <p> + Presley was disappointed. Knowing Annixter's irascibility, he had expected + to produce a more dramatic effect. He began to explain the danger of the + business. Delaney had once knifed a greaser in the Panamint country. He + was known as a “bad” man. But Annixter refused to be drawn. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said, “that's all right. Don't tell anybody else. You + might scare the girls off. Get in and drink.” + </p> + <p> + Outside the dancing was by this time in full swing. The orchestra was + playing a polka. Young Vacca, now at his fiftieth wax candle, had brought + the floor to the slippery surface of glass. The druggist was dancing with + one of the Spanish-Mexican girls with the solemnity of an automaton, + turning about and about, always in the same direction, his eyes glassy, + his teeth set. Hilma Tree was dancing for the second time with Harran + Derrick. She danced with infinite grace. Her cheeks were bright red, her + eyes half-closed, and through her parted lips she drew from time to time a + long, tremulous breath of pure delight. The music, the weaving colours, + the heat of the air, by now a little oppressive, the monotony of repeated + sensation, even the pain of physical fatigue had exalted all her senses. + She was in a dreamy lethargy of happiness. It was her “first ball.” She + could have danced without stopping until morning. Minna Hooven and Cutter + were “promenading.” Mrs. Hooven, with little Hilda already asleep on her + knees, never took her eyes from her daughter's gown. As often as Minna + passed near her she vented an energetic “pst! pst!” The metal tip of a + white draw string was showing from underneath the waist of Minna's dress. + Mrs. Hooven was on the point of tears. + </p> + <p> + The solitary gayly apparelled clerk from Bonneville was in a fever of + agitation. He had lost his elaborate programme card. Bewildered, beside + himself with trepidation, he hurried about the room, jostled by the + dancing couples, tripping over the feet of those who were seated; he + peered distressfully under the chairs and about the floor, asking anxious + questions. + </p> + <p> + Magnus Derrick, the centre of a listening circle of ranchers—Garnett + from the Ruby rancho, Keast from the ranch of the same name, Gethings and + Chattern of the San Pablo and Bonanza—stood near the great open + doorway of the barn, discussing the possibility of a shortage in the + world's wheat crop for the next year. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly the orchestra ceased playing with a roll of the snare drum, a + flourish of the cornet and a prolonged growl of the bass viol. The dance + broke up, the couples hurrying to their seats, leaving the gayly + apparelled clerk suddenly isolated in the middle of the floor, rolling his + eyes. The druggist released the Spanish-Mexican girl with mechanical + precision out amidst the crowd of dancers. He bowed, dropping his chin + upon his cravat; throughout the dance neither had hazarded a word. The + girl found her way alone to a chair, but the druggist, sick from + continually revolving in the same direction, walked unsteadily toward the + wall. All at once the barn reeled around him; he fell down. There was a + great laugh, but he scrambled to his feet and disappeared abruptly out + into the night through the doorway of the barn, deathly pale, his hand + upon his stomach. + </p> + <p> + Dabney, the old man whom nobody knew, approached the group of ranchers + around Magnus Derrick and stood, a little removed, listening gravely to + what the governor was saying, his chin sunk in his collar, silent, + offering no opinions. + </p> + <p> + But the leader of the orchestra, with a great gesture of his violin bow, + cried out: + </p> + <p> + “All take partners for the lancers and promenade around the hall!” + </p> + <p> + However, there was a delay. A little crowd formed around the musicians' + platform; voices were raised; there was a commotion. Skeezicks, who played + the big horn, accused the cornet and the snare-drum of stealing his cold + lunch. At intervals he could be heard expostulating: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no! at the end of the end! Render me the sausages, you, or less I + break your throat! Aha! I know you. You are going to play me there a bad + farce. My sausages and the pork sandwich, else I go away from this place!” + </p> + <p> + He made an exaggerated show of replacing his big horn in its case, but the + by-standers raised a great protest. The sandwiches and one sausage were + produced; the other had disappeared. In the end Skeezichs allowed himself + to be appeased. The dance was resumed. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later the gathering in the harness room was considerably + reinforced. It was the corner of the barn toward which the male guests + naturally gravitated. Harran Derrick, who only cared to dance with Hilma + Tree, was admitted. Garnett from the Ruby rancho and Gethings from the San + Pablo, came in a little afterwards. A fourth bowl of punch was mixed, + Annixter and Caraher clamouring into each other's face as to its + ingredients. Cigars were lighted. Soon the air of the room became blue + with an acrid haze of smoke. It was very warm. Ranged in their chairs + around the side of the room, the guests emptied glass after glass. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee alone refused to drink. He sat a little to one side, + disassociating himself from what was going forward, watching the others + calmly, a little contemptuously, a cigarette in his fingers. + </p> + <p> + Hooven, after drinking his third glass, however, was afflicted with a + great sadness; his breast heaved with immense sighs. He asserted that he + was “obbressed;” Cutter had taken his steer. He retired to a corner and + seated himself in a heap on his chair, his heels on the rungs, wiping the + tears from his eyes, refusing to be comforted. Old Broderson startled + Annixter, who sat next to him, out of all measure by suddenly winking at + him with infinite craftiness. + </p> + <p> + “When I was a lad in Ukiah,” he whispered hoarsely, “I was a devil of a + fellow with the girls; but Lordy!” he nudged him slyly, “I wouldn't have + it known!” + </p> + <p> + Of those who were drinking, Annixter alone retained all his wits. Though + keeping pace with the others, glass for glass, the punch left him solid + upon his feet, clear-headed. The tough, cross-grained fibre of him seemed + proof against alcohol. Never in his life had he been drunk. He prided + himself upon his power of resistance. It was his nature. + </p> + <p> + “Say!” exclaimed old Broderson, gravely addressing the company, pulling at + his beard uneasily—“say! I—I—listen! I'm a devil of a + fellow with the girls.” He wagged his head doggedly, shutting his eyes in + a knowing fashion. “Yes, sir, I am. There was a young lady in Ukiah—that + was when I was a lad of seventeen. We used to meet in the cemetery in the + afternoons. I was to go away to school at Sacramento, and the afternoon I + left we met in the cemetery and we stayed so long I almost missed the + train. Her name was Celestine.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. The others waited for the rest of the story. + </p> + <p> + “And afterwards?” prompted Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “Afterwards? Nothing afterwards. I never saw her again. Her name was + Celestine.” + </p> + <p> + The company raised a chorus of derision, and Osterman cried ironically: + </p> + <p> + “Say! THAT'S a pretty good one! Tell us another.” + </p> + <p> + The old man laughed with the rest, believing he had made another hit. He + called Osterman to him, whispering in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “Sh! Look here! Some night you and I will go up to San Francisco—hey? + We'll go skylarking. We'll be gay. Oh, I'm a—a—a rare old + BUCK, I am! I ain't too old. You'll see.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter gave over the making of the fifth bowl of punch to Osterman, who + affirmed that he had a recipe for a “fertiliser” from Solotari that would + take the plating off the ladle. He left him wrangling with Caraher, who + still persisted in adding chartreuse, and stepped out into the dance to + see how things were getting on. + </p> + <p> + It was the interval between two dances. In and around a stall at the + farther end of the floor, where lemonade was being served, was a great + throng of young men. Others hurried across the floor singly or by twos and + threes, gingerly carrying overflowing glasses to their “partners,” sitting + in long rows of white and blue and pink against the opposite wall, their + mothers and older sisters in a second dark-clothed rank behind them. A + babel of talk was in the air, mingled with gusts of laughter. Everybody + seemed having a good time. In the increasing heat the decorations of + evergreen trees and festoons threw off a pungent aroma that suggested a + Sunday-school Christmas festival. In the other stalls, lower down the + barn, the young men had brought chairs, and in these deep recesses the + most desperate love-making was in progress, the young man, his hair neatly + parted, leaning with great solicitation over the girl, his “partner” for + the moment, fanning her conscientiously, his arm carefully laid along the + back of her chair. + </p> + <p> + By the doorway, Annixter met Sarria, who had stepped out to smoke a fat, + black cigar. The set smile of amiability was still fixed on the priest's + smooth, shiny face; the cigar ashes had left grey streaks on the front of + his cassock. He avoided Annixter, fearing, no doubt, an allusion to his + game cocks, and took up his position back of the second rank of chairs by + the musicians' stand, beaming encouragingly upon every one who caught his + eye. + </p> + <p> + Annixter was saluted right and left as he slowly went the round of the + floor. At every moment he had to pause to shake hands and to listen to + congratulations upon the size of his barn and the success of his dance. + But he was distrait, his thoughts elsewhere; he did not attempt to hide + his impatience when some of the young men tried to engage him in + conversation, asking him to be introduced to their sisters, or their + friends' sisters. He sent them about their business harshly, abominably + rude, leaving a wake of angry disturbance behind him, sowing the seeds of + future quarrels and renewed unpopularity. He was looking for Hilma Tree. + </p> + <p> + When at last he came unexpectedly upon her, standing near where Mrs. Tree + was seated, some half-dozen young men hovering uneasily in her + neighbourhood, all his audacity was suddenly stricken from him; his + gruffness, his overbearing insolence vanished with an abruptness that left + him cold. His old-time confusion and embarrassment returned to him. + Instead of speaking to her as he intended, he affected not to see her, but + passed by, his head in the air, pretending a sudden interest in a Japanese + lantern that was about to catch fire. + </p> + <p> + But he had had a single distinct glimpse of her, definite, precise, and + this glimpse was enough. Hilma had changed. The change was subtle, + evanescent, hard to define, but not the less unmistakable. The excitement, + the enchanting delight, the delicious disturbance of “the first ball,” had + produced its result. Perhaps there had only been this lacking. It was hard + to say, but for that brief instant of time Annixter was looking at Hilma, + the woman. She was no longer the young girl upon whom he might look down, + to whom he might condescend, whose little, infantile graces were to be + considered with amused toleration. + </p> + <p> + When Annixter returned to the harness room, he let himself into a clamour + of masculine hilarity. Osterman had, indeed, made a marvellous + “fertiliser,” whiskey for the most part, diluted with champagne and lemon + juice. The first round of this drink had been welcomed with a salvo of + cheers. Hooven, recovering his spirits under its violent stimulation, + spoke of “heving ut oudt mit Cudder, bei Gott,” while Osterman, standing + on a chair at the end of the room, shouted for a “few moments quiet, + gentlemen,” so that he might tell a certain story he knew. But, abruptly, + Annixter discovered that the liquors—the champagne, whiskey, brandy, + and the like—were running low. This would never do. He felt that he + would stand disgraced if it could be said afterward that he had not + provided sufficient drink at his entertainment. He slipped out, + unobserved, and, finding two of his ranch hands near the doorway, sent + them down to the ranch house to bring up all the cases of “stuff” they + found there. + </p> + <p> + However, when this matter had been attended to, Annixter did not + immediately return to the harness room. On the floor of the barn a square + dance was under way, the leader of the City Band calling the figures. + Young Vacca indefatigably continued the rounds of the barn, paring candle + after candle, possessed with this single idea of duty, pushing the dancers + out of his way, refusing to admit that the floor was yet sufficiently + slippery. The druggist had returned indoors, and leaned dejected and + melancholy against the wall near the doorway, unable to dance, his + evening's enjoyment spoiled. The gayly apparelled clerk from Bonneville + had just involved himself in a deplorable incident. In a search for his + handkerchief, which he had lost while trying to find his programme card, + he had inadvertently wandered into the feed room, set apart as the ladies' + dressing room, at the moment when Mrs. Hooven, having removed the waist of + Minna's dress, was relacing her corsets. There was a tremendous scene. The + clerk was ejected forcibly, Mrs. Hooven filling all the neighbourhood with + shrill expostulation. A young man, Minna's “partner,” who stood near the + feed room door, waiting for her to come out, had invited the clerk, with + elaborate sarcasm, to step outside for a moment; and the clerk, + breathless, stupefied, hustled from hand to hand, remained petrified, with + staring eyes, turning about and about, looking wildly from face to face, + speechless, witless, wondering what had happened. + </p> + <p> + But the square dance was over. The City Band was just beginning to play a + waltz. Annixter assuring himself that everything was going all right, was + picking his way across the floor, when he came upon Hilma Tree quite + alone, and looking anxiously among the crowd of dancers. + </p> + <p> + “Having a good time, Miss Hilma?” he demanded, pausing for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, am I, JUST!” she exclaimed. “The best time—but I don't know + what has become of my partner. See! I'm left all alone—the only time + this whole evening,” she added proudly. “Have you seen him—my + partner, sir? I forget his name. I only met him this evening, and I've met + SO many I can't begin to remember half of them. He was a young man from + Bonneville—a clerk, I think, because I remember seeing him in a + store there, and he wore the prettiest clothes!” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he got lost in the shuffle,” observed Annixter. Suddenly an idea + occurred to him. He took his resolution in both hands. He clenched his + teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Say! look here, Miss Hilma. What's the matter with you and I stealing + this one for ourselves? I don't mean to dance. I don't propose to make a + jumping-jack of myself for some galoot to give me the laugh, but we'll + walk around. Will you? What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma consented. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not so VERY sorry I missed my dance with that—that—little + clerk,” she said guiltily. “I suppose that's very bad of me, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Annixter fulminated a vigorous protest. + </p> + <p> + “I AM so warm!” murmured Hilma, fanning herself with her handkerchief; + “and, oh! SUCH a good time as I have had! I was so afraid that I would be + a wall-flower and sit up by mamma and papa the whole evening; and as it + is, I have had every single dance, and even some dances I had to split. + Oh-h!” she breathed, glancing lovingly around the barn, noting again the + festoons of tri-coloured cambric, the Japanese lanterns, flaring lamps, + and “decorations” of evergreen; “oh-h! it's all so lovely, just like a + fairy story; and to think that it can't last but for one little evening, + and that to-morrow morning one must wake up to the every-day things + again!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” observed Annixter doggedly, unwilling that she should forget whom + she ought to thank, “I did my best, and my best is as good as another + man's, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + Hilma overwhelmed him with a burst of gratitude which he gruffly pretended + to deprecate. Oh, that was all right. It hadn't cost him much. He liked to + see people having a good time himself, and the crowd did seem to be + enjoying themselves. What did SHE think? Did things look lively enough? + And how about herself—was she enjoying it? + </p> + <p> + Stupidly Annixter drove the question home again, at his wits' end as to + how to make conversation. Hilma protested volubly she would never forget + this night, adding: + </p> + <p> + “Dance! Oh, you don't know how I love it! I didn't know myself. I could + dance all night and never stop once!” + </p> + <p> + Annixter was smitten with uneasiness. No doubt this “promenading” was not + at all to her taste. Wondering what kind of a spectacle he was about to + make of himself, he exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Want to dance now?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” she returned. + </p> + <p> + They paused in their walk, and Hilma, facing him, gave herself into his + arms. Annixter shut his teeth, the perspiration starting from his + forehead. For five years he had abandoned dancing. Never in his best days + had it been one of his accomplishments. + </p> + <p> + They hesitated a moment, waiting to catch the time from the musicians. + Another couple bore down upon them at precisely the wrong moment, jostling + them out of step. Annixter swore under his breath. His arm still about the + young woman, he pulled her over to one corner. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he muttered, “we'll try again.” + </p> + <p> + A second time, listening to the one-two-three, one-two-three cadence of + the musicians, they endeavoured to get under way. Annixter waited the + fraction of a second too long and stepped on Hilma's foot. On the third + attempt, having worked out of the corner, a pair of dancers bumped into + them once more, and as they were recovering themselves another couple + caromed violently against Annixter so that he all but lost his footing. He + was in a rage. Hilma, very embarrassed, was trying not to laugh, and thus + they found themselves, out in the middle of the floor, continually jostled + from their position, holding clumsily to each other, stammering excuses + into one another's faces, when Delaney arrived. + </p> + <p> + He came with the suddenness of an explosion. There was a commotion by the + doorway, a rolling burst of oaths, a furious stamping of hoofs, a wild + scramble of the dancers to either side of the room, and there he was. He + had ridden the buckskin at a gallop straight through the doorway and out + into the middle of the floor of the barn. + </p> + <p> + Once well inside, Delaney hauled up on the cruel spade-bit, at the same + time driving home the spurs, and the buckskin, without halting in her + gait, rose into the air upon her hind feet, and coming down again with a + thunder of iron hoofs upon the hollow floor, lashed out with both heels + simultaneously, her back arched, her head between her knees. It was the + running buck, and had not Delaney been the hardest buster in the county, + would have flung him headlong like a sack of sand. But he eased off the + bit, gripping the mare's flanks with his knees, and the buckskin, having + long since known her master, came to hand quivering, the bloody spume + dripping from the bit upon the slippery floor. + </p> + <p> + Delaney had arrayed himself with painful elaboration, determined to look + the part, bent upon creating the impression, resolved that his appearance + at least should justify his reputation of being “bad.” Nothing was lacking—neither + the campaign hat with upturned brim, nor the dotted blue handkerchief + knotted behind the neck, nor the heavy gauntlets stitched with red, nor—this + above all—the bear-skin “chaparejos,” the hair trousers of the + mountain cowboy, the pistol holster low on the thigh. But for the moment + this holster was empty, and in his right hand, the hammer at full cock, + the chamber loaded, the puncher flourished his teaser, an army Colt's, the + lamplight dully reflected in the dark blue steel. + </p> + <p> + In a second of time the dance was a bedlam. The musicians stopped with a + discord, and the middle of the crowded floor bared itself instantly. It + was like sand blown from off a rock; the throng of guests, carried by an + impulse that was not to be resisted, bore back against the sides of the + barn, overturning chairs, tripping upon each other, falling down, + scrambling to their feet again, stepping over one another, getting behind + each other, diving under chairs, flattening themselves against the wall—a + wild, clamouring pell-mell, blind, deaf, panic-stricken; a confused tangle + of waving arms, torn muslin, crushed flowers, pale faces, tangled legs, + that swept in all directions back from the centre of the floor, leaving + Annixter and Hilma, alone, deserted, their arms about each other, face to + face with Delaney, mad with alcohol, bursting with remembered insult, bent + on evil, reckless of results. + </p> + <p> + After the first scramble for safety, the crowd fell quiet for the fraction + of an instant, glued to the walls, afraid to stir, struck dumb and + motionless with surprise and terror, and in the instant's silence that + followed Annixter, his eyes on Delaney, muttered rapidly to Hilma: + </p> + <p> + “Get back, get away to one side. The fool MIGHT shoot.” + </p> + <p> + There was a second's respite afforded while Delaney occupied himself in + quieting the buckskin, and in that second of time, at this moment of + crisis, the wonderful thing occurred. Hilma, turning from Delaney, her + hands clasped on Annixter's arm, her eyes meeting his, exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “You, too!” + </p> + <p> + And that was all; but to Annixter it was a revelation. Never more alive to + his surroundings, never more observant, he suddenly understood. For the + briefest lapse of time he and Hilma looked deep into each other's eyes, + and from that moment on, Annixter knew that Hilma cared. + </p> + <p> + The whole matter was brief as the snapping of a finger. Two words and a + glance and all was done. But as though nothing had occurred, Annixter + pushed Hilma from him, repeating harshly: + </p> + <p> + “Get back, I tell you. Don't you see he's got a gun? Haven't I enough on + my hands without you?” + </p> + <p> + He loosed her clasp and his eyes once more on Delaney, moved diagonally + backwards toward the side of the barn, pushing Hilma from him. In the end + he thrust her away so sharply that she gave back with a long stagger; + somebody caught her arm and drew her in, leaving Annixter alone once more + in the middle of the floor, his hands in his coat pockets, watchful, + alert, facing his enemy. + </p> + <p> + But the cow-puncher was not ready to come to grapples yet. Fearless, his + wits gambolling under the lash of the alcohol, he wished to make the most + of the occasion, maintaining the suspense, playing for the gallery. By + touches of the hand and knee he kept the buckskin in continual, nervous + movement, her hoofs clattering, snorting, tossing her head, while he, + himself, addressing himself to Annixter, poured out a torrent of + invective. + </p> + <p> + “Well, strike me blind if it ain't old Buck Annixter! He was going to show + me off Quien Sabe at the toe of his boot, was he? Well, here's your + chance,—with the ladies to see you do it. Gives a dance, does he, + high-falutin' hoe-down in his barn and forgets to invite his old + broncho-bustin' friend. But his friend don't forget him; no, he don't. He + remembers little things, does his broncho-bustin' friend. Likes to see a + dance hisself on occasion, his friend does. Comes anyhow, trustin' his + welcome will be hearty; just to see old Buck Annixter dance, just to show + Buck Annixter's friends how Buck can dance—dance all by hisself, a + little hen-on-a-hot-plate dance when his broncho-bustin' friend asks him + so polite. A little dance for the ladies, Buck. This feature of the + entertainment is alone worth the price of admission. Tune up, Buck. + Attention now! I'll give you the key.” + </p> + <p> + He “fanned” his revolver, spinning it about his index finger by the + trigger-guard with incredible swiftness, the twirling weapon a mere blur + of blue steel in his hand. Suddenly and without any apparent cessation of + the movement, he fired, and a little splinter of wood flipped into the air + at Annixter's feet. + </p> + <p> + “Time!” he shouted, while the buckskin reared to the report. “Hold on—wait + a minute. This place is too light to suit. That big light yonder is in my + eyes. Look out, I'm going to throw lead.” + </p> + <p> + A second shot put out the lamp over the musicians' stand. The assembled + guests shrieked, a frantic, shrinking quiver ran through the crowd like + the huddling of frightened rabbits in their pen. + </p> + <p> + Annixter hardly moved. He stood some thirty paces from the buster, his + hands still in his coat pockets, his eyes glistening, watchful. Excitable + and turbulent in trifling matters, when actual bodily danger threatened he + was of an abnormal quiet. + </p> + <p> + “I'm watching you,” cried the other. “Don't make any mistake about that. + Keep your hands in your COAT pockets, if you'd like to live a little + longer, understand? And don't let me see you make a move toward your hip + or your friends will be asked to identify you at the morgue to-morrow + morning. When I'm bad, I'm called the Undertaker's Friend, so I am, and + I'm that bad to-night that I'm scared of myself. They'll have to revise + the census returns before I'm done with this place. Come on, now, I'm + getting tired waiting. I come to see a dance.” + </p> + <p> + “Hand over that horse, Delaney,” said Annixter, without raising his voice, + “and clear out.” + </p> + <p> + The other affected to be overwhelmed with infinite astonishment, his eyes + staring. He peered down from the saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Wh-a-a-t!” he exclaimed; “wh-a-a-t did you say? Why, I guess you must be + looking for trouble; that's what I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “There's where you're wrong, m'son,” muttered Annixter, partly to Delaney, + partly to himself. “If I was looking for trouble there wouldn't be any + guess-work about it.” + </p> + <p> + With the words he began firing. Delaney had hardly entered the barn before + Annixter's plan had been formed. Long since his revolver was in the pocket + of his coat, and he fired now through the coat itself, without withdrawing + his hands. + </p> + <p> + Until that moment Annixter had not been sure of himself. There was no + doubt that for the first few moments of the affair he would have welcomed + with joy any reasonable excuse for getting out of the situation. But the + sound of his own revolver gave him confidence. He whipped it from his + pocket and fired again. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly the duel began, report following report, spurts of pale blue + smoke jetting like the darts of short spears between the two men, + expanding to a haze and drifting overhead in wavering strata. It was quite + probable that no thought of killing each other suggested itself to either + Annixter or Delaney. Both fired without aiming very deliberately. To empty + their revolvers and avoid being hit was the desire common to both. They no + longer vituperated each other. The revolvers spoke for them. + </p> + <p> + Long after, Annixter could recall this moment. For years he could with but + little effort reconstruct the scene—the densely packed crowd + flattened against the sides of the barn, the festoons of lanterns, the + mingled smell of evergreens, new wood, sachets, and powder smoke; the + vague clamour of distress and terror that rose from the throng of guests, + the squealing of the buckskin, the uneven explosions of the revolvers, the + reverberation of trampling hoofs, a brief glimpse of Harran Derrick's + excited face at the door of the harness room, and in the open space in the + centre of the floor, himself and Delaney, manoeuvring swiftly in a cloud + of smoke. + </p> + <p> + Annixter's revolver contained but six cartridges. Already it seemed to him + as if he had fired twenty times. Without doubt the next shot was his last. + Then what? He peered through the blue haze that with every discharge + thickened between him and the buster. For his own safety he must “place” + at least one shot. Delaney's chest and shoulders rose suddenly above the + smoke close upon him as the distraught buckskin reared again. Annixter, + for the first time during the fight, took definite aim, but before he + could draw the trigger there was a great shout and he was aware of the + buckskin, the bridle trailing, the saddle empty, plunging headlong across + the floor, crashing into the line of chairs. Delaney was scrambling off + the floor. There was blood on the buster's wrist and he no longer carried + his revolver. Suddenly he turned and ran. The crowd parted right and left + before him as he made toward the doorway. He disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Twenty men promptly sprang to the buckskin's head, but she broke away, and + wild with terror, bewildered, blind, insensate, charged into the corner of + the barn by the musicians' stand. She brought up against the wall with + cruel force and with impact of a sack of stones; her head was cut. She + turned and charged again, bull-like, the blood streaming from her + forehead. The crowd, shrieking, melted before her rush. An old man was + thrown down and trampled. The buckskin trod upon the dragging bridle, + somersaulted into a confusion of chairs in one corner, and came down with + a terrific clatter in a wild disorder of kicking hoofs and splintered + wood. But a crowd of men fell upon her, tugging at the bit, sitting on her + head, shouting, gesticulating. For five minutes she struggled and fought; + then, by degrees, she recovered herself, drawing great sobbing breaths at + long intervals that all but burst the girths, rolling her eyes in + bewildered, supplicating fashion, trembling in every muscle, and starting + and shrinking now and then like a young girl in hysterics. At last she lay + quiet. The men allowed her to struggle to her feet. The saddle was removed + and she was led to one of the empty stalls, where she remained the rest of + the evening, her head low, her pasterns quivering, turning her head + apprehensively from time to time, showing the white of one eye and at long + intervals heaving a single prolonged sigh. + </p> + <p> + And an hour later the dance was progressing as evenly as though nothing in + the least extraordinary had occurred. The incident was closed—that + abrupt swoop of terror and impending death dropping down there from out + the darkness, cutting abruptly athwart the gayety of the moment, come and + gone with the swiftness of a thunderclap. Many of the women had gone home, + taking their men with them; but the great bulk of the crowd still + remained, seeing no reason why the episode should interfere with the + evening's enjoyment, resolved to hold the ground for mere bravado, if for + nothing else. Delaney would not come back, of that everybody was + persuaded, and in case he should, there was not found wanting fully half a + hundred young men who would give him a dressing down, by jingo! They had + been too surprised to act when Delaney had first appeared, and before they + knew where they were at, the buster had cleared out. In another minute, + just another second, they would have shown him—yes, sir, by jingo!—ah, + you bet! + </p> + <p> + On all sides the reminiscences began to circulate. At least one man in + every three had been involved in a gun fight at some time of his life. + “Ah, you ought to have seen in Yuba County one time—” “Why, in Butte + County in the early days—” “Pshaw! this to-night wasn't anything! + Why, once in a saloon in Arizona when I was there—” and so on, over + and over again. Osterman solemnly asserted that he had seen a greaser sawn + in two in a Nevada sawmill. Old Broderson had witnessed a Vigilante + lynching in '55 on California Street in San Francisco. Dyke recalled how + once in his engineering days he had run over a drunk at a street crossing. + Gethings of the San Pablo had taken a shot at a highwayman. Hooven had + bayonetted a French Chasseur at Sedan. An old Spanish-Mexican, a + centenarian from Guadalajara, remembered Fremont's stand on a mountain top + in San Benito County. The druggist had fired at a burglar trying to break + into his store one New Year's eve. Young Vacca had seen a dog shot in + Guadalajara. Father Sarria had more than once administered the sacraments + to Portuguese desperadoes dying of gunshot wounds. Even the women recalled + terrible scenes. Mrs. Cutter recounted to an interested group how she had + seen a claim jumped in Placer County in 1851, when three men were shot, + falling in a fusillade of rifle shots, and expiring later upon the floor + of her kitchen while she looked on. Mrs. Dyke had been in a stage hold-up, + when the shotgun messenger was murdered. Stories by the hundreds went the + round of the company. The air was surcharged with blood, dying groans, the + reek of powder smoke, the crack of rifles. All the legends of '49, the + violent, wild life of the early days, were recalled to view, defiling + before them there in an endless procession under the glare of paper + lanterns and kerosene lamps. + </p> + <p> + But the affair had aroused a combative spirit amongst the men of the + assembly. Instantly a spirit of aggression, of truculence, swelled up + underneath waistcoats and starched shirt bosoms. More than one offender + was promptly asked to “step outside.” It was like young bucks excited by + an encounter of stags, lowering their horns upon the slightest + provocation, showing off before the does and fawns. Old quarrels were + remembered. One sought laboriously for slights and insults, veiled in + ordinary conversation. The sense of personal honour became refined to a + delicate, fine point. Upon the slightest pretext there was a haughty + drawing up of the figure, a twisting of the lips into a smile of scorn. + Caraher spoke of shooting S. Behrman on sight before the end of the week. + Twice it became necessary to separate Hooven and Cutter, renewing their + quarrel as to the ownership of the steer. All at once Minna Hooven's + “partner” fell upon the gayly apparelled clerk from Bonneville, pummelling + him with his fists, hustling him out of the hall, vociferating that Miss + Hooven had been grossly insulted. It took three men to extricate the clerk + from his clutches, dazed, gasping, his collar unfastened and sticking up + into his face, his eyes staring wildly into the faces of the crowd. + </p> + <p> + But Annixter, bursting with pride, his chest thrown out, his chin in the + air, reigned enthroned in a circle of adulation. He was the Hero. To shake + him by the hand was an honour to be struggled for. One clapped him on the + back with solemn nods of approval. “There's the BOY for you;” “There was + nerve for you;” “What's the matter with Annixter?” “How about THAT for + sand, and how was THAT for a SHOT?” “Why, Apache Kid couldn't have + bettered that.” “Cool enough.” “Took a steady eye and a sure hand to make + a shot like that.” “There was a shot that would be told about in Tulare + County fifty years to come.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter had refrained from replying, all ears to this conversation, + wondering just what had happened. He knew only that Delaney had run, + leaving his revolver and a spatter of blood behind him. By degrees, + however, he ascertained that his last shot but one had struck Delaney's + pistol hand, shattering it and knocking the revolver from his grip. He was + overwhelmed with astonishment. Why, after the shooting began he had not so + much as seen Delaney with any degree of plainness. The whole affair was a + whirl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, where did YOU learn to shoot THAT way?” some one in the crowd + demanded. Annixter moved his shoulders with a gesture of vast unconcern. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he observed carelessly, “it's not my SHOOTING that ever worried ME, + m'son.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd gaped with delight. There was a great wagging of heads. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess not.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, not much.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no, you bet not.” + </p> + <p> + When the women pressed around him, shaking his hands, declaring that he + had saved their daughters' lives, Annixter assumed a pose of superb + deprecation, the modest self-obliteration of the chevalier. He delivered + himself of a remembered phrase, very elegant, refined. It was Lancelot + after the tournament, Bayard receiving felicitations after the battle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't say anything about it,” he murmured. “I only did what any man + would have done in my place.” + </p> + <p> + To restore completely the equanimity of the company, he announced supper. + This he had calculated as a tremendous surprise. It was to have been + served at mid-night, but the irruption of Delaney had dislocated the order + of events, and the tables were brought in an hour ahead of time. They were + arranged around three sides of the barn and were loaded down with cold + roasts of beef, cold chickens and cold ducks, mountains of sandwiches, + pitchers of milk and lemonade, entire cheeses, bowls of olives, plates of + oranges and nuts. The advent of this supper was received with a volley of + applause. The musicians played a quick step. The company threw themselves + upon the food with a great scraping of chairs and a vast rustle of + muslins, tarletans, and organdies; soon the clatter of dishes was a + veritable uproar. The tables were taken by assault. One ate whatever was + nearest at hand, some even beginning with oranges and nuts and ending with + beef and chicken. At the end the paper caps were brought on, together with + the ice cream. All up and down the tables the pulled “crackers” snapped + continually like the discharge of innumerable tiny rifles. + </p> + <p> + The caps of tissue paper were put on—“Phrygian Bonnets,” “Magicians' + Caps,” “Liberty Caps;” the young girls looked across the table at their + vis-a-vis with bursts of laughter and vigorous clapping of the hands. + </p> + <p> + The harness room crowd had a table to themselves, at the head of which sat + Annixter and at the foot Harran. The gun fight had sobered Presley + thoroughly. He sat by the side of Vanamee, who ate but little, preferring + rather to watch the scene with calm observation, a little contemptuous + when the uproar around the table was too boisterous, savouring of + intoxication. Osterman rolled bullets of bread and shot them with + astonishing force up and down the table, but the others—Dyke, old + Broderson, Caraher, Harran Derrick, Hooven, Cutter, Garnett of the Ruby + rancho, Keast from the ranch of the same name, Gethings of the San Pablo, + and Chattern of the Bonanza—occupied themselves with eating as much + as they could before the supper gave out. At a corner of the table, + speechless, unobserved, ignored, sat Dabney, of whom nothing was known but + his name, the silent old man who made no friends. He ate and drank + quietly, dipping his sandwich in his lemonade. + </p> + <p> + Osterman ate all the olives he could lay his hands on, a score of them, + fifty of them, a hundred of them. He touched no crumb of anything else. + Old Broderson stared at him, his jaw fallen. Osterman declared he had once + eaten a thousand on a bet. The men called each others' attention to him. + Delighted to create a sensation, Osterman persevered. The contents of an + entire bowl disappeared in his huge, reptilian slit of a mouth. His cheeks + of brownish red were extended, his bald forehead glistened. Colics seized + upon him. His stomach revolted. It was all one with him. He was satisfied, + contented. He was astonishing the people. + </p> + <p> + “Once I swallowed a tree toad.” he told old Broderson, “by mistake. I was + eating grapes, and the beggar lived in me three weeks. In rainy weather he + would sing. You don't believe that,” he vociferated. “Haven't I got the + toad at home now in a bottle of alcohol.” + </p> + <p> + And the old man, never doubting, his eyes starting, wagged his head in + amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” cried Caraher, the length of the table, “that's a pretty good + one. Tell us another.” + </p> + <p> + “That reminds me of a story,” hazarded old Broderson uncertainly; “once + when I was a lad in Ukiah, fifty years.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” cried half a dozen voices, “THAT'S a pretty good one. Tell us + another.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh—wh—what?” murmured Broderson, looking about him. “I—I + don't know. It was Ukiah. You—you—you mix me all up.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as supper was over, the floor was cleared again. The guests + clamoured for a Virginia reel. The last quarter of the evening, the time + of the most riotous fun, was beginning. The young men caught the girls who + sat next to them. The orchestra dashed off into a rollicking movement. The + two lines were formed. In a second of time the dance was under way again; + the guests still wearing the Phrygian bonnets and liberty caps of pink and + blue tissue paper. + </p> + <p> + But the group of men once more adjourned to the harness room. Fresh boxes + of cigars were opened; the seventh bowl of fertiliser was mixed. Osterman + poured the dregs of a glass of it upon his bald head, declaring that he + could feel the hair beginning to grow. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly old Broderson rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Aha,” he cackled, “I'M going to have a dance, I am. Think I'm too old? + I'll show you young fellows. I'm a regular old ROOSTER when I get + started.” + </p> + <p> + He marched out into the barn, the others following, holding their sides. + He found an aged Mexican woman by the door and hustled her, all confused + and giggling, into the Virginia reel, then at its height. Every one + crowded around to see. Old Broderson stepped off with the alacrity of a + colt, snapping his fingers, slapping his thigh, his mouth widening in an + excited grin. The entire company of the guests shouted. The City Band + redoubled their efforts; and the old man, losing his head, breathless, + gasping, dislocated his stiff joints in his efforts. He became possessed, + bowing, scraping, advancing, retreating, wagging his beard, cutting + pigeons' wings, distraught with the music, the clamour, the applause, the + effects of the fertiliser. + </p> + <p> + Annixter shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Nice eye, Santa Claus.” + </p> + <p> + But Annixter's attention wandered. He searched for Hilma Tree, having + still in mind the look in her eyes at that swift moment of danger. He had + not seen her since then. At last he caught sight of her. She was not + dancing, but, instead, was sitting with her “partner” at the end of the + barn near her father and mother, her eyes wide, a serious expression on + her face, her thoughts, no doubt, elsewhere. Annixter was about to go to + her when he was interrupted by a cry. + </p> + <p> + Old Broderson, in the midst of a double shuffle, had clapped his hand to + his side with a gasp, which he followed by a whoop of anguish. He had got + a stitch or had started a twinge somewhere. With a gesture of resignation, + he drew himself laboriously out of the dance, limping abominably, one leg + dragging. He was heard asking for his wife. Old Mrs. Broderson took him in + charge. She jawed him for making an exhibition of himself, scolding as + though he were a ten-year-old. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I want to know!” she exclaimed, as he hobbled off, dejected and + melancholy, leaning upon her arm, “thought he had to dance, indeed! What + next? A gay old grandpa, this. He'd better be thinking of his coffin.” + </p> + <p> + It was almost midnight. The dance drew towards its close in a storm of + jubilation. The perspiring musicians toiled like galley slaves; the guests + singing as they danced. + </p> + <p> + The group of men reassembled in the harness room. Even Magnus Derrick + condescended to enter and drink a toast. Presley and Vanamee, still + holding themselves aloof, looked on, Vanamee more and more disgusted. + Dabney, standing to one side, overlooked and forgotten, continued to sip + steadily at his glass, solemn, reserved. Garnett of the Ruby rancho, Keast + from the ranch of the same name, Gethings of the San Pablo, and Chattern + of the Bonanza, leaned back in their chairs, their waist-coats unbuttoned, + their legs spread wide, laughing—they could not tell why. Other + ranchers, men whom Annixter had never seen, appeared in the room, wheat + growers from places as far distant as Goshen and Pixley; young men and + old, proprietors of veritable principalities, hundreds of thousands of + acres of wheat lands, a dozen of them, a score of them; men who were + strangers to each other, but who made it a point to shake hands with + Magnus Derrick, the “prominent man” of the valley. Old Broderson, whom + every one had believed had gone home, returned, though much sobered, and + took his place, refusing, however, to drink another spoonful. + </p> + <p> + Soon the entire number of Annixter's guests found themselves in two + companies, the dancers on the floor of the barn, frolicking through the + last figures of the Virginia reel and the boisterous gathering of men in + the harness room, downing the last quarts of fertiliser. Both assemblies + had been increased. Even the older people had joined in the dance, while + nearly every one of the men who did not dance had found their way into the + harness room. The two groups rivalled each other in their noise. Out on + the floor of the barn was a very whirlwind of gayety, a tempest of + laughter, hand-clapping and cries of amusement. In the harness room the + confused shouting and singing, the stamping of heavy feet, set a quivering + reverberation in the oil of the kerosene lamps, the flame of the candles + in the Japanese lanterns flaring and swaying in the gusts of hilarity. At + intervals, between the two, one heard the music, the wailing of the + violins, the vigorous snarling of the cornet, and the harsh, incessant + rasping of the snare drum. + </p> + <p> + And at times all these various sounds mingled in a single vague note, + huge, clamorous, that rose up into the night from the colossal, + reverberating compass of the barn and sent its echoes far off across the + unbroken levels of the surrounding ranches, stretching out to infinity + under the clouded sky, calm, mysterious, still. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, the punch bowl clasped in his arms, was pouring out the last + spoonful of liquor into Caraher's glass when he was aware that some one + was pulling at the sleeve of his coat. He set down the punch bowl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, where did YOU come from?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + It was a messenger from Bonneville, the uniformed boy that the telephone + company employed to carry messages. He had just arrived from town on his + bicycle, out of breath and panting. + </p> + <p> + “Message for you, sir. Will you sign?” + </p> + <p> + He held the book to Annixter, who signed the receipt, wondering. + </p> + <p> + The boy departed, leaving a thick envelope of yellow paper in Annixter's + hands, the address typewritten, the word “Urgent” written in blue pencil + in one corner. + </p> + <p> + Annixter tore it open. The envelope contained other sealed envelopes, some + eight or ten of them, addressed to Magnus Derrick, Osterman, Broderson, + Garnett, Keast, Gethings, Chattern, Dabney, and to Annixter himself. + </p> + <p> + Still puzzled, Annixter distributed the envelopes, muttering to himself: + </p> + <p> + “What's up now?” + </p> + <p> + The incident had attracted attention. A comparative quiet followed, the + guests following the letters with their eyes as they were passed around + the table. They fancied that Annixter had arranged a surprise. + </p> + <p> + Magnus Derrick, who sat next to Annixter, was the first to receive his + letter. With a word of excuse he opened it. + </p> + <p> + “Read it, read it, Governor,” shouted a half-dozen voices. “No secrets, + you know. Everything above board here to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus cast a glance at the contents of the letter, then rose to his feet + and read: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Magnus Derrick, + Bonneville, Tulare Co., Cal. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dear Sir: + + By regrade of October 1st, the value of the railroad land you + occupy, included in your ranch of Los Muertos, has been fixed at + $27.00 per acre. The land is now for sale at that price to any + one. + + Yours, etc., + CYRUS BLAKELEE RUGGLES, + Land Agent, P. and S. W. R. R. + + S. BEHRMAN, + Local Agent, P. and S. W. R. R. +</pre> + <p> + In the midst of the profound silence that followed, Osterman was heard to + exclaim grimly: + </p> + <p> + “THAT'S a pretty good one. Tell us another.” + </p> + <p> + But for a long moment this was the only remark. + </p> + <p> + The silence widened, broken only by the sound of torn paper as Annixter, + Osterman, old Broderson, Garnett, Keast, Gethings, Chattern, and Dabney + opened and read their letters. They were all to the same effect, almost + word for word like the Governor's. Only the figures and the proper names + varied. In some cases the price per acre was twenty-two dollars. In + Annixter's case it was thirty. + </p> + <p> + “And—and the company promised to sell to me, to—to all of us,” + gasped old Broderson, “at TWO DOLLARS AND A HALF an acre.” + </p> + <p> + It was not alone the ranchers immediately around Bonneville who would be + plundered by this move on the part of the Railroad. The “alternate + section” system applied throughout all the San Joaquin. By striking at the + Bonneville ranchers a terrible precedent was established. Of the crowd of + guests in the harness room alone, nearly every man was affected, every man + menaced with ruin. All of a million acres was suddenly involved. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly the tempest burst. A dozen men were on their feet in an + instant, their teeth set, their fists clenched, their faces purple with + rage. Oaths, curses, maledictions exploded like the firing of successive + mines. Voices quivered with wrath, hands flung upward, the fingers hooked, + prehensile, trembled with anger. The sense of wrongs, the injustices, the + oppression, extortion, and pillage of twenty years suddenly culminated and + found voice in a raucous howl of execration. For a second there was + nothing articulate in that cry of savage exasperation, nothing even + intelligent. It was the human animal hounded to its corner, exploited, + harried to its last stand, at bay, ferocious, terrible, turning at last + with bared teeth and upraised claws to meet the death grapple. It was the + hideous squealing of the tormented brute, its back to the wall, defending + its lair, its mate and its whelps, ready to bite, to rend, to trample, to + batter out the life of The Enemy in a primeval, bestial welter of blood + and fury. + </p> + <p> + The roar subsided to intermittent clamour, in the pauses of which the + sounds of music and dancing made themselves audible once more. + </p> + <p> + “S. Behrman again,” vociferated Harran Derrick. + </p> + <p> + “Chose his moment well,” muttered Annixter. “Hits his hardest when we're + all rounded up having a good time.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, this is ruin.” + </p> + <p> + “What's to be done now?” + </p> + <p> + “FIGHT! My God! do you think we are going to stand this? Do you think we + CAN?” + </p> + <p> + The uproar swelled again. The clearer the assembly of ranchers understood + the significance of this move on the part of the Railroad, the more + terrible it appeared, the more flagrant, the more intolerable. Was it + possible, was it within the bounds of imagination that this tyranny should + be contemplated? But they knew—past years had driven home the lesson—the + implacable, iron monster with whom they had to deal, and again and again + the sense of outrage and oppression lashed them to their feet, their + mouths wide with curses, their fists clenched tight, their throats hoarse + with shouting. + </p> + <p> + “Fight! How fight? What ARE you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “If there's a law in this land” + </p> + <p> + “If there is, it is in Shelgrim's pocket. Who owns the courts in + California? Ain't it Shelgrim?” + </p> + <p> + “God damn him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how long are you going to stand it? How long before you'll settle + up accounts with six inches of plugged gas-pipe?” + </p> + <p> + “And our contracts, the solemn pledges of the corporation to sell to us + first of all——” + </p> + <p> + “And now the land is for sale to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it is a question of my home. Am I to be turned out? Why, I have put + eight thousand dollars into improving this land.” + </p> + <p> + “And I six thousand, and now that I have, the Railroad grabs it.” + </p> + <p> + “And the system of irrigating ditches that Derrick and I have been laying + out. There's thousands of dollars in that!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll fight this out till I've spent every cent of my money.” + </p> + <p> + “Where? In the courts that the company owns?” + </p> + <p> + “Think I am going to give in to this? Think I am to get off my land? By + God, gentlemen, law or no law, railroad or no railroad, I—WILL—NOT.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I.” + </p> + <p> + “This is the last. Legal means first; if those fail—the shotgun.” + </p> + <p> + “They can kill me. They can shoot me down, but I'll die—die fighting + for my home—before I'll give in to this.” + </p> + <p> + At length Annixter made himself heard: + </p> + <p> + “All out of the room but the ranch owners,” he shouted. “Hooven, Caraher, + Dyke, you'll have to clear out. This is a family affair. Presley, you and + your friend can remain.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly the others filed through the door. There remained in the + harness room—besides Vanamee and Presley—Magnus Derrick, + Annixter, old Broderson Harran, Garnett from the Ruby rancho, Keast from + the ranch of the same name, Gethings of the San Pablo, Chattern of the + Bonanza, about a score of others, ranchers from various parts of the + county, and, last of all, Dabney, ignored, silent, to whom nobody spoke + and who, as yet, had not uttered a word. But the men who had been asked to + leave the harness room spread the news throughout the barn. It was + repeated from lip to lip. One by one the guests dropped out of the dance. + Groups were formed. By swift degrees the gayety lapsed away. The Virginia + reel broke up. The musicians ceased playing, and in the place of the + noisy, effervescent revelry of the previous half hour, a subdued murmur + filled all the barn, a mingling of whispers, lowered voices, the coming + and going of light footsteps, the uneasy shifting of positions, while from + behind the closed doors of the harness room came a prolonged, sullen hum + of anger and strenuous debate. The dance came to an abrupt end. The + guests, unwilling to go as yet, stunned, distressed, stood clumsily about, + their eyes vague, their hands swinging at their sides, looking stupidly + into each others' faces. A sense of impending calamity, oppressive, + foreboding, gloomy, passed through the air overhead in the night, a long + shiver of anguish and of terror, mysterious, despairing. + </p> + <p> + In the harness room, however, the excitement continued unchecked. One + rancher after another delivered himself of a torrent of furious words. + There was no order, merely the frenzied outcry of blind fury. One spirit + alone was common to all—resistance at whatever cost and to whatever + lengths. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Osterman leaped to his feet, his bald head gleaming in the + lamp-light, his red ears distended, a flood of words filling his great, + horizontal slit of a mouth, his comic actor's face flaming. Like the hero + of a melodrama, he took stage with a great sweeping gesture. + </p> + <p> + “ORGANISATION,” he shouted, “that must be our watch-word. The curse of the + ranchers is that they fritter away their strength. Now, we must stand + together, now, NOW. Here's the crisis, here's the moment. Shall we meet + it? I CALL FOR THE LEAGUE. Not next week, not to-morrow, not in the + morning, but now, now, now, this very moment, before we go out of that + door. Every one of us here to join it, to form the beginnings of a vast + organisation, banded together to death, if needs be, for the protection of + our rights and homes. Are you ready? Is it now or never? I call for the + League.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly there was a shout. With an actor's instinct, Osterman had spoken + at the precise psychological moment. He carried the others off their feet, + glib, dexterous, voluble. Just what was meant by the League the others did + not know, but it was something, a vague engine, a machine with which to + fight. Osterman had not done speaking before the room rang with outcries, + the crowd of men shouting, for what they did not know. + </p> + <p> + “The League! The League!” + </p> + <p> + “Now, to-night, this moment; sign our names before we leave.” + </p> + <p> + “He's right. Organisation! The League!” + </p> + <p> + “We have a committee at work already,” Osterman vociferated. “I am a + member, and also Mr. Broderson, Mr. Annixter, and Mr. Harran Derrick. What + our aims are we will explain to you later. Let this committee be the + nucleus of the League—temporarily, at least. Trust us. We are + working for you and with you. Let this committee be merged into the larger + committee of the League, and for President of the League”—he paused + the fraction of a second—“for President there can be but one name + mentioned, one man to whom we all must look as leader—Magnus + Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor's name was received with a storm of cheers. The harness room + reechoed with shouts of: + </p> + <p> + “Derrick! Derrick!” + </p> + <p> + “Magnus for President!” + </p> + <p> + “Derrick, our natural leader.” + </p> + <p> + “Derrick, Derrick, Derrick for President.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus rose to his feet. He made no gesture. Erect as a cavalry officer, + tall, thin, commanding, he dominated the crowd in an instant. There was a + moment's hush. “Gentlemen,” he said, “if organisation is a good word, + moderation is a better one. The matter is too grave for haste. I would + suggest that we each and severally return to our respective homes for the + night, sleep over what has happened, and convene again to-morrow, when we + are calmer and can approach this affair in a more judicious mood. As for + the honour with which you would inform me, I must affirm that that, too, + is a matter for grave deliberation. This League is but a name as yet. To + accept control of an organisation whose principles are not yet fixed is a + heavy responsibility. I shrink from it—” + </p> + <p> + But he was allowed to proceed no farther. A storm of protest developed. + There were shouts of: + </p> + <p> + “No, no. The League to-night and Derrick for President.” + </p> + <p> + “We have been moderate too long.” + </p> + <p> + “The League first, principles afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “We can't wait,” declared Osterman. “Many of us cannot attend a meeting + to-morrow. Our business affairs would prevent it. Now we are all together. + I propose a temporary chairman and secretary be named and a ballot be + taken. But first the League. Let us draw up a set of resolutions to stand + together, for the defence of our homes, to death, if needs be, and each + man present affix his signature thereto.” + </p> + <p> + He subsided amidst vigorous applause. The next quarter of an hour was a + vague confusion, every one talking at once, conversations going on in low + tones in various corners of the room. Ink, pens, and a sheaf of foolscap + were brought from the ranch house. A set of resolutions was draughted, + having the force of a pledge, organising the League of Defence. Annixter + was the first to sign. Others followed, only a few holding back, refusing + to join till they had thought the matter over. The roll grew; the paper + circulated about the table; each signature was welcomed by a salvo of + cheers. At length, it reached Harran Derrick, who signed amid tremendous + uproar. He released the pen only to shake a score of hands. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Magnus Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” began the Governor, once more rising, “I beg of you to allow + me further consideration. Gentlemen—” + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted by renewed shouting. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, now or never. Sign, join the League.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't leave us. We look to you to help.” + </p> + <p> + But presently the excited throng that turned their faces towards the + Governor were aware of a new face at his elbow. The door of the harness + room had been left unbolted and Mrs. Derrick, unable to endure the + heart-breaking suspense of waiting outside, had gathered up all her + courage and had come into the room. Trembling, she clung to Magnus's arm, + her pretty light-brown hair in disarray, her large young girl's eyes wide + with terror and distrust. What was about to happen she did not understand, + but these men were clamouring for Magnus to pledge himself to something, + to some terrible course of action, some ruthless, unscrupulous battle to + the death with the iron-hearted monster of steel and steam. Nerved with a + coward's intrepidity, she, who so easily obliterated herself, had found + her way into the midst of this frantic crowd, into this hot, close room, + reeking of alcohol and tobacco smoke, into this atmosphere surcharged with + hatred and curses. She seized her husband's arm imploring, distraught with + terror. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she murmured; “no, don't sign.” + </p> + <p> + She was the feather caught in the whirlwind. En masse, the crowd surged + toward the erect figure of the Governor, the pen in one hand, his wife's + fingers in the other, the roll of signatures before him. The clamour was + deafening; the excitement culminated brusquely. Half a hundred hands + stretched toward him; thirty voices, at top pitch, implored, expostulated, + urged, almost commanded. The reverberation of the shouting was as the + plunge of a cataract. + </p> + <p> + It was the uprising of The People; the thunder of the outbreak of revolt; + the mob demanding to be led, aroused at last, imperious, resistless, + overwhelming. It was the blind fury of insurrection, the brute, + many-tongued, red-eyed, bellowing for guidance, baring its teeth, + unsheathing its claws, imposing its will with the abrupt, resistless + pressure of the relaxed piston, inexorable, knowing no pity. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” implored Annie Derrick. “No, Magnus, don't sign.” + </p> + <p> + “He must,” declared Harran, shouting in her ear to make himself heard, “he + must. Don't you understand?” + </p> + <p> + Again the crowd surged forward, roaring. Mrs. Derrick was swept back, + pushed to one side. Her husband no longer belonged to her. She paid the + penalty for being the wife of a great man. The world, like a colossal iron + wedge, crushed itself between. She was thrust to the wall. The throng of + men, stamping, surrounded Magnus; she could no longer see him, but, + terror-struck, she listened. There was a moment's lull, then a vast + thunder of savage jubilation. Magnus had signed. + </p> + <p> + Harran found his mother leaning against the wall, her hands shut over her + ears; her eyes, dilated with fear, brimming with tears. He led her from + the harness room to the outer room, where Mrs. Tree and Hilma took charge + of her, and then, impatient, refusing to answer the hundreds of anxious + questions that assailed him, hurried back to the harness room. Already the + balloting was in progress, Osterman acting as temporary chairman on the + very first ballot he was made secretary of the League pro tem., and Magnus + unanimously chosen for its President. An executive committee was formed, + which was to meet the next day at the Los Muertos ranch house. + </p> + <p> + It was half-past one o'clock. In the barn outside the greater number of + the guests had departed. Long since the musicians had disappeared. There + only remained the families of the ranch owners involved in the meeting in + the harness room. These huddled in isolated groups in corners of the + garish, echoing barn, the women in their wraps, the young men with their + coat collars turned up against the draughts that once more made themselves + felt. + </p> + <p> + For a long half hour the loud hum of eager conversation continued to issue + from behind the door of the harness room. Then, at length, there was a + prolonged scraping of chairs. The session was over. The men came out in + groups, searching for their families. + </p> + <p> + At once the homeward movement began. Every one was worn out. Some of the + ranchers' daughters had gone to sleep against their mothers' shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Billy, the stableman, and his assistant were awakened, and the teams were + hitched up. The stable yard was full of a maze of swinging lanterns and + buggy lamps. The horses fretted, champing the bits; the carry-alls creaked + with the straining of leather and springs as they received their loads. At + every instant one heard the rattle of wheels as vehicle after vehicle + disappeared in the night. + </p> + <p> + A fine, drizzling rain was falling, and the lamps began to show dim in a + vague haze of orange light. + </p> + <p> + Magnus Derrick was the last to go. At the doorway of the barn he found + Annixter, the roll of names—which it had been decided he was to keep + in his safe for the moment—under his arm. Silently the two shook + hands. Magnus departed. The grind of the wheels of his carry-all grated + sharply on the gravel of the driveway in front of the ranch house, then, + with a hollow roll across a little plank bridge, gained the roadway. For a + moment the beat of the horses' hoofs made itself heard on the roadway. It + ceased. Suddenly there was a great silence. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, in the doorway of the great barn, stood looking about him for a + moment, alone, thoughtful. The barn was empty. That astonishing evening + had come to an end. The whirl of things and people, the crowd of dancers, + Delaney, the gun fight, Hilma Tree, her eyes fixed on him in mute + confession, the rabble in the harness room, the news of the regrade, the + fierce outburst of wrath, the hasty organising of the League, all went + spinning confusedly through his recollection. But he was exhausted. Time + enough in the morning to think it all over. By now it was raining sharply. + He put the roll of names into his inside pocket, threw a sack over his + head and shoulders, and went down to the ranch house. + </p> + <p> + But in the harness room, lighted by the glittering lanterns and flaring + lamps, in the midst of overturned chairs, spilled liquor, cigar stumps, + and broken glasses, Vanamee and Presley still remained talking, talking. + At length, they rose, and came out upon the floor of the barn and stood + for a moment looking about them. + </p> + <p> + Billy, the stableman, was going the rounds of the walls, putting out light + after light. By degrees, the vast interior was growing dim. Upon the roof + overhead the rain drummed incessantly, the eaves dripping. The floor was + littered with pine needles, bits of orange peel, ends and fragments of + torn organdies and muslins and bits of tissue paper from the “Phrygian + Bonnets” and “Liberty Caps.” The buckskin mare in the stall, dozing on + three legs, changed position with a long sigh. The sweat stiffening the + hair upon her back and loins, as it dried, gave off a penetrating, + ammoniacal odour that mingled with the stale perfume of sachet and wilted + flowers. + </p> + <p> + Presley and Vanamee stood looking at the deserted barn. There was a long + silence. Then Presley said: + </p> + <p> + “Well... what do you think of it all?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” answered Vanamee slowly, “I think that there was a dance in + Brussels the night before Waterloo.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + BOOK II + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + In his office at San Francisco, seated before a massive desk of polished + redwood, very ornate, Lyman Derrick sat dictating letters to his + typewriter, on a certain morning early in the spring of the year. The + subdued monotone of his voice proceeded evenly from sentence to sentence, + regular, precise, businesslike. + </p> + <p> + “I have the honour to acknowledge herewith your favour of the 14th + instant, and in reply would state——” + </p> + <p> + “Please find enclosed draft upon New Orleans to be applied as per our + understanding——” + </p> + <p> + “In answer to your favour No. 1107, referring to the case of the City and + County of San Francisco against Excelsior Warehouse & Storage Co., I + would say——” + </p> + <p> + His voice continued, expressionless, measured, distinct. While he spoke, + he swung slowly back and forth in his leather swivel chair, his elbows + resting on the arms, his pop eyes fixed vaguely upon the calendar on the + opposite wall, winking at intervals when he paused, searching for a word. + </p> + <p> + “That's all for the present,” he said at length. + </p> + <p> + Without reply, the typewriter rose and withdrew, thrusting her pencil into + the coil of her hair, closing the door behind her, softly, discreetly. + </p> + <p> + When she had gone, Lyman rose, stretching himself putting up three fingers + to hide his yawn. To further loosen his muscles, he took a couple of turns + the length of he room, noting with satisfaction its fine appointments, the + padded red carpet, the dull olive green tint of the walls, the few choice + engravings—portraits of Marshall, Taney, Field, and a coloured + lithograph—excellently done—of the Grand Canyon of the + Colorado—the deep-seated leather chairs, the large and crowded + bookcase (topped with a bust of James Lick, and a huge greenish globe), + the waste basket of woven coloured grass, made by Navajo Indians, the + massive silver inkstand on the desk, the elaborate filing cabinet, + complete in every particular, and the shelves of tin boxes, padlocked, + impressive, grave, bearing the names of clients, cases and estates. + </p> + <p> + He was between thirty-one and thirty-five years of age. Unlike Harran, he + resembled his mother, but he was much darker than Annie Derrick and his + eyes were much fuller, the eyeball protruding, giving him a pop-eyed, + foreign expression, quite unusual and unexpected. His hair was black, and + he wore a small, tight, pointed mustache, which he was in the habit of + pushing delicately upward from the corners of his lips with the ball of + his thumb, the little finger extended. As often as he made this gesture, + he prefaced it with a little twisting gesture of the forearm in order to + bring his cuff into view, and, in fact, this movement by itself was + habitual. + </p> + <p> + He was dressed carefully, his trousers creased, a pink rose in his lapel. + His shoes were of patent leather, his cutaway coat was of very rough black + cheviot, his double-breasted waistcoat of tan covered cloth with buttons + of smoked pearl. An Ascot scarf—a great puff of heavy black silk—was + at his neck, the knot transfixed by a tiny golden pin set off with an opal + and four small diamonds. + </p> + <p> + At one end of the room were two great windows of plate glass, and pausing + at length before one of these, Lyman selected a cigarette from his curved + box of oxydized silver, lit it and stood looking down and out, willing to + be idle for a moment, amused and interested in the view. + </p> + <p> + His office was on the tenth floor of the EXCHANGE BUILDING, a beautiful, + tower-like affair of white stone, that stood on the corner of Market + Street near its intersection with Kearney, the most imposing office + building of the city. + </p> + <p> + Below him the city swarmed tumultuous through its grooves, the cable-cars + starting and stopping with a gay jangling of bells and a strident whirring + of jostled glass windows. Drays and carts clattered over the cobbles, and + an incessant shuffling of thousands of feet rose from the pavement. Around + Lotta's fountain the baskets of the flower sellers, crammed with + chrysanthemums, violets, pinks, roses, lilies, hyacinths, set a brisk note + of colour in the grey of the street. + </p> + <p> + But to Lyman's notion the general impression of this centre of the city's + life was not one of strenuous business activity. It was a continuous + interest in small things, a people ever willing to be amused at trifles, + refusing to consider serious matters—good-natured, allowing + themselves to be imposed upon, taking life easily—generous, + companionable, enthusiastic; living, as it were, from day to day, in a + place where the luxuries of life were had without effort; in a city that + offered to consideration the restlessness of a New York, without its + earnestness; the serenity of a Naples, without its languor; the romance of + a Seville, without its picturesqueness. + </p> + <p> + As Lyman turned from the window, about to resume his work, the office boy + appeared at the door. + </p> + <p> + “The man from the lithograph company, sir,” announced the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what does he want?” demanded Lyman, adding, however, upon the + instant: “Show him in.” + </p> + <p> + A young man entered, carrying a great bundle, which he deposited on a + chair, with a gasp of relief, exclaiming, all out of breath: + </p> + <p> + “From the Standard Lithograph Company.” + </p> + <p> + “What is?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know,” replied the other. “Maps, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want any maps. Who sent them? I guess you're mistaken.” Lyman + tore the cover from the top of the package, drawing out one of a great + many huge sheets of white paper, folded eight times. Suddenly, he uttered + an exclamation: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I see. They ARE maps. But these should not have come here. They are + to go to the regular office for distribution.” He wrote a new direction on + the label of the package: “Take them to that address,” he went on. “I'll + keep this one here. The others go to that address. If you see Mr. Darrell, + tell him that Mr. Derrick—you get the name—Mr. Derrick may not + be able to get around this afternoon, but to go ahead with any business + just the same.” + </p> + <p> + The young man departed with the package and Lyman, spreading out the map + upon the table, remained for some time studying it thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + It was a commissioner's official railway map of the State of California, + completed to March 30th of that year. Upon it the different railways of + the State were accurately plotted in various colours, blue, green, yellow. + However, the blue, the yellow, and the green were but brief traceries, + very short, isolated, unimportant. At a little distance these could hardly + be seen. The whole map was gridironed by a vast, complicated network of + red lines marked P. and S. W. R. R. These centralised at San Francisco and + thence ramified and spread north, east, and south, to every quarter of the + State. From Coles, in the topmost corner of the map, to Yuma in the + lowest, from Reno on one side to San Francisco on the other, ran the + plexus of red, a veritable system of blood circulation, complicated, + dividing, and reuniting, branching, splitting, extending, throwing out + feelers, off-shoots, tap roots, feeders—diminutive little blood + suckers that shot out from the main jugular and went twisting up into some + remote county, laying hold upon some forgotten village or town, involving + it in one of a myriad branching coils, one of a hundred tentacles, drawing + it, as it were, toward that centre from which all this system sprang. + </p> + <p> + The map was white, and it seemed as if all the colour which should have + gone to vivify the various counties, towns, and cities marked upon it had + been absorbed by that huge, sprawling organism, with its ruddy arteries + converging to a central point. It was as though the State had been sucked + white and colourless, and against this pallid background the red arteries + of the monster stood out, swollen with life-blood, reaching out to + infinity, gorged to bursting; an excrescence, a gigantic parasite + fattening upon the life-blood of an entire commonwealth. + </p> + <p> + However, in an upper corner of the map appeared the names of the three new + commissioners: Jones McNish for the first district, Lyman Derrick for the + second, and James Darrell for the third. + </p> + <p> + Nominated in the Democratic State convention in the fall of the preceding + year, Lyman, backed by the coteries of San Francisco bosses in the pay of + his father's political committee of ranchers, had been elected together + with Darrell, the candidate of the Pueblo and Mojave road, and McNish, the + avowed candidate of the Pacific and Southwestern. Darrell was rabidly + against the P. and S. W., McNish rabidly for it. Lyman was supposed to be + the conservative member of the board, the ranchers' candidate, it was + true, and faithful to their interests, but a calm man, deliberative, + swayed by no such violent emotions as his colleagues. + </p> + <p> + Osterman's dexterity had at last succeeded in entangling Magnus + inextricably in the new politics. The famous League, organised in the heat + of passion the night of Annixter's barn dance, had been consolidated all + through the winter months. Its executive committee, of which Magnus was + chairman, had been, through Osterman's manipulation, merged into the old + committee composed of Broderson, Annixter, and himself. Promptly thereat + he had resigned the chairmanship of this committee, thus leaving Magnus at + its head. Precisely as Osterman had planned, Magnus was now one of them. + The new committee accordingly had two objects in view: to resist the + attempted grabbing of their lands by the Railroad, and to push forward + their own secret scheme of electing a board of railroad commissioners who + should regulate wheat rates so as to favour the ranchers of the San + Joaquin. The land cases were promptly taken to the courts and the new + grading—fixing the price of the lands at twenty and thirty dollars + an acre instead of two—bitterly and stubbornly fought. But delays + occurred, the process of the law was interminable, and in the intervals + the committee addressed itself to the work of seating the “Ranchers' + Commission,” as the projected Board of Commissioners came to be called. + </p> + <p> + It was Harran who first suggested that his brother, Lyman, be put forward + as the candidate for this district. At once the proposition had a great + success. Lyman seemed made for the place. While allied by every tie of + blood to the ranching interests, he had never been identified with them. + He was city-bred. The Railroad would not be over-suspicious of him. He was + a good lawyer, a good business man, keen, clear-headed, far-sighted, had + already some practical knowledge of politics, having served a term as + assistant district attorney, and even at the present moment occupying the + position of sheriff's attorney. More than all, he was the son of Magnus + Derrick; he could be relied upon, could be trusted implicitly to remain + loyal to the ranchers' cause. + </p> + <p> + The campaign for Railroad Commissioner had been very interesting. At the + very outset Magnus's committee found itself involved in corrupt politics. + The primaries had to be captured at all costs and by any means, and when + the convention assembled it was found necessary to buy outright the votes + of certain delegates. The campaign fund raised by contributions from + Magnus, Annixter, Broderson, and Osterman was drawn upon to the extent of + five thousand dollars. + </p> + <p> + Only the committee knew of this corruption. The League, ignoring ways and + means, supposed as a matter of course that the campaign was honorably + conducted. + </p> + <p> + For a whole week after the consummation of this part of the deal, Magnus + had kept to his house, refusing to be seen, alleging that he was ill, + which was not far from the truth. The shame of the business, the loathing + of what he had done, were to him things unspeakable. He could no longer + look Harran in the face. He began a course of deception with his wife. + More than once, he had resolved to break with the whole affair, resigning + his position, allowing the others to proceed without him. But now it was + too late. He was pledged. He had joined the League. He was its chief, and + his defection might mean its disintegration at the very time when it + needed all its strength to fight the land cases. More than a mere deal in + bad politics was involved. There was the land grab. His withdrawal from an + unholy cause would mean the weakening, perhaps the collapse, of another + cause that he believed to be righteous as truth itself. He was hopelessly + caught in the mesh. Wrong seemed indissolubly knitted into the texture of + Right. He was blinded, dizzied, overwhelmed, caught in the current of + events, and hurried along he knew not where. He resigned himself. + </p> + <p> + In the end, and after much ostentatious opposition on the part of the + railroad heelers, Lyman was nominated and subsequently elected. + </p> + <p> + When this consummation was reached Magnus, Osterman, Broderson, and + Annixter stared at each other. Their wildest hopes had not dared to fix + themselves upon so easy a victory as this. It was not believable that the + corporation would allow itself to be fooled so easily, would rush + open-eyed into the trap. How had it happened? + </p> + <p> + Osterman, however, threw his hat into the air with wild whoops of delight. + Old Broderson permitted himself a feeble cheer. Even Magnus beamed + satisfaction. The other members of the League, present at the time, shook + hands all around and spoke of opening a few bottles on the strength of the + occasion. Annixter alone was recalcitrant. + </p> + <p> + “It's too easy,” he declared. “No, I'm not satisfied. Where's Shelgrim in + all this? Why don't he show his hand, damn his soul? The thing is yellow, + I tell you. There's a big fish in these waters somewheres. I don't know + his name, and I don't know his game, but he's moving round off and on, + just out of sight. If you think you've netted him, I DON'T, that's all + I've got to say.” + </p> + <p> + But he was jeered down as a croaker. There was the Commission. He couldn't + get around that, could he? There was Darrell and Lyman Derrick, both + pledged to the ranches. Good Lord, he was never satisfied. He'd be + obstinate till the very last gun was fired. Why, if he got drowned in a + river he'd float upstream just to be contrary. + </p> + <p> + In the course of time, the new board was seated. For the first few months + of its term, it was occupied in clearing up the business left over by the + old board and in the completion of the railway map. But now, the decks + were cleared. It was about to address itself to the consideration of a + revision of the tariff for the carriage of grain between the San Joaquin + Valley and tide-water. + </p> + <p> + Both Lyman and Darrell were pledged to an average ten per cent. cut of the + grain rates throughout the entire State. + </p> + <p> + The typewriter returned with the letters for Lyman to sign, and he put + away the map and took up his morning's routine of business, wondering, the + while, what would become of his practice during the time he was involved + in the business of the Ranchers' Railroad Commission. + </p> + <p> + But towards noon, at the moment when Lyman was drawing off a glass of + mineral water from the siphon that stood at his elbow, there was an + interruption. Some one rapped vigorously upon the door, which was + immediately after opened, and Magnus and Harran came in, followed by + Presley. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, hello!” cried Lyman, jumping up, extending his hands, “why, here's + a surprise. I didn't expect you all till to-night. Come in, come in and + sit down. Have a glass of sizz-water, Governor.” + </p> + <p> + The others explained that they had come up from Bonneville the night + before, as the Executive Committee of the League had received a despatch + from the lawyers it had retained to fight the Railroad, that the judge of + the court in San Francisco, where the test cases were being tried, might + be expected to hand down his decision the next day. + </p> + <p> + Very soon after the announcement of the new grading of the ranchers' + lands, the corporation had offered, through S. Behrman, to lease the + disputed lands to the ranchers at a nominal figure. The offer had been + angrily rejected, and the Railroad had put up the lands for sale at + Ruggles's office in Bonneville. At the exorbitant price named, buyers + promptly appeared—dummy buyers, beyond shadow of doubt, acting + either for the Railroad or for S. Behrman—men hitherto unknown in + the county, men without property, without money, adventurers, heelers. + Prominent among them, and bidding for the railroad's holdings included on + Annixter's ranch, was Delaney. + </p> + <p> + The farce of deeding the corporation's sections to these fictitious + purchasers was solemnly gone through with at Ruggles's office, the + Railroad guaranteeing them possession. The League refused to allow the + supposed buyers to come upon the land, and the Railroad, faithful to its + pledge in the matter of guaranteeing its dummies possession, at once began + suits in ejectment in the district court in Visalia, the county seat. + </p> + <p> + It was the preliminary skirmish, the reconnaisance in force, the + combatants feeling each other's strength, willing to proceed with caution, + postponing the actual death-grip for a while till each had strengthened + its position and organised its forces. + </p> + <p> + During the time the cases were on trial at Visalia, S. Behrman was much in + evidence in and about the courts. The trial itself, after tedious + preliminaries, was brief. The ranchers lost. The test cases were + immediately carried up to the United States Circuit Court in San + Francisco. At the moment the decision of this court was pending. + </p> + <p> + “Why, this is news,” exclaimed Lyman, in response to the Governor's + announcement; “I did not expect them to be so prompt. I was in court only + last week and there seemed to be no end of business ahead. I suppose you + are very anxious?” + </p> + <p> + Magnus nodded. He had seated himself in one of Lyman's deep chairs, his + grey top-hat, with its wide brim, on the floor beside him. His coat of + black broad-cloth that had been tightly packed in his valise, was yet + wrinkled and creased; his trousers were strapped under his high boots. As + he spoke, he stroked the bridge of his hawklike nose with his bent + forefinger. + </p> + <p> + Leaning-back in his chair, he watched his two sons with secret delight. To + his eye, both were perfect specimens of their class, intelligent, + well-looking, resourceful. He was intensely proud of them. He was never + happier, never more nearly jovial, never more erect, more military, more + alert, and buoyant than when in the company of his two sons. He honestly + believed that no finer examples of young manhood existed throughout the + entire nation. + </p> + <p> + “I think we should win in this court,” Harran observed, watching the + bubbles break in his glass. “The investigation has been much more complete + than in the Visalia trial. Our case this time is too good. It has made too + much talk. The court would not dare render a decision for the Railroad. + Why, there's the agreement in black and white—and the circulars the + Railroad issued. How CAN one get around those?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, we shall know in a few hours now,” remarked Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” exclaimed Lyman, surprised, “it is for this morning, then. Why + aren't you at the court?” + </p> + <p> + “It seemed undignified, boy,” answered the Governor. “We shall know soon + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” exclaimed Harran abruptly, “when I think of what is involved. + Why, Lyman, it's our home, the ranch house itself, nearly all Los Muertos, + practically our whole fortune, and just now when there is promise of an + enormous crop of wheat. And it is not only us. There are over half a + million acres of the San Joaquin involved. In some cases of the smaller + ranches, it is the confiscation of the whole of the rancher's land. If + this thing goes through, it will absolutely beggar nearly a hundred men. + Broderson wouldn't have a thousand acres to his name. Why, it's + monstrous.” + </p> + <p> + “But the corporations offered to lease these lands,” remarked Lyman. “Are + any of the ranchers taking up that offer—or are any of them buying + outright?” + </p> + <p> + “Buying! At the new figure!” exclaimed Harran, “at twenty and thirty an + acre! Why, there's not one in ten that CAN. They are land-poor. And as for + leasing—leasing land they virtually own—no, there's precious + few are doing that, thank God! That would be acknowledging the railroad's + ownership right away—forfeiting their rights for good. None of the + LEAGUERS are doing it, I know. That would be the rankest treachery.” + </p> + <p> + He paused for a moment, drinking the rest of the mineral water, then + interrupting Lyman, who was about to speak to Presley, drawing him into + the conversation through politeness, said: “Matters are just romping right + along to a crisis these days. It's a make or break for the wheat growers + of the State now, no mistake. Here are the land cases and the new grain + tariff drawing to a head at about the same time. If we win our land cases, + there's your new freight rates to be applied, and then all is beer and + skittles. Won't the San Joaquin go wild if we pull it off, and I believe + we will.” + </p> + <p> + “How we wheat growers are exploited and trapped and deceived at every + turn,” observed Magnus sadly. “The courts, the capitalists, the railroads, + each of them in turn hoodwinks us into some new and wonderful scheme, only + to betray us in the end. Well,” he added, turning to Lyman, “one thing at + least we can depend on. We will cut their grain rates for them, eh, + Lyman?” + </p> + <p> + Lyman crossed his legs and settled himself in his office chair. + </p> + <p> + “I have wanted to have a talk with you about that, sir,” he said. “Yes, we + will cut the rates—an average 10 per cent. cut throughout the State, + as we are pledged. But I am going to warn you, Governor, and you, Harran; + don't expect too much at first. The man who, even after twenty years' + training in the operation of railroads, can draw an equitable, smoothly + working schedule of freight rates between shipping point and common point, + is capable of governing the United States. What with main lines, and + leased lines, and points of transfer, and the laws governing common + carriers, and the rulings of the Inter-State Commerce Commission, the + whole matter has become so confused that Vanderbilt himself couldn't + straighten it out. And how can it be expected that railroad commissions + who are chosen—well, let's be frank—as ours was, for instance, + from out a number of men who don't know the difference between a switching + charge and a differential rate, are going to regulate the whole business + in six months' time? Cut rates; yes, any fool can do that; any fool can + write one dollar instead of two, but if you cut too low by a fraction of + one per cent. and if the railroad can get out an injunction, tie you up + and show that your new rate prevents the road being operated at a profit, + how are you any better off?” + </p> + <p> + “Your conscientiousness does you credit, Lyman,” said the Governor. “I + respect you for it, my son. I know you will be fair to the railroad. That + is all we want. Fairness to the corporation is fairness to the farmer, and + we won't expect you to readjust the whole matter out of hand. Take your + time. We can afford to wait.” + </p> + <p> + “And suppose the next commission is a railroad board, and reverses all our + figures?” + </p> + <p> + The one-time mining king, the most redoubtable poker player of Calaveras + County, permitted himself a momentary twinkle of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “By then it will be too late. We will, all of us, have made our fortunes + by then.” + </p> + <p> + The remark left Presley astonished out of all measure He never could + accustom himself to these strange lapses in the Governor's character. + Magnus was by nature a public man, judicious, deliberate, standing firm + for principle, yet upon rare occasion, by some such remark as this, he + would betray the presence of a sub-nature of recklessness, inconsistent, + all at variance with his creeds and tenets. + </p> + <p> + At the very bottom, when all was said and done, Magnus remained the + Forty-niner. Deep down in his heart the spirit of the Adventurer yet + persisted. “We will all of us have made fortunes by then.” That was it + precisely. “After us the deluge.” For all his public spirit, for all his + championship of justice and truth, his respect for law, Magnus remained + the gambler, willing to play for colossal stakes, to hazard a fortune on + the chance of winning a million. It was the true California spirit that + found expression through him, the spirit of the West, unwilling to occupy + itself with details, refusing to wait, to be patient, to achieve by + legitimate plodding; the miner's instinct of wealth acquired in a single + night prevailed, in spite of all. It was in this frame of mind that Magnus + and the multitude of other ranchers of whom he was a type, farmed their + ranches. They had no love for their land. They were not attached to the + soil. They worked their ranches as a quarter of a century before they had + worked their mines. To husband the resources of their marvellous San + Joaquin, they considered niggardly, petty, Hebraic. To get all there was + out of the land, to squeeze it dry, to exhaust it, seemed their policy. + When, at last, the land worn out, would refuse to yield, they would invest + their money in something else; by then, they would all have made fortunes. + They did not care. “After us the deluge.” + </p> + <p> + Lyman, however, was obviously uneasy, willing to change the subject. He + rose to his feet, pulling down his cuffs. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” he observed, “I want you three to lunch with me to-day at my + club. It is close by. You can wait there for news of the court's decision + as well as anywhere else, and I should like to show you the place. I have + just joined.” + </p> + <p> + At the club, when the four men were seated at a small table in the round + window of the main room, Lyman's popularity with all classes was very + apparent. Hardly a man entered that did not call out a salutation to him, + some even coming over to shake his hand. He seemed to be every man's + friend, and to all he seemed equally genial. His affability, even to those + whom he disliked, was unfailing. + </p> + <p> + “See that fellow yonder,” he said to Magnus, indicating a certain + middle-aged man, flamboyantly dressed, who wore his hair long, who was + afflicted with sore eyes, and the collar of whose velvet coat was + sprinkled with dandruff, “that's Hartrath, the artist, a man absolutely + devoid of even the commonest decency. How he got in here is a mystery to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Yet, when this Hartrath came across to say “How do you do” to Lyman, Lyman + was as eager in his cordiality as his warmest friend could have expected. + </p> + <p> + “Why the devil are you so chummy with him, then?” observed Harran when + Hartrath had gone away. + </p> + <p> + Lyman's explanation was vague. The truth of the matter was, that Magnus's + oldest son was consumed by inordinate ambition. Political preferment was + his dream, and to the realisation of this dream popularity was an + essential. Every man who could vote, blackguard or gentleman, was to be + conciliated, if possible. He made it his study to become known throughout + the entire community—to put influential men under obligations to + himself. He never forgot a name or a face. With everybody he was the + hail-fellow-well-met. His ambition was not trivial. In his disregard for + small things, he resembled his father. Municipal office had no attraction + for him. His goal was higher. He had planned his life twenty years ahead. + Already Sheriff's Attorney, Assistant District Attorney and Railroad + Commissioner, he could, if he desired, attain the office of District + Attorney itself. Just now, it was a question with him whether or not it + would be politic to fill this office. Would it advance or sidetrack him in + the career he had outlined for himself? Lyman wanted to be something + better than District Attorney, better than Mayor, than State Senator, or + even than member of the United States Congress. He wanted to be, in fact, + what his father was only in name—to succeed where Magnus had failed. + He wanted to be governor of the State. He had put his teeth together, and, + deaf to all other considerations, blind to all other issues, he worked + with the infinite slowness, the unshakable tenacity of the coral insect to + this one end. + </p> + <p> + After luncheon was over, Lyman ordered cigars and liqueurs, and with the + three others returned to the main room of the club. However, their former + place in the round window was occupied. A middle-aged man, with iron grey + hair and moustache, who wore a frock coat and a white waistcoat, and in + some indefinable manner suggested a retired naval officer, was sitting at + their table smoking a long, thin cigar. At sight of him, Presley became + animated. He uttered a mild exclamation: + </p> + <p> + “Why, isn't that Mr. Cedarquist?” + </p> + <p> + “Cedarquist?” repeated Lyman Derrick. “I know him well. Yes, of course, it + is,” he continued. “Governor, you must know him. He is one of our + representative men. You would enjoy talking to him. He was the head of the + big Atlas Iron Works. They have shut down recently, you know. Not failed + exactly, but just ceased to be a paying investment, and Cedarquist closed + them out. He has other interests, though. He's a rich man—a + capitalist.” + </p> + <p> + Lyman brought the group up to the gentleman in question and introduced + them. “Mr. Magnus Derrick, of course,” observed Cedarquist, as he took the + Governor's hand. “I've known you by repute for some time, sir. This is a + great pleasure, I assure you.” Then, turning to Presley, he added: “Hello, + Pres, my boy. How is the great, the very great Poem getting on?” + </p> + <p> + “It's not getting on at all, sir,” answered Presley, in some + embarrassment, as they all sat down. “In fact, I've about given up the + idea. There's so much interest in what you might call 'living issues' down + at Los Muertos now, that I'm getting further and further from it every + day.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say as much,” remarked the manufacturer, turning towards Magnus. + “I'm watching your fight with Shelgrim, Mr. Derrick, with every degree of + interest.” He raised his drink of whiskey and soda. “Here's success to + you.” + </p> + <p> + As he replaced his glass, the artist Hartrath joined the group uninvited. + As a pretext, he engaged Lyman in conversation. Lyman, he believed, was a + man with a “pull” at the City Hall. In connection with a projected + Million-Dollar Fair and Flower Festival, which at that moment was the talk + of the city, certain statues were to be erected, and Hartrath bespoke + Lyman's influence to further the pretensions of a sculptor friend of his, + who wished to be Art Director of the affair. In the matter of this Fair + and Flower Festival, Hartrath was not lacking in enthusiasm. He addressed + the others with extravagant gestures, blinking his inflamed eyelids. + </p> + <p> + “A million dollars,” he exclaimed. “Hey! think of that. Why, do you know + that we have five hundred thousand practically pledged already? Talk about + public spirit, gentlemen, this is the most public-spirited city on the + continent. And the money is not thrown away. We will have Eastern visitors + here by the thousands—capitalists—men with money to invest. + The million we spend on our fair will be money in our pockets. Ah, you + should see how the women of this city are taking hold of the matter. They + are giving all kinds of little entertainments, teas, 'Olde Tyme Singing + Skules,' amateur theatricals, gingerbread fetes, all for the benefit of + the fund, and the business men, too—pouring out their money like + water. It is splendid, splendid, to see a community so patriotic.” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer, Cedarquist, fixed the artist with a glance of melancholy + interest. + </p> + <p> + “And how much,” he remarked, “will they contribute—your gingerbread + women and public-spirited capitalists, towards the blowing up of the ruins + of the Atlas Iron Works?” + </p> + <p> + “Blowing up? I don't understand,” murmured the artist, surprised. “When + you get your Eastern capitalists out here with your Million-Dollar Fair,” + continued Cedarquist, “you don't propose, do you, to let them see a + Million-Dollar Iron Foundry standing idle, because of the indifference of + San Francisco business men? They might ask pertinent questions, your + capitalists, and we should have to answer that our business men preferred + to invest their money in corner lots and government bonds, rather than to + back up a legitimate, industrial enterprise. We don't want fairs. We want + active furnaces. We don't want public statues, and fountains, and park + extensions and gingerbread fetes. We want business enterprise. Isn't it + like us? Isn't it like us?” he exclaimed sadly. “What a melancholy + comment! San Francisco! It is not a city—it is a Midway Plaisance. + California likes to be fooled. Do you suppose Shelgrim could convert the + whole San Joaquin Valley into his back yard otherwise? Indifference to + public affairs—absolute indifference, it stamps us all. Our State is + the very paradise of fakirs. You and your Million-Dollar Fair!” He turned + to Hartrath with a quiet smile. “It is just such men as you, Mr. Hartrath, + that are the ruin of us. You organise a sham of tinsel and pasteboard, put + on fool's cap and bells, beat a gong at a street corner, and the crowd + cheers you and drops nickels into your hat. Your ginger-bread fete; yes, I + saw it in full blast the other night on the grounds of one of your women's + places on Sutter Street. I was on my way home from the last board meeting + of the Atlas Company. A gingerbread fete, my God! and the Atlas plant + shutting down for want of financial backing. A million dollars spent to + attract the Eastern investor, in order to show him an abandoned rolling + mill, wherein the only activity is the sale of remnant material and scrap + steel.” + </p> + <p> + Lyman, however, interfered. The situation was becoming strained. He tried + to conciliate the three men—the artist, the manufacturer, and the + farmer, the warring elements. But Hartrath, unwilling to face the enmity + that he felt accumulating against him, took himself away. A picture of his—“A + Study of the Contra Costa Foot-hills”—was to be raffled in the club + rooms for the benefit of the Fair. He, himself, was in charge of the + matter. He disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Cedarquist looked after him with contemplative interest. Then, turning to + Magnus, excused himself for the acridity of his words. + </p> + <p> + “He's no worse than many others, and the people of this State and city + are, after all, only a little more addle-headed than other Americans.” It + was his favourite topic. Sure of the interest of his hearers, he + unburdened himself. + </p> + <p> + “If I were to name the one crying evil of American life, Mr. Derrick,” he + continued, “it would be the indifference of the better people to public + affairs. It is so in all our great centres. There are other great trusts, + God knows, in the United States besides our own dear P. and S. W. + Railroad. Every State has its own grievance. If it is not a railroad + trust, it is a sugar trust, or an oil trust, or an industrial trust, that + exploits the People, BECAUSE THE PEOPLE ALLOW IT. The indifference of the + People is the opportunity of the despot. It is as true as that the whole + is greater than the part, and the maxim is so old that it is trite—it + is laughable. It is neglected and disused for the sake of some new + ingenious and complicated theory, some wonderful scheme of reorganisation, + but the fact remains, nevertheless, simple, fundamental, everlasting. The + People have but to say 'No,' and not the strongest tyranny, political, + religious, or financial, that was ever organised, could survive one week.” + </p> + <p> + The others, absorbed, attentive, approved, nodding their heads in silence + as the manufacturer finished. + </p> + <p> + “That's one reason, Mr. Derrick,” the other resumed after a moment, “why I + have been so glad to meet you. You and your League are trying to say 'No' + to the trust. I hope you will succeed. If your example will rally the + People to your cause, you will. Otherwise—” he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “One stage of the fight is to be passed this very day,” observed Magnus. + “My sons and myself are expecting hourly news from the City Hall, a + decision in our case is pending.” + </p> + <p> + “We are both of us fighters, it seems, Mr. Derrick,” said Cedarquist. + “Each with his particular enemy. We are well met, indeed, the farmer and + the manufacturer, both in the same grist between the two millstones of the + lethargy of the Public and the aggression of the Trust, the two great + evils of modern America. Pres, my boy, there is your epic poem ready to + hand.” + </p> + <p> + But Cedarquist was full of another idea. Rarely did so favourable an + opportunity present itself for explaining his theories, his ambitions. + Addressing himself to Magnus, he continued: + </p> + <p> + “Fortunately for myself, the Atlas Company was not my only investment. I + have other interests. The building of ships—steel sailing ships—has + been an ambition of mine,—for this purpose, Mr. Derrick, to carry + American wheat. For years, I have studied this question of American wheat, + and at last, I have arrived at a theory. Let me explain. At present, all + our California wheat goes to Liverpool, and from that port is distributed + over the world. But a change is coming. I am sure of it. You young men,” + he turned to Presley, Lyman, and Harran, “will live to see it. Our century + is about done. The great word of this nineteenth century has been + Production. The great word of the twentieth century will be—listen + to me, you youngsters—Markets. As a market for our Production—or + let me take a concrete example—as a market for our WHEAT, Europe is + played out. Population in Europe is not increasing fast enough to keep up + with the rapidity of our production. In some cases, as in France, the + population is stationary. WE, however, have gone on producing wheat at a + tremendous rate. + </p> + <p> + “The result is over-production. We supply more than Europe can eat, and + down go the prices. The remedy is NOT in the curtailing of our wheat + areas, but in this, we MUST HAVE NEW MARKETS, GREATER MARKETS. For years + we have been sending our wheat from East to West, from California to + Europe. But the time will come when we must send it from West to East. We + must march with the course of empire, not against it. I mean, we must look + to China. Rice in China is losing its nutritive quality. The Asiatics, + though, must be fed; if not on rice, then on wheat. Why, Mr. Derrick, if + only one-half the population of China ate a half ounce of flour per man + per day all the wheat areas in California could not feed them. Ah, if I + could only hammer that into the brains of every rancher of the San + Joaquin, yes, and of every owner of every bonanza farm in Dakota and + Minnesota. Send your wheat to China; handle it yourselves; do away with + the middleman; break up the Chicago wheat pits and elevator rings and + mixing houses. When in feeding China you have decreased the European + shipments, the effect is instantaneous. Prices go up in Europe without + having the least effect upon the prices in China. We hold the key, we have + the wheat,—infinitely more than we ourselves can eat. Asia and + Europe must look to America to be fed. What fatuous neglect of opportunity + to continue to deluge Europe with our surplus food when the East trembles + upon the verge of starvation!” + </p> + <p> + The two men, Cedarquist and Magnus, continued the conversation a little + further. The manufacturer's idea was new to the Governor. He was greatly + interested. He withdrew from the conversation. Thoughtful, he leaned back + in his place, stroking the bridge of his beak-like nose with a crooked + forefinger. + </p> + <p> + Cedarquist turned to Harran and began asking details as to the conditions + of the wheat growers of the San Joaquin. Lyman still maintained an + attitude of polite aloofness, yawning occasionally behind three fingers, + and Presley was left to the company of his own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + There had been a day when the affairs and grievances of the farmers of his + acquaintance—Magnus, Annixter, Osterman, and old Broderson—had + filled him only with disgust. His mind full of a great, vague epic poem of + the West, he had kept himself apart, disdainful of what he chose to + consider their petty squabbles. But the scene in Annixter's harness room + had thrilled and uplifted him. He was palpitating with excitement all + through the succeeding months. He abandoned the idea of an epic poem. In + six months he had not written a single verse. Day after day he trembled + with excitement as the relations between the Trust and League became more + and more strained. He saw the matter in its true light. It was typical. It + was the world-old war between Freedom and Tyranny, and at times his hatred + of the railroad shook him like a crisp and withered reed, while the + languid indifference of the people of the State to the quarrel filled him + with a blind exasperation. + </p> + <p> + But, as he had once explained to Vanamee, he must find expression. He felt + that he would suffocate otherwise. He had begun to keep a journal. As the + inclination spurred him, he wrote down his thoughts and ideas in this, + sometimes every day, sometimes only three or four times a month. Also he + flung aside his books of poems—Milton, Tennyson, Browning, even + Homer—and addressed himself to Mill, Malthus, Young, Poushkin, Henry + George, Schopenhauer. He attacked the subject of Social Inequality with + unbounded enthusiasm. He devoured, rather than read, and emerged from the + affair, his mind a confused jumble of conflicting notions, sick with + over-effort, raging against injustice and oppression, and with not one + sane suggestion as to remedy or redress. + </p> + <p> + The butt of his cigarette scorched his fingers and roused him from his + brooding. In the act of lighting another, he glanced across the room and + was surprised to see two very prettily dressed young women in the company + of an older gentleman, in a long frock coat, standing before Hartrath's + painting, examining it, their heads upon one side. + </p> + <p> + Presley uttered a murmur of surprise. He, himself, was a member of the + club, and the presence of women within its doors, except on special + occasions, was not tolerated. He turned to Lyman Derrick for an + explanation, but this other had also seen the women and abruptly + exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “I declare, I had forgotten about it. Why, this is Ladies' Day, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” interposed Cedarquist, glancing at the women over his + shoulder. “Didn't you know? They let 'em in twice a year, you remember, + and this is a double occasion. They are going to raffle Hartrath's + picture,—for the benefit of the Gingerbread Fair. Why, you are not + up to date, Lyman. This is a sacred and religious rite,—an important + public event.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course,” murmured Lyman. He found means to survey Harran + and Magnus. Certainly, neither his father nor his brother were dressed for + the function that impended. He had been stupid. Magnus invariably + attracted attention, and now with his trousers strapped under his boots, + his wrinkled frock coat—Lyman twisted his cuffs into sight with an + impatient, nervous movement of his wrists, glancing a second time at his + brother's pink face, forward curling, yellow hair and clothes of a country + cut. But there was no help for it. He wondered what were the club + regulations in the matter of bringing in visitors on Ladies' Day. “Sure + enough, Ladies' Day,” he remarked, “I am very glad you struck it, + Governor. We can sit right where we are. I guess this is as good a place + as any to see the crowd. It's a good chance to see all the big guns of the + city. Do you expect your people here, Mr. Cedarquist?” + </p> + <p> + “My wife may come, and my daughters,” said the manufacturer. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” murmured Presley, “so much the better. I was going to give myself + the pleasure of calling upon your daughters, Mr. Cedarquist, this + afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “You can save your carfare, Pres,” said Cedarquist, “you will see them + here.” + </p> + <p> + No doubt, the invitations for the occasion had appointed one o'clock as + the time, for between that hour and two, the guests arrived in an almost + unbroken stream. From their point of vantage in the round window of the + main room, Magnus, his two sons, and Presley looked on very interested. + Cedarquist had excused himself, affirming that he must look out for his + women folk. + </p> + <p> + Of every ten of the arrivals, seven, at least, were ladies. They entered + the room—this unfamiliar masculine haunt, where their husbands, + brothers, and sons spent so much of their time—with a certain show + of hesitancy and little, nervous, oblique glances, moving their heads from + side to side like a file of hens venturing into a strange barn. They came + in groups, ushered by a single member of the club, doing the honours with + effusive bows and polite gestures, indicating the various objects of + interest, pictures, busts, and the like, that decorated the room. + </p> + <p> + Fresh from his recollections of Bonneville, Guadalajara, and the dance in + Annixter's barn, Presley was astonished at the beauty of these women and + the elegance of their toilettes. The crowd thickened rapidly. A murmur of + conversation arose, subdued, gracious, mingled with the soft rustle of + silk, grenadines, velvet. The scent of delicate perfumes spread in the + air, Violet de Parme, Peau d'Espagne. Colours of the most harmonious + blends appeared and disappeared at intervals in the slowly moving press, + touches of lavender-tinted velvets, pale violet crepes and cream-coloured + appliqued laces. + </p> + <p> + There seemed to be no need of introductions. Everybody appeared to be + acquainted. There was no awkwardness, no constraint. The assembly + disengaged an impression of refined pleasure. On every hand, innumerable + dialogues seemed to go forward easily and naturally, without break or + interruption, witty, engaging, the couple never at a loss for repartee. A + third party was gracefully included, then a fourth. Little groups were + formed,—groups that divided themselves, or melted into other groups, + or disintegrated again into isolated pairs, or lost themselves in the + background of the mass,—all without friction, without embarrassment,—the + whole affair going forward of itself, decorous, tactful, well-bred. + </p> + <p> + At a distance, and not too loud, a stringed orchestra sent up a pleasing + hum. Waiters, with brass buttons on their full dress coats, went from + group to group, silent, unobtrusive, serving salads and ices. + </p> + <p> + But the focus of the assembly was the little space before Hartrath's + painting. It was called “A Study of the Contra Costa Foothills,” and was + set in a frame of natural redwood, the bark still adhering. It was + conspicuously displayed on an easel at the right of the entrance to the + main room of the club, and was very large. In the foreground, and to the + left, under the shade of a live-oak, stood a couple of reddish cows, + knee-deep in a patch of yellow poppies, while in the right-hand corner, to + balance the composition, was placed a girl in a pink dress and white + sunbonnet, in which the shadows were indicated by broad dashes of pale + blue paint. The ladies and young girls examined the production with little + murmurs of admiration, hazarding remembered phrases, searching for the + exact balance between generous praise and critical discrimination, + expressing their opinions in the mild technicalities of the Art Books and + painting classes. They spoke of atmospheric effects, of middle distance, + of “chiaro-oscuro,” of fore-shortening, of the decomposition of light, of + the subordination of individuality to fidelity of interpretation. + </p> + <p> + One tall girl, with hair almost white in its blondness, having observed + that the handling of the masses reminded her strongly of Corot, her + companion, who carried a gold lorgnette by a chain around her neck, + answered: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Millet, perhaps, but not Corot.” + </p> + <p> + This verdict had an immediate success. It was passed from group to group. + It seemed to imply a delicate distinction that carried conviction at once. + It was decided formally that the reddish brown cows in the picture were + reminiscent of Daubigny, and that the handling of the masses was + altogether Millet, but that the general effect was not quite Corot. + </p> + <p> + Presley, curious to see the painting that was the subject of so much + discussion, had left the group in the round window, and stood close by + Hartrath, craning his head over the shoulders of the crowd, trying to + catch a glimpse of the reddish cows, the milk-maid and the blue painted + foothills. He was suddenly aware of Cedarquist's voice in his ear, and, + turning about, found himself face to face with the manufacturer, his wife + and his two daughters. + </p> + <p> + There was a meeting. Salutations were exchanged, Presley shaking hands all + around, expressing his delight at seeing his old friends once more, for he + had known the family from his boyhood, Mrs. Cedarquist being his aunt. + Mrs. Cedarquist and her two daughters declared that the air of Los Muertos + must certainly have done him a world of good. He was stouter, there could + be no doubt of it. A little pale, perhaps. He was fatiguing himself with + his writing, no doubt. Ah, he must take care. Health was everything, after + all. Had he been writing any more verse? Every month they scanned the + magazines, looking for his name. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cedarquist was a fashionable woman, the president or chairman of a + score of clubs. She was forever running after fads, appearing continually + in the society wherein she moved with new and astounding proteges—fakirs + whom she unearthed no one knew where, discovering them long in advance of + her companions. Now it was a Russian Countess, with dirty finger nails, + who travelled throughout America and borrowed money; now an Aesthete who + possessed a wonderful collection of topaz gems, who submitted decorative + schemes for the interior arrangement of houses and who “received” in Mrs. + Cedarquist's drawing-rooms dressed in a white velvet cassock; now a widow + of some Mohammedan of Bengal or Rajputana, who had a blue spot in the + middle of her forehead and who solicited contributions for her sisters in + affliction; now a certain bearded poet, recently back from the Klondike; + now a decayed musician who had been ejected from a young ladies' musical + conservatory of Europe because of certain surprising pamphlets on free + love, and who had come to San Francisco to introduce the community to the + music of Brahms; now a Japanese youth who wore spectacles and a grey + flannel shirt and who, at intervals, delivered himself of the most + astonishing poems, vague, unrhymed, unmetrical lucubrations, incoherent, + bizarre; now a Christian Scientist, a lean, grey woman, whose creed was + neither Christian nor scientific; now a university professor, with the + bristling beard of an anarchist chief-of-section, and a roaring, guttural + voice, whose intenseness left him gasping and apoplectic; now a civilised + Cherokee with a mission; now a female elocutionist, whose forte was + Byron's Songs of Greece; now a high caste Chinaman; now a miniature + painter; now a tenor, a pianiste, a mandolin player, a missionary, a + drawing master, a virtuoso, a collector, an Armenian, a botanist with a + new flower, a critic with a new theory, a doctor with a new treatment. + </p> + <p> + And all these people had a veritable mania for declamation and fancy + dress. The Russian Countess gave talks on the prisons of Siberia, wearing + the headdress and pinchbeck ornaments of a Slav bride; the Aesthete, in + his white cassock, gave readings on obscure questions of art and ethics. + The widow of India, in the costume of her caste, described the social life + of her people at home. The bearded poet, perspiring in furs and boots of + reindeer skin, declaimed verses of his own composition about the wild life + of the Alaskan mining camps. The Japanese youth, in the silk robes of the + Samurai two-sworded nobles, read from his own works—“The + flat-bordered earth, nailed down at night, rusting under the darkness,” + “The brave, upright rains that came down like errands from iron-bodied + yore-time.” The Christian Scientist, in funereal, impressive black, + discussed the contra-will and pan-psychic hylozoism. The university + professor put on a full dress suit and lisle thread gloves at three in the + afternoon and before literary clubs and circles bellowed extracts from + Goethe and Schiler in the German, shaking his fists, purple with + vehemence. The Cherokee, arrayed in fringed buckskin and blue beads, + rented from a costumer, intoned folk songs of his people in the + vernacular. The elocutionist in cheese-cloth toga and tin bracelets, + rendered “The Isles of Greece, where burning Sappho loved and sung.” The + Chinaman, in the robes of a mandarin, lectured on Confucius. The Armenian, + in fez and baggy trousers, spoke of the Unspeakable Turk. The mandolin + player, dressed like a bull fighter, held musical conversaziones, + interpreting the peasant songs of Andalusia. + </p> + <p> + It was the Fake, the eternal, irrepressible Sham; glib, nimble, + ubiquitous, tricked out in all the paraphernalia of imposture, an endless + defile of charlatans that passed interminably before the gaze of the city, + marshalled by “lady presidents,” exploited by clubs of women, by literary + societies, reading circles, and culture organisations. The attention the + Fake received, the time devoted to it, the money which it absorbed, were + incredible. It was all one that impostor after impostor was exposed; it + was all one that the clubs, the circles, the societies were proved beyond + doubt to have been swindled. The more the Philistine press of the city + railed and guyed, the more the women rallied to the defence of their + protege of the hour. That their favourite was persecuted, was to them a + veritable rapture. Promptly they invested the apostle of culture with the + glamour of a martyr. + </p> + <p> + The fakirs worked the community as shell-game tricksters work a county + fair, departing with bursting pocket-books, passing on the word to the + next in line, assured that the place was not worked out, knowing well that + there was enough for all. + </p> + <p> + More frequently the public of the city, unable to think of more than one + thing at one time, prostrated itself at the feet of a single apostle, but + at other moments, such as the present, when a Flower Festival or a + Million-Dollar Fair aroused enthusiasm in all quarters, the occasion was + one of gala for the entire Fake. The decayed professors, virtuosi, + litterateurs, and artists thronged to the place en masse. Their clamour + filled all the air. On every hand one heard the scraping of violins, the + tinkling of mandolins, the suave accents of “art talks,” the incoherencies + of poets, the declamation of elocutionists, the inarticulate wanderings of + the Japanese, the confused mutterings of the Cherokee, the guttural + bellowing of the German university professor, all in the name of the + Million-Dollar Fair. Money to the extent of hundreds of thousands was set + in motion. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cedarquist was busy from morning until night. One after another, she + was introduced to newly arrived fakirs. To each poet, to each litterateur, + to each professor she addressed the same question: + </p> + <p> + “How long have you known you had this power?” + </p> + <p> + She spent her days in one quiver of excitement and jubilation. She was “in + the movement.” The people of the city were awakening to a Realisation of + the Beautiful, to a sense of the higher needs of life. This was Art, this + was Literature, this was Culture and Refinement. The Renaissance had + appeared in the West. + </p> + <p> + She was a short, rather stout, red-faced, very much over-dressed little + woman of some fifty years. She was rich in her own name, even before her + marriage, being a relative of Shelgrim himself and on familiar terms with + the great financier and his family. Her husband, while deploring the + policy of the railroad, saw no good reason for quarrelling with Shelgrim, + and on more than one occasion had dined at his house. On this occasion, + delighted that she had come upon a “minor poet,” she insisted upon + presenting him to Hartrath. + </p> + <p> + “You two should have so much in common,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + Presley shook the flaccid hand of the artist, murmuring conventionalities, + while Mrs. Cedarquist hastened to say: + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you know Mr. Presley's verse, Mr. Hartrath. You should, believe + me. You two have much in common. I can see so much that is alike in your + modes of interpreting nature. In Mr. Presley's sonnet, 'The Better Part,' + there is the same note as in your picture, the same sincerity of tone, the + same subtlety of touch, the same nuances,—ah.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear Madame,” murmured the artist, interrupting Presley's + impatient retort; “I am a mere bungler. You don't mean quite that, I am + sure. I am too sensitive. It is my cross. Beauty,” he closed his sore eyes + with a little expression of pain, “beauty unmans me.” + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Cedarquist was not listening. Her eyes were fixed on the artist's + luxuriant hair, a thick and glossy mane, that all but covered his coat + collar. + </p> + <p> + “Leonine!” she murmured— “leonine! Like Samson of old.” + </p> + <p> + However, abruptly bestirring herself, she exclaimed a second later: + </p> + <p> + “But I must run away. I am selling tickets for you this afternoon, Mr. + Hartrath. I am having such success. Twenty-five already. Mr. Presley, you + will take two chances, I am sure, and, oh, by the way, I have such good + news. You know I am one of the lady members of the subscription committee + for our Fair, and you know we approached Mr. Shelgrim for a donation to + help along. Oh, such a liberal patron, a real Lorenzo di' Medici. In the + name of the Pacific and Southwestern he has subscribed, think of it, five + thousand dollars; and yet they will talk of the meanness of the railroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly it is to his interest,” murmured Presley. “The fairs and + festivals bring people to the city over his railroad.” + </p> + <p> + But the others turned on him, expostulating. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you Philistine,” declared Mrs. Cedarquist. “And this from YOU!, + Presley; to attribute such base motives——” + </p> + <p> + “If the poets become materialised, Mr. Presley,” declared Hartrath, “what + can we say to the people?” + </p> + <p> + “And Shelgrim encourages your million-dollar fairs and fetes,” said a + voice at Presley's elbow, “because it is throwing dust in the people's + eyes.” + </p> + <p> + The group turned about and saw Cedarquist, who had come up unobserved in + time to catch the drift of the talk. But he spoke without bitterness; + there was even a good-humoured twinkle in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he continued, smiling, “our dear Shelgrim promotes your fairs, not + only as Pres says, because it is money in his pocket, but because it + amuses the people, distracts their attention from the doings of his + railroad. When Beatrice was a baby and had little colics, I used to jingle + my keys in front of her nose, and it took her attention from the pain in + her tummy; so Shelgrim.” + </p> + <p> + The others laughed good-humouredly, protesting, nevertheless, and Mrs. + Cedarquist shook her finger in warning at the artist and exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “The Philistines be upon thee, Samson!” + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” observed Hartrath, willing to change the subject, “I hear + you are on the Famine Relief Committee. Does your work progress?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, most famously, I assure you,” she said. “Such a movement as we have + started. Those poor creatures. The photographs of them are simply + dreadful. I had the committee to luncheon the other day and we passed them + around. We are getting subscriptions from all over the State, and Mr. + Cedarquist is to arrange for the ship.” + </p> + <p> + The Relief Committee in question was one of a great number that had been + formed in California—and all over the Union, for the matter of that—to + provide relief for the victims of a great famine in Central India. The + whole world had been struck with horror at the reports of suffering and + mortality in the affected districts, and had hastened to send aid. Certain + women of San Francisco, with Mrs. Cedarquist at their head, had organised + a number of committees, but the manufacturer's wife turned the meetings of + these committees into social affairs—luncheons, teas, where one + discussed the ways and means of assisting the starving Asiatics over + teacups and plates of salad. + </p> + <p> + Shortly afterward a mild commotion spread throughout the assemblage of the + club's guests. The drawing of the numbers in the raffle was about to be + made. Hartrath, in a flurry of agitation, excused himself. Cedarquist took + Presley by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “Pres, let's get out of this,” he said. “Come into the wine room and I + will shake you for a glass of sherry.” + </p> + <p> + They had some difficulty in extricating themselves. The main room where + the drawing was to take place suddenly became densely thronged. All the + guests pressed eagerly about the table near the picture, upon which one of + the hall boys had just placed a ballot box containing the numbers. The + ladies, holding their tickets in their hands, pushed forward. A staccato + chatter of excited murmurs arose. “What became of Harran and Lyman and the + Governor?” inquired Presley. + </p> + <p> + Lyman had disappeared, alleging a business engagement, but Magnus and his + younger son had retired to the library of the club on the floor above. It + was almost deserted. They were deep in earnest conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Harran,” said the Governor, with decision, “there is a deal, there, in + what Cedarquist says. Our wheat to China, hey, boy?” + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly worth thinking of, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It appeals to me, boy; it appeals to me. It's big and there's a fortune + in it. Big chances mean big returns; and I know—your old father + isn't a back number yet, Harran—I may not have so wide an outlook as + our friend Cedarquist, but I am quick to see my chance. Boy, the whole + East is opening, disintegrating before the Anglo-Saxon. It is time that + bread stuffs, as well, should make markets for themselves in the Orient. + Just at this moment, too, when Lyman will scale down freight rates so we + can haul to tidewater at little cost.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus paused again, his frown beetling, and in the silence the excited + murmur from the main room of the club, the soprano chatter of a multitude + of women, found its way to the deserted library. + </p> + <p> + “I believe it's worth looking into, Governor,” asserted Harran. + </p> + <p> + Magnus rose, and, his hands behind him, paced the floor of the library a + couple of times, his imagination all stimulated and vivid. The great + gambler perceived his Chance, the kaleidoscopic shifting of circumstances + that made a Situation. It had come silently, unexpectedly. He had not seen + its approach. Abruptly he woke one morning to see the combination + realised. But also he saw a vision. A sudden and abrupt revolution in the + Wheat. A new world of markets discovered, the matter as important as the + discovery of America. The torrent of wheat was to be diverted, flowing + back upon itself in a sudden, colossal eddy, stranding the middleman, the + ENTRE-PRENEUR, the elevator-and mixing-house men dry and despairing, their + occupation gone. He saw the farmer suddenly emancipated, the world's food + no longer at the mercy of the speculator, thousands upon thousands of men + set free of the grip of Trust and ring and monopoly acting for themselves, + selling their own wheat, organising into one gigantic trust, themselves, + sending their agents to all the entry ports of China. Himself, Annixter, + Broderson and Osterman would pool their issues. He would convince them of + the magnificence of the new movement. They would be its pioneers. Harran + would be sent to Hong Kong to represent the four. They would charter—probably + buy—a ship, perhaps one of Cedarquist's, American built, the + nation's flag at the peak, and the sailing of that ship, gorged with the + crops from Broderson's and Osterman's ranches, from Quien Sabe and Los + Muertos, would be like the sailing of the caravels from Palos. It would + mark a new era; it would make an epoch. + </p> + <p> + With this vision still expanding before the eye of his mind, Magnus, with + Harran at his elbow, prepared to depart. + </p> + <p> + They descended to the lower floor and involved themselves for a moment in + the throng of fashionables that blocked the hallway and the entrance to + the main room, where the numbers of the raffle were being drawn. Near the + head of the stairs they encountered Presley and Cedarquist, who had just + come out of the wine room. + </p> + <p> + Magnus, still on fire with the new idea, pressed a few questions upon the + manufacturer before bidding him good-bye. He wished to talk further upon + the great subject, interested as to details, but Cedarquist was vague in + his replies. He was no farmer, he hardly knew wheat when he saw it, only + he knew the trend of the world's affairs; he felt them to be setting + inevitably eastward. + </p> + <p> + However, his very vagueness was a further inspiration to the Governor. He + swept details aside. He saw only the grand coup, the huge results, the + East conquered, the march of empire rolling westward, finally arriving at + its starting point, the vague, mysterious Orient. + </p> + <p> + He saw his wheat, like the crest of an advancing billow, crossing the + Pacific, bursting upon Asia, flooding the Orient in a golden torrent. It + was the new era. He had lived to see the death of the old and the birth of + the new; first the mine, now the ranch; first gold, now wheat. Once again + he became the pioneer, hardy, brilliant, taking colossal chances, blazing + the way, grasping a fortune—a million in a single day. All the + bigness of his nature leaped up again within him. At the magnitude of the + inspiration he felt young again, indomitable, the leader at last, king of + his fellows, wresting from fortune at this eleventh hour, before his old + age, the place of high command which so long had been denied him. At last + he could achieve. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly Magnus was aware that some one had spoken his name. He looked + about and saw behind him, at a little distance, two gentlemen, strangers + to him. They had withdrawn from the crowd into a little recess. Evidently + having no women to look after, they had lost interest in the afternoon's + affair. Magnus realised that they had not seen him. One of them was + reading aloud to his companion from an evening edition of that day's + newspaper. It was in the course of this reading that Magnus caught the + sound of his name. He paused, listening, and Presley, Harran and + Cedarquist followed his example. Soon they all understood. They were + listening to the report of the judge's decision, for which Magnus was + waiting—the decision in the case of the League vs. the Railroad. For + the moment, the polite clamour of the raffle hushed itself—the + winning number was being drawn. The guests held their breath, and in the + ensuing silence Magnus and the others heard these words distinctly: + </p> + <p> + “.... It follows that the title to the lands in question is in the + plaintiff—the Pacific and Southwestern Railroad, and the defendants + have no title, and their possession is wrongful. There must be findings + and judgment for the plaintiff, and it is so ordered.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of himself, Magnus paled. Harran shut his teeth with an oath. + Their exaltation of the previous moment collapsed like a pyramid of cards. + The vision of the new movement of the wheat, the conquest of the East, the + invasion of the Orient, seemed only the flimsiest mockery. With a brusque + wrench, they were snatched back to reality. Between them and the vision, + between the fecund San Joaquin, reeking with fruitfulness, and the + millions of Asia crowding toward the verge of starvation, lay the + iron-hearted monster of steel and steam, implacable, insatiable, huge—its + entrails gorged with the life blood that it sucked from an entire + commonwealth, its ever hungry maw glutted with the harvests that should + have fed the famished bellies of the whole world of the Orient. + </p> + <p> + But abruptly, while the four men stood there, gazing into each other's + faces, a vigorous hand-clapping broke out. The raffle of Hartrath's + picture was over, and as Presley turned about he saw Mrs. Cedarquist and + her two daughters signalling eagerly to the manufacturer, unable to reach + him because of the intervening crowd. Then Mrs. Cedarquist raised her + voice and cried: + </p> + <p> + “I've won. I've won.” + </p> + <p> + Unnoticed, and with but a brief word to Cedarquist, Magnus and Harran went + down the marble steps leading to the street door, silent, Harran's arm + tight around his father's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + At once the orchestra struck into a lively air. A renewed murmur of + conversation broke out, and Cedarquist, as he said good-bye to Presley, + looked first at the retreating figures of the ranchers, then at the gayly + dressed throng of beautiful women and debonair young men, and indicating + the whole scene with a single gesture, said, smiling sadly as he spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Not a city, Presley, not a city, but a Midway Plaisance.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Underneath the Long Trestle where Broderson Creek cut the line of the + railroad and the Upper Road, the ground was low and covered with a second + growth of grey green willows. Along the borders of the creek were + occasional marshy spots, and now and then Hilma Tree came here to gather + water-cresses, which she made into salads. + </p> + <p> + The place was picturesque, secluded, an oasis of green shade in all the + limitless, flat monotony of the surrounding wheat lands. The creek had + eroded deep into the little gully, and no matter how hot it was on the + baking, shimmering levels of the ranches above, down here one always found + one's self enveloped in an odorous, moist coolness. From time to time, the + incessant murmur of the creek, pouring over and around the larger stones, + was interrupted by the thunder of trains roaring out upon the trestle + overhead, passing on with the furious gallop of their hundreds of iron + wheels, leaving in the air a taint of hot oil, acrid smoke, and reek of + escaping steam. + </p> + <p> + On a certain afternoon, in the spring of the year, Hilma was returning to + Quien Sabe from Hooven's by the trail that led from Los Muertos to + Annixter's ranch houses, under the trestle. She had spent the afternoon + with Minna Hooven, who, for the time being, was kept indoors because of a + wrenched ankle. As Hilma descended into the gravel flats and thickets of + willows underneath the trestle, she decided that she would gather some + cresses for her supper that night. She found a spot around the base of one + of the supports of the trestle where the cresses grew thickest, and + plucked a couple of handfuls, washing them in the creek and pinning them + up in her handkerchief. It made a little, round, cold bundle, and Hilma, + warm from her walk, found a delicious enjoyment in pressing the damp ball + of it to her cheeks and neck. + </p> + <p> + For all the change that Annixter had noted in her upon the occasion of the + barn dance, Hilma remained in many things a young child. She was never at + loss for enjoyment, and could always amuse herself when left alone. Just + now, she chose to drink from the creek, lying prone on the ground, her + face half-buried in the water, and this, not because she was thirsty, but + because it was a new way to drink. She imagined herself a belated + traveller, a poor girl, an outcast, quenching her thirst at the wayside + brook, her little packet of cresses doing duty for a bundle of clothes. + Night was coming on. Perhaps it would storm. She had nowhere to go. She + would apply at a hut for shelter. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly, the temptation to dabble her feet in the creek presented itself + to her. Always she had liked to play in the water. What a delight now to + take off her shoes and stockings and wade out into the shallows near the + bank! She had worn low shoes that afternoon, and the dust of the trail had + filtered in above the edges. At times, she felt the grit and grey sand on + the soles of her feet, and the sensation had set her teeth on edge. What a + delicious alternative the cold, clean water suggested, and how easy it + would be to do as she pleased just then, if only she were a little girl. + In the end, it was stupid to be grown up. + </p> + <p> + Sitting upon the bank, one finger tucked into the heel of her shoe, Hilma + hesitated. Suppose a train should come! She fancied she could see the + engineer leaning from the cab with a great grin on his face, or the + brakeman shouting gibes at her from the platform. Abruptly she blushed + scarlet. The blood throbbed in her temples. Her heart beat. Since the + famous evening of the barn dance, Annixter had spoken to her but twice. + Hilma no longer looked after the ranch house these days. The thought of + setting foot within Annixter's dining-room and bed-room terrified her, and + in the end her mother had taken over that part of her work. Of the two + meetings with the master of Quien Sabe, one had been a mere exchange of + good mornings as the two happened to meet over by the artesian well; the + other, more complicated, had occurred in the dairy-house again, Annixter, + pretending to look over the new cheese press, asking about details of her + work. When this had happened on that previous occasion, ending with + Annixter's attempt to kiss her, Hilma had been talkative enough, + chattering on from one subject to another, never at a loss for a theme. + But this last time was a veritable ordeal. No sooner had Annixter appeared + than her heart leaped and quivered like that of the hound-harried doe. Her + speech failed her. Throughout the whole brief interview she had been + miserably tongue-tied, stammering monosyllables, confused, horribly + awkward, and when Annixter had gone away, she had fled to her little room, + and bolting the door, had flung herself face downward on the bed and wept + as though her heart were breaking, she did not know why. + </p> + <p> + That Annixter had been overwhelmed with business all through the winter + was an inexpressible relief to Hilma. His affairs took him away from the + ranch continually. He was absent sometimes for weeks, making trips to San + Francisco, or to Sacramento, or to Bonneville. Perhaps he was forgetting + her, overlooking her; and while, at first, she told herself that she asked + nothing better, the idea of it began to occupy her mind. She began to + wonder if it was really so. + </p> + <p> + She knew his trouble. Everybody did. The news of the sudden forward + movement of the Railroad's forces, inaugurating the campaign, had flared + white-hot and blazing all over the country side. To Hilma's notion, + Annixter's attitude was heroic beyond all expression. His courage in + facing the Railroad, as he had faced Delaney in the barn, seemed to her + the pitch of sublimity. She refused to see any auxiliaries aiding him in + his fight. To her imagination, the great League, which all the ranchers + were joining, was a mere form. Single-handed, Annixter fronted the + monster. But for him the corporation would gobble Quien Sabe, as a whale + would a minnow. He was a hero who stood between them all and destruction. + He was a protector of her family. He was her champion. She began to + mention him in her prayers every night, adding a further petition to the + effect that he would become a good man, and that he should not swear so + much, and that he should never meet Delaney again. + </p> + <p> + However, as Hilma still debated the idea of bathing her feet in the creek, + a train did actually thunder past overhead—the regular evening + Overland,—the through express, that never stopped between + Bakersfield and Fresno. It stormed by with a deafening clamour, and a + swirl of smoke, in a long succession of way-coaches, and chocolate + coloured Pullmans, grimy with the dust of the great deserts of the + Southwest. The quivering of the trestle's supports set a tremble in the + ground underfoot. The thunder of wheels drowned all sound of the flowing + of the creek, and also the noise of the buckskin mare's hoofs descending + from the trail upon the gravel about the creek, so that Hilma, turning + about after the passage of the train, saw Annixter close at hand, with the + abruptness of a vision. + </p> + <p> + He was looking at her, smiling as he rarely did, the firm line of his + out-thrust lower lip relaxed good-humouredly. He had taken off his + campaign hat to her, and though his stiff, yellow hair was twisted into a + bristling mop, the little persistent tuft on the crown, usually defiantly + erect as an Apache's scalp-lock, was nowhere in sight. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, it's you, is it, Miss Hilma?” he exclaimed, getting down from the + buckskin, and allowing her to drink. + </p> + <p> + Hilma nodded, scrambling to her feet, dusting her skirt with nervous pats + of both hands. + </p> + <p> + Annixter sat down on a great rock close by and, the loop of the bridle + over his arm, lit a cigar, and began to talk. He complained of the heat of + the day, the bad condition of the Lower Road, over which he had come on + his way from a committee meeting of the League at Los Muertos; of the + slowness of the work on the irrigating ditch, and, as a matter of course, + of the general hard times. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hilma,” he said abruptly, “never you marry a ranchman. He's never + out of trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Hilma gasped, her eyes widening till the full round of the pupil was + disclosed. Instantly, a certain, inexplicable guiltiness overpowered her + with incredible confusion. Her hands trembled as she pressed the bundle of + cresses into a hard ball between her palms. + </p> + <p> + Annixter continued to talk. He was disturbed and excited himself at this + unexpected meeting. Never through all the past winter months of strenuous + activity, the fever of political campaigns, the harrowing delays and + ultimate defeat in one law court after another, had he forgotten the look + in Hilma's face as he stood with one arm around her on the floor of his + barn, in peril of his life from the buster's revolver. That dumb + confession of Hilma's wide-open eyes had been enough for him. Yet, + somehow, he never had had a chance to act upon it. During the short period + when he could be on his ranch Hilma had always managed to avoid him. Once, + even, she had spent a month, about Christmas time, with her mother's + father, who kept a hotel in San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + Now, to-day, however, he had her all to himself. He would put an end to + the situation that troubled him, and vexed him, day after day, month after + month. Beyond question, the moment had come for something definite, he + could not say precisely what. Readjusting his cigar between his teeth, he + resumed his speech. It suited his humour to take the girl into his + confidence, following an instinct which warned him that this would bring + about a certain closeness of their relations, a certain intimacy. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of this row, anyways, Miss Hilma,—this railroad + fuss in general? Think Shelgrim and his rushers are going to jump Quien + Sabe—are going to run us off the ranch?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, sir,” protested Hilma, still breathless. “Oh, no, indeed not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what then?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma made a little uncertain movement of ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the League agreed to-day that if the test cases were lost in the + Supreme Court—you know we've appealed to the Supreme Court, at + Washington—we'd fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Fight?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Fight like—like you and Mr. Delaney that time with—oh, dear—with + guns?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” grumbled Annixter vaguely. “What do YOU think?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma's low-pitched, almost husky voice trembled a little as she replied, + “Fighting—with guns—that's so terrible. Oh, those revolvers in + the barn! I can hear them yet. Every shot seemed like the explosion of + tons of powder.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we clear out, then? Shall we let Delaney have possession, and S. + Behrman, and all that lot? Shall we give in to them?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, never,” she exclaimed, her great eyes flashing. + </p> + <p> + “YOU wouldn't like to be turned out of your home, would you, Miss Hilma, + because Quien Sabe is your home isn't it? You've lived here ever since you + were as big as a minute. You wouldn't like to have S. Behrman and the rest + of 'em turn you out?” + </p> + <p> + “N-no,” she murmured. “No, I shouldn't like that. There's mamma and——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you think for one second I'm going to let 'em?” cried Annixter, + his teeth tightening on his cigar. “You stay right where you are. I'll + take care of you, right enough. Look here,” he demanded abruptly, “you've + no use for that roaring lush, Delaney, have you?” “I think he is a wicked + man,” she declared. “I know the Railroad has pretended to sell him part of + the ranch, and he lets Mr. S. Behrman and Mr. Ruggles just use him.” + </p> + <p> + “Right. I thought you wouldn't be keen on him.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. The buckskin began blowing among the pebbles, + nosing for grass, and Annixter shifted his cigar to the other corner of + his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty place,” he muttered, looking around him. Then he added: “Miss + Hilma, see here, I want to have a kind of talk with you, if you don't + mind. I don't know just how to say these sort of things, and if I get all + balled up as I go along, you just set it down to the fact that I've never + had any experience in dealing with feemale girls; understand? You see, + ever since the barn dance—yes, and long before then—I've been + thinking a lot about you. Straight, I have, and I guess you know it. + You're about the only girl that I ever knew well, and I guess,” he + declared deliberately, “you're about the only one I want to know. It's my + nature. You didn't say anything that time when we stood there together and + Delaney was playing the fool, but, somehow, I got the idea that you didn't + want Delaney to do for me one little bit; that if he'd got me then you + would have been sorrier than if he'd got any one else. Well, I felt just + that way about you. I would rather have had him shoot any other girl in + the room than you; yes, or in the whole State. Why, if anything should + happen to you, Miss Hilma—well, I wouldn't care to go on with + anything. S. Behrman could jump Quien Sabe, and welcome. And Delaney could + shoot me full of holes whenever he got good and ready. I'd quit. I'd lay + right down. I wouldn't care a whoop about anything any more. You are the + only girl for me in the whole world. I didn't think so at first. I didn't + want to. But seeing you around every day, and seeing how pretty you were, + and how clever, and hearing your voice and all, why, it just got all + inside of me somehow, and now I can't think of anything else. I hate to go + to San Francisco, or Sacramento, or Visalia, or even Bonneville, for only + a day, just because you aren't there, in any of those places, and I just + rush what I've got to do so as I can get back here. While you were away + that Christmas time, why, I was as lonesome as—oh, you don't know + anything about it. I just scratched off the days on the calendar every + night, one by one, till you got back. And it just comes to this, I want + you with me all the time. I want you should have a home that's my home, + too. I want to take care of you, and have you all for myself, you + understand. What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma, standing up before him, retied a knot in her handkerchief bundle + with elaborate precaution, blinking at it through her tears. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, Miss Hilma?” Annixter repeated. “How about that? What do + you say?” + </p> + <p> + Just above a whisper, Hilma murmured: + </p> + <p> + “I—I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know what? Don't you think we could hit it off together?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “I know we could, Hilma. I don't mean to scare you. What are you crying + for?” “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter got up, cast away his cigar, and dropping the buckskin's bridle, + came and stood beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Hilma did not + move, and he felt her trembling. She still plucked at the knot of the + handkerchief. “I can't do without you, little girl,” Annixter continued, + “and I want you. I want you bad. I don't get much fun out of life ever. + It, sure, isn't my nature, I guess. I'm a hard man. Everybody is trying to + down me, and now I'm up against the Railroad. I'm fighting 'em all, Hilma, + night and day, lock, stock, and barrel, and I'm fighting now for my home, + my land, everything I have in the world. If I win out, I want somebody to + be glad with me. If I don't—I want somebody to be sorry for me, + sorry with me,—and that somebody is you. I am dog-tired of going it + alone. I want some one to back me up. I want to feel you alongside of me, + to give me a touch of the shoulder now and then. I'm tired of fighting for + THINGS—land, property, money. I want to fight for some PERSON—somebody + beside myself. Understand? want to feel that it isn't all selfishness—that + there are other interests than mine in the game—that there's some + one dependent on me, and that's thinking of me as I'm thinking of them—some + one I can come home to at night and put my arm around—like this, and + have her put her two arms around me—like—” He paused a second, + and once again, as it had been in that moment of imminent peril, when he + stood with his arm around her, their eyes met,—“put her two arms + around me,” prompted Annixter, half smiling, “like—like what, + Hilma?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Like what, Hilma?” he insisted. + </p> + <p> + “Like—like this?” she questioned. With a movement of infinite + tenderness and affection she slid her arms around his neck, still crying a + little. + </p> + <p> + The sensation of her warm body in his embrace, the feeling of her smooth, + round arm, through the thinness of her sleeve, pressing against his cheek, + thrilled Annixter with a delight such as he had never known. He bent his + head and kissed her upon the nape of her neck, where the delicate amber + tint melted into the thick, sweet smelling mass of her dark brown hair. + She shivered a little, holding him closer, ashamed as yet to look up. + Without speech, they stood there for a long minute, holding each other + close. Then Hilma pulled away from him, mopping her tear-stained cheeks + with the little moist ball of her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say? Is it a go?” demanded Annixter jovially. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I hated you all the time,” she said, and the velvety huskiness + of her voice never sounded so sweet to him. + </p> + <p> + “And I thought it was that crockery smashing goat of a lout of a + cow-puncher.” + </p> + <p> + “Delaney? The idea! Oh, dear! I think it must always have been you.” + </p> + <p> + “Since when, Hilma?” he asked, putting his arm around her. “Ah, but it is + good to have you, my girl,” he exclaimed, delighted beyond words that she + permitted this freedom. “Since when? Tell us all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, since always. It was ever so long before I came to think of you—to, + well, to think about—I mean to remember—oh, you know what I + mean. But when I did, oh, THEN!” + </p> + <p> + “Then what?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I haven't thought—that way long enough to know.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said you thought it must have been me always.” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but that was different—oh, I'm all mixed up. I'm so nervous + and trembly now. Oh,” she cried suddenly, her face overcast with a look of + earnestness and great seriousness, both her hands catching at his wrist, + “Oh, you WILL be good to me, now, won't you? I'm only a little, little + child in so many ways, and I've given myself to you, all in a minute, and + I can't go back of it now, and it's for always. I don't know how it + happened or why. Sometimes I think I didn't wish it, but now it's done, + and I am glad and happy. But NOW if you weren't good to me—oh, think + of how it would be with me. You are strong, and big, and rich, and I am + only a servant of yours, a little nobody, but I've given all I had to you—myself—and + you must be so good to me now. Always remember that. Be good to me and be + gentle and kind to me in LITTLE things,—in everything, or you will + break my heart.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter took her in his arms. He was speechless. No words that he had at + his command seemed adequate. All he could say was: + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, little girl. Don't you be frightened. I'll take care of + you. That's all right, that's all right.” + </p> + <p> + For a long time they sat there under the shade of the great trestle, their + arms about each other, speaking only at intervals. An hour passed. The + buckskin, finding no feed to her taste, took the trail stablewards, the + bridle dragging. Annixter let her go. Rather than to take his arm from + around Hilma's waist he would have lost his whole stable. At last, + however, he bestirred himself and began to talk. He thought it time to + formulate some plan of action. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, Hilma, what are we going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do?” she repeated. “Why, must we do anything? Oh, isn't this enough?” + </p> + <p> + “There's better ahead,” he went on. “I want to fix you up somewhere where + you can have a bit of a home all to yourself. Let's see; Bonneville + wouldn't do. There's always a lot of yaps about there that know us, and + they would begin to cackle first off. How about San Francisco. We might go + up next week and have a look around. I would find rooms you could take + somewheres, and we would fix 'em up as lovely as how-do-you-do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but why go away from Quien Sabe?” she protested. “And, then, so soon, + too. Why must we have a wedding trip, now that you are so busy? Wouldn't + it be better—oh, I tell you, we could go to Monterey after we were + married, for a little week, where mamma's people live, and then come back + here to the ranch house and settle right down where we are and let me keep + house for you. I wouldn't even want a single servant.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter heard and his face grew troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Hum,” he said, “I see.” + </p> + <p> + He gathered up a handful of pebbles and began snapping them carefully into + the creek. He fell thoughtful. Here was a phase of the affair he had not + planned in the least. He had supposed all the time that Hilma took his + meaning. His old suspicion that she was trying to get a hold on him + stirred again for a moment. There was no good of such talk as that. Always + these feemale girls seemed crazy to get married, bent on complicating the + situation. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't that best?” said Hilma, glancing at him. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he muttered gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, let's not. Let's come right back to Quien Sabe without going + to Monterey. Anything that you want I want.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't thought of it in just that way,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “In what way, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't we—can't we wait about this marrying business?” + </p> + <p> + “That's just it,” she said gayly. “I said it was too soon. There would be + so much to do between whiles. Why not say at the end of the summer?” + </p> + <p> + “Say what?” + </p> + <p> + “Our marriage, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Why get married, then? What's the good of all that fuss about it? I don't + go anything upon a minister puddling round in my affairs. What's the + difference, anyhow? We understand each other. Isn't that enough? Pshaw, + Hilma, I'M no marrying man.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a moment, bewildered, then slowly she took his meaning. + She rose to her feet, her eyes wide, her face paling with terror. He did + not look at her, but he could hear the catch in her throat. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she exclaimed, with a long, deep breath, and again “Oh!” the back of + her hand against her lips. + </p> + <p> + It was a quick gasp of a veritable physical anguish. Her eyes brimmed + over. Annixter rose, looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said, awkwardly, “Well?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma leaped back from him with an instinctive recoil of her whole being, + throwing out her hands in a gesture of defence, fearing she knew not what. + There was as yet no sense of insult in her mind, no outraged modesty. She + was only terrified. It was as though searching for wild flowers she had + come suddenly upon a snake. + </p> + <p> + She stood for an instant, spellbound, her eyes wide, her bosom swelling; + then, all at once, turned and fled, darting across the plank that served + for a foot bridge over the creek, gaining the opposite bank and + disappearing with a brisk rustle of underbrush, such as might have been + made by the flight of a frightened fawn. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly Annixter found himself alone. For a moment he did not move, then + he picked up his campaign hat, carefully creased its limp crown and put it + on his head and stood for a moment, looking vaguely at the ground on both + sides of him. He went away without uttering a word, without change of + countenance, his hands in his pockets, his feet taking great strides along + the trail in the direction of the ranch house. + </p> + <p> + He had no sight of Hilma again that evening, and the next morning he was + up early and did not breakfast at the ranch house. Business of the League + called him to Bonneville to confer with Magnus and the firm of lawyers + retained by the League to fight the land-grabbing cases. An appeal was to + be taken to the Supreme Court at Washington, and it was to be settled that + day which of the cases involved should be considered as test cases. + </p> + <p> + Instead of driving or riding into Bonneville, as he usually did, Annixter + took an early morning train, the Bakersfield-Fresno local at Guadalajara, + and went to Bonneville by rail, arriving there at twenty minutes after + seven and breakfasting by appointment with Magnus Derrick and Osterman at + the Yosemite House, on Main Street. + </p> + <p> + The conference of the committee with the lawyers took place in a front + room of the Yosemite, one of the latter bringing with him his clerk, who + made a stenographic report of the proceedings and took carbon copies of + all letters written. The conference was long and complicated, the business + transacted of the utmost moment, and it was not until two o'clock that + Annixter found himself at liberty. + </p> + <p> + However, as he and Magnus descended into the lobby of the hotel, they were + aware of an excited and interested group collected about the swing doors + that opened from the lobby of the Yosemite into the bar of the same name. + Dyke was there—even at a distance they could hear the reverberation + of his deep-toned voice, uplifted in wrath and furious expostulation. + Magnus and Annixter joined the group wondering, and all at once fell full + upon the first scene of a drama. + </p> + <p> + That same morning Dyke's mother had awakened him according to his + instructions at daybreak. A consignment of his hop poles from the north + had arrived at the freight office of the P. and S. W. in Bonneville, and + he was to drive in on his farm wagon and bring them out. He would have a + busy day. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, hello,” he said, as his mother pulled his ear to arouse him; + “morning, mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “It's time,” she said, “after five already. Your breakfast is on the + stove.” + </p> + <p> + He took her hand and kissed it with great affection. He loved his mother + devotedly, quite as much as he did the little tad. In their little + cottage, in the forest of green hops that surrounded them on every hand, + the three led a joyous and secluded life, contented, industrious, happy, + asking nothing better. Dyke, himself, was a big-hearted, jovial man who + spread an atmosphere of good-humour wherever he went. In the evenings he + played with Sidney like a big boy, an older brother, lying on the bed, or + the sofa, taking her in his arms. Between them they had invented a great + game. The ex-engineer, his boots removed, his huge legs in the air, + hoisted the little tad on the soles of his stockinged feet like a circus + acrobat, dandling her there, pretending he was about to let her fall. + Sidney, choking with delight, held on nervously, with little screams and + chirps of excitement, while he shifted her gingerly from one foot to + another, and thence, the final act, the great gallery play, to the palm of + one great hand. At this point Mrs. Dyke was called in, both father and + daughter, children both, crying out that she was to come in and look, + look. She arrived out of breath from the kitchen, the potato masher in her + hand. “Such children,” she murmured, shaking her head at them, amused for + all that, tucking the potato masher under her arm and clapping her hands. + In the end, it was part of the game that Sidney should tumble down upon + Dyke, whereat he invariably vented a great bellow as if in pain, declaring + that his ribs were broken. Gasping, his eyes shut, he pretended to be in + the extreme of dissolution—perhaps he was dying. Sidney, always a + little uncertain, amused but distressed, shook him nervously, tugging at + his beard, pushing open his eyelid with one finger, imploring him not to + frighten her, to wake up and be good. + </p> + <p> + On this occasion, while yet he was half-dressed, Dyke tiptoed into his + mother's room to look at Sidney fast asleep in her little iron cot, her + arm under her head, her lips parted. With infinite precaution he kissed + her twice, and then finding one little stocking, hung with its mate very + neatly over the back of a chair, dropped into it a dime, rolled up in a + wad of paper. He winked all to himself and went out again, closing the + door with exaggerated carefulness. + </p> + <p> + He breakfasted alone, Mrs. Dyke pouring his coffee and handing him his + plate of ham and eggs, and half an hour later took himself off in his + springless, skeleton wagon, humming a tune behind his beard and cracking + the whip over the backs of his staid and solid farm horses. + </p> + <p> + The morning was fine, the sun just coming up. He left Guadalajara, + sleeping and lifeless, on his left, and going across lots, over an angle + of Quien Sabe, came out upon the Upper Road, a mile below the Long + Trestle. He was in great spirits, looking about him over the brown fields, + ruddy with the dawn. Almost directly in front of him, but far off, the + gilded dome of the court-house at Bonneville was glinting radiant in the + first rays of the sun, while a few miles distant, toward the north, the + venerable campanile of the Mission San Juan stood silhouetted in purplish + black against the flaming east. As he proceeded, the great farm horses + jogging forward, placid, deliberate, the country side waked to another + day. Crossing the irrigating ditch further on, he met a gang of + Portuguese, with picks and shovels over their shoulders, just going to + work. Hooven, already abroad, shouted him a “Goot mornun” from behind the + fence of Los Muertos. Far off, toward the southwest, in the bare expanse + of the open fields, where a clump of eucalyptus and cypress trees set a + dark green note, a thin stream of smoke rose straight into the air from + the kitchen of Derrick's ranch houses. + </p> + <p> + But a mile or so beyond the Long Trestle he was surprised to see Magnus + Derrick's protege, the one-time shepherd, Vanamee, coming across Quien + Sabe, by a trail from one of Annixter's division houses. Without knowing + exactly why, Dyke received the impression that the young man had not been + in bed all of that night. + </p> + <p> + As the two approached each other, Dyke eyed the young fellow. He was + distrustful of Vanamee, having the country-bred suspicion of any person he + could not understand. Vanamee was, beyond doubt, no part of the life of + ranch and country town. He was an alien, a vagabond, a strange fellow who + came and went in mysterious fashion, making no friends, keeping to + himself. Why did he never wear a hat, why indulge in a fine, black, + pointed beard, when either a round beard or a mustache was the invariable + custom? Why did he not cut his hair? Above all, why did he prowl about so + much at night? As the two passed each other, Dyke, for all his + good-nature, was a little blunt in his greeting and looked back at the + ex-shepherd over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Dyke was right in his suspicion. Vanamee's bed had not been disturbed for + three nights. On the Monday of that week he had passed the entire night in + the garden of the Mission, overlooking the Seed ranch, in the little + valley. Tuesday evening had found him miles away from that spot, in a deep + arroyo in the Sierra foothills to the eastward, while Wednesday he had + slept in an abandoned 'dobe on Osterman's stock range, twenty miles from + his resting place of the night before. + </p> + <p> + The fact of the matter was that the old restlessness had once more seized + upon Vanamee. Something began tugging at him; the spur of some unseen + rider touched his flank. The instinct of the wanderer woke and moved. For + some time now he had been a part of the Los Muertos staff. On Quien Sabe, + as on the other ranches, the slack season was at hand. While waiting for + the wheat to come up no one was doing much of anything. Vanamee had come + over to Los Muertos and spent most of his days on horseback, riding the + range, rounding up and watching the cattle in the fourth division of the + ranch. But if the vagabond instinct now roused itself in the strange + fellow's nature, a counter influence had also set in. More and more + Vanamee frequented the Mission garden after nightfall, sometimes remaining + there till the dawn began to whiten, lying prone on the ground, his chin + on his folded arms, his eyes searching the darkness over the little valley + of the Seed ranch, watching, watching. As the days went by, he became more + reticent than ever. Presley often came to find him on the stock range, a + lonely figure in the great wilderness of bare, green hillsides, but + Vanamee no longer took him into his confidence. Father Sarria alone heard + his strange stories. + </p> + <p> + Dyke drove on toward Bonneville, thinking over the whole matter. He knew, + as every one did in that part of the country, the legend of Vanamee and + Angele, the romance of the Mission garden, the mystery of the Other, + Vanamee's flight to the deserts of the southwest, his periodic returns, + his strange, reticent, solitary character, but, like many another of the + country people, he accounted for Vanamee by a short and easy method. No + doubt, the fellow's wits were turned. That was the long and short of it. + </p> + <p> + The ex-engineer reached the Post Office in Bonneville towards eleven + o'clock, but he did not at once present his notice of the arrival of his + consignment at Ruggles's office. It entertained him to indulge in an + hour's lounging about the streets. It was seldom he got into town, and + when he did he permitted himself the luxury of enjoying his evident + popularity. He met friends everywhere, in the Post Office, in the drug + store, in the barber shop and around the court-house. With each one he + held a moment's conversation; almost invariably this ended in the same + way: + </p> + <p> + “Come on 'n have a drink.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't care if I do.” + </p> + <p> + And the friends proceeded to the Yosemite bar, pledging each other with + punctilious ceremony. Dyke, however, was a strictly temperate man. His + life on the engine had trained him well. Alcohol he never touched, + drinking instead ginger ale, sarsaparilla-and-iron—soft drinks. + </p> + <p> + At the drug store, which also kept a stock of miscellaneous stationery, + his eye was caught by a “transparent slate,” a child's toy, where upon a + little pane of frosted glass one could trace with considerable elaboration + outline figures of cows, ploughs, bunches of fruit and even rural water + mills that were printed on slips of paper underneath. + </p> + <p> + “Now, there's an idea, Jim,” he observed to the boy behind the soda-water + fountain; “I know a little tad that would just about jump out of her skin + for that. Think I'll have to take it with me.” + </p> + <p> + “How's Sidney getting along?” the other asked, while wrapping up the + package. + </p> + <p> + Dyke's enthusiasm had made of his little girl a celebrity throughout + Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + The ex-engineer promptly became voluble, assertive, doggedly emphatic. + </p> + <p> + “Smartest little tad in all Tulare County, and more fun! A regular whole + show in herself.” + </p> + <p> + “And the hops?” inquired the other. + </p> + <p> + “Bully,” declared Dyke, with the good-natured man's readiness to talk of + his private affairs to any one who would listen. “Bully. I'm dead sure of + a bonanza crop by now. The rain came JUST right. I actually don't know as + I can store the crop in those barns I built, it's going to be so big. That + foreman of mine was a daisy. Jim, I'm going to make money in that deal. + After I've paid off the mortgage—you know I had to mortgage, yes, + crop and homestead both, but I can pay it off and all the interest to + boot, lovely,—well, and as I was saying, after all expenses are paid + off I'll clear big money, m' son. Yes, sir. I KNEW there was boodle in + hops. You know the crop is contracted for already. Sure, the foreman + managed that. He's a daisy. Chap in San Francisco will take it all and at + the advanced price. I wanted to hang on, to see if it wouldn't go to six + cents, but the foreman said, 'No, that's good enough.' So I signed. Ain't + it bully, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Then what'll you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know. I'll have a lay-off for a month or so and take the + little tad and mother up and show 'em the city—'Frisco—until + it's time for the schools to open, and then we'll put Sid in the seminary + at Marysville. Catch on?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you'll stay right by hops now?” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are, m'son. I know a good thing when I see it. There's plenty + others going into hops next season. I set 'em the example. Wouldn't be + surprised if it came to be a regular industry hereabouts. I'm planning + ahead for next year already. I can let the foreman go, now that I've + learned the game myself, and I think I'll buy a piece of land off Quien + Sabe and get a bigger crop, and build a couple more barns, and, by George, + in about five years time I'll have things humming. I'm going to make + MONEY, Jim.” + </p> + <p> + He emerged once more into the street and went up the block leisurely, + planting his feet squarely. He fancied that he could feel he was + considered of more importance nowadays. He was no longer a subordinate, an + employee. He was his own man, a proprietor, an owner of land, furthering a + successful enterprise. No one had helped him; he had followed no one's + lead. He had struck out unaided for himself, and his success was due + solely to his own intelligence, industry, and foresight. He squared his + great shoulders till the blue gingham of his jumper all but cracked. Of + late, his great blond beard had grown and the work in the sun had made his + face very red. Under the visor of his cap—relic of his engineering + days—his blue eyes twinkled with vast good-nature. He felt that he + made a fine figure as he went by a group of young girls in lawns and + muslins and garden hats on their way to the Post Office. He wondered if + they looked after him, wondered if they had heard that he was in a fair + way to become a rich man. + </p> + <p> + But the chronometer in the window of the jewelry store warned him that + time was passing. He turned about, and, crossing the street, took his way + to Ruggles's office, which was the freight as well as the land office of + the P. and S. W. Railroad. + </p> + <p> + As he stood for a moment at the counter in front of the wire partition, + waiting for the clerk to make out the order for the freight agent at the + depot, Dyke was surprised to see a familiar figure in conference with + Ruggles himself, by a desk inside the railing. + </p> + <p> + The figure was that of a middle-aged man, fat, with a great stomach, which + he stroked from time to time. As he turned about, addressing a remark to + the clerk, Dyke recognised S. Behrman. The banker, railroad agent, and + political manipulator seemed to the ex-engineer's eyes to be more gross + than ever. His smooth-shaven jowl stood out big and tremulous on either + side of his face; the roll of fat on the nape of his neck, sprinkled with + sparse, stiff hairs, bulged out with greater prominence. His great + stomach, covered with a light brown linen vest, stamped with innumerable + interlocked horseshoes, protruded far in advance, enormous, aggressive. He + wore his inevitable round-topped hat of stiff brown straw, varnished so + bright that it reflected the light of the office windows like a helmet, + and even from where he stood Dyke could hear his loud breathing and the + clink of the hollow links of his watch chain upon the vest buttons of + imitation pearl, as his stomach rose and fell. + </p> + <p> + Dyke looked at him with attention. There was the enemy, the representative + of the Trust with which Derrick's League was locking horns. The great + struggle had begun to invest the combatants with interest. Daily, almost + hourly, Dyke was in touch with the ranchers, the wheat-growers. He heard + their denunciations, their growls of exasperation and defiance. Here was + the other side—this placid, fat man, with a stiff straw hat and + linen vest, who never lost his temper, who smiled affably upon his + enemies, giving them good advice, commiserating with them in one defeat + after another, never ruffled, never excited, sure of his power, conscious + that back of him was the Machine, the colossal force, the inexhaustible + coffers of a mighty organisation, vomiting millions to the League's + thousands. + </p> + <p> + The League was clamorous, ubiquitous, its objects known to every urchin on + the streets, but the Trust was silent, its ways inscrutable, the public + saw only results. It worked on in the dark, calm, disciplined, + irresistible. Abruptly Dyke received the impression of the multitudinous + ramifications of the colossus. Under his feet the ground seemed mined; + down there below him in the dark the huge tentacles went silently twisting + and advancing, spreading out in every direction, sapping the strength of + all opposition, quiet, gradual, biding the time to reach up and out and + grip with a sudden unleashing of gigantic strength. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be wanting some cars of you people before the summer is out,” + observed Dyke to the clerk as he folded up and put away the order that the + other had handed him. He remembered perfectly well that he had arranged + the matter of transporting his crop some months before, but his role of + proprietor amused him and he liked to busy himself again and again with + the details of his undertaking. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” he added, “you'll be able to give 'em to me. There'll be a + big wheat crop to move this year and I don't want to be caught in any car + famine.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll get your cars,” murmured the other. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be the means of bringing business your way,” Dyke went on; “I've + done so well with my hops that there are a lot of others going into the + business next season. Suppose,” he continued, struck with an idea, + “suppose we went into some sort of pool, a sort of shippers' organisation, + could you give us special rates, cheaper rates—say a cent and a + half?” + </p> + <p> + The other looked up. + </p> + <p> + “A cent and a half! Say FOUR cents and a half and maybe I'll talk business + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Four cents and a half,” returned Dyke, “I don't see it. Why, the regular + rate is only two cents.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn't,” answered the clerk, looking him gravely in the eye, “it's + five cents.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's where you are wrong, m'son,” Dyke retorted, genially. “You + look it up. You'll find the freight on hops from Bonneville to 'Frisco is + two cents a pound for car load lots. You told me that yourself last fall.” + </p> + <p> + “That was last fall,” observed the clerk. There was a silence. Dyke shot a + glance of suspicion at the other. Then, reassured, he remarked: + </p> + <p> + “You look it up. You'll see I'm right.” + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman came forward and shook hands politely with the ex-engineer. + </p> + <p> + “Anything I can do for you, Mr. Dyke?” + </p> + <p> + Dyke explained. When he had done speaking, the clerk turned to S. Behrman + and observed, respectfully: + </p> + <p> + “Our regular rate on hops is five cents.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered S. Behrman, pausing to reflect; “yes, Mr. Dyke, that's + right—five cents.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk brought forward a folder of yellow paper and handed it to Dyke. + It was inscribed at the top “Tariff Schedule No. 8,” and underneath these + words, in brackets, was a smaller inscription, “SUPERSEDES NO. 7 OF AUG. + 1” + </p> + <p> + “See for yourself,” said S. Behrman. He indicated an item under the head + of “Miscellany.” + </p> + <p> + “The following rates for carriage of hops in car load lots,” read Dyke, + “take effect June 1, and will remain in force until superseded by a later + tariff. Those quoted beyond Stockton are subject to changes in traffic + arrangements with carriers by water from that point.” + </p> + <p> + In the list that was printed below, Dyke saw that the rate for hops + between Bonneville or Guadalajara and San Francisco was five cents. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Dyke was confused. Then swiftly the matter became clear in + his mind. The Railroad had raised the freight on hops from two cents to + five. + </p> + <p> + All his calculations as to a profit on his little investment he had based + on a freight rate of two cents a pound. He was under contract to deliver + his crop. He could not draw back. The new rate ate up every cent of his + gains. He stood there ruined. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what do you mean?” he burst out. “You promised me a rate of two + cents and I went ahead with my business with that understanding. What do + you mean?” + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman and the clerk watched him from the other side of the counter. + </p> + <p> + “The rate is five cents,” declared the clerk doggedly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that ruins me,” shouted Dyke. “Do you understand? I won't make + fifty cents. MAKE! Why, I will OWE,—I'll be—be—That + ruins me, do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + The other, raised a shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “We don't force you to ship. You can do as you like. The rate is five + cents.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—but—damn you, I'm under contract to deliver. What am I + going to do? Why, you told me—you promised me a two-cent rate.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't remember it,” said the clerk. “I don't know anything about that. + But I know this; I know that hops have gone up. I know the German crop was + a failure and that the crop in New York wasn't worth the hauling. Hops + have gone up to nearly a dollar. You don't suppose we don't know that, do + you, Mr. Dyke?” + </p> + <p> + “What's the price of hops got to do with you?” + </p> + <p> + “It's got THIS to do with us,” returned the other with a sudden + aggressiveness, “that the freight rate has gone up to meet the price. + We're not doing business for our health. My orders are to raise your rate + to five cents, and I think you are getting off easy.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke stared in blank astonishment. For the moment, the audacity of the + affair was what most appealed to him. He forgot its personal application. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord,” he murmured, “good Lord! What will you people do next? Look + here. What's your basis of applying freight rates, anyhow?” he suddenly + vociferated with furious sarcasm. “What's your rule? What are you guided + by?” + </p> + <p> + But at the words, S. Behrman, who had kept silent during the heat of the + discussion, leaned abruptly forward. For the only time in his knowledge, + Dyke saw his face inflamed with anger and with the enmity and contempt of + all this farming element with whom he was contending. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, what's your rule? What's your basis?” demanded Dyke, turning swiftly + to him. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman emphasised each word of his reply with a tap of one forefinger + on the counter before him: + </p> + <p> + “All—the—traffic—will—bear.” + </p> + <p> + The ex-engineer stepped back a pace, his fingers on the ledge of the + counter, to steady himself. He felt himself grow pale, his heart became a + mere leaden weight in his chest, inert, refusing to beat. + </p> + <p> + In a second the whole affair, in all its bearings, went speeding before + the eye of his imagination like the rapid unrolling of a panorama. Every + cent of his earnings was sunk in this hop business of his. More than that, + he had borrowed money to carry it on, certain of success—borrowed of + S. Behrman, offering his crop and his little home as security. Once he + failed to meet his obligations, S. Behrman would foreclose. Not only would + the Railroad devour every morsel of his profits, but also it would take + from him his home; at a blow he would be left penniless and without a + home. What would then become of his mother—and what would become of + the little tad? She, whom he had been planning to educate like a veritable + lady. For all that year he had talked of his ambition for his little + daughter to every one he met. All Bonneville knew of it. What a mark for + gibes he had made of himself. The workingman turned farmer! What a target + for jeers—he who had fancied he could elude the Railroad! He + remembered he had once said the great Trust had overlooked his little + enterprise, disdaining to plunder such small fry. He should have known + better than that. How had he ever imagined the Road would permit him to + make any money? + </p> + <p> + Anger was not in him yet; no rousing of the blind, white-hot wrath that + leaps to the attack with prehensile fingers, moved him. The blow merely + crushed, staggered, confused. + </p> + <p> + He stepped aside to give place to a coatless man in a pink shirt, who + entered, carrying in his hands an automatic door-closing apparatus. + </p> + <p> + “Where does this go?” inquired the man. + </p> + <p> + Dyke sat down for a moment on a seat that had been removed from a worn-out + railway car to do duty in Ruggles's office. On the back of a yellow + envelope he made some vague figures with a stump of blue pencil, + multiplying, subtracting, perplexing himself with many errors. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman, the clerk, and the man with the door-closing apparatus + involved themselves in a long argument, gazing intently at the top panel + of the door. The man who had come to fix the apparatus was unwilling to + guarantee it, unless a sign was put on the outside of the door, warning + incomers that the door was self-closing. This sign would cost fifteen + cents extra. + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't say anything about this when the thing was ordered,” + declared S. Behrman. “No, I won't pay it, my friend. It's an overcharge.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't think,” observed the clerk, “that just because you are + dealing with the Railroad you are going to work us.” + </p> + <p> + Genslinger came in, accompanied by Delaney. S. Behrman and the clerk, + abruptly dismissing the man with the door-closing machine, put themselves + behind the counter and engaged in conversation with these two. Genslinger + introduced Delaney. The buster had a string of horses he was shipping + southward. No doubt he had come to make arrangements with the Railroad in + the matter of stock cars. The conference of the four men was amicable in + the extreme. + </p> + <p> + Dyke, studying the figures on the back of the envelope, came forward + again. Absorbed only in his own distress, he ignored the editor and the + cow-puncher. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he hazarded, “how about this? I make out—— + </p> + <p> + “We've told you what our rates are, Mr. Dyke,” exclaimed the clerk + angrily. “That's all the arrangement we will make. Take it or leave it.” + He turned again to Genslinger, giving the ex-engineer his back. + </p> + <p> + Dyke moved away and stood for a moment in the centre of the room, staring + at the figures on the envelope. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see,” he muttered, “just what I'm going to do. No, I don't see + what I'm going to do at all.” + </p> + <p> + Ruggles came in, bringing with him two other men in whom Dyke recognised + dummy buyers of the Los Muertos and Osterman ranchos. They brushed by him, + jostling his elbow, and as he went out of the door he heard them exchange + jovial greetings with Delaney, Genslinger, and S. Behrman. + </p> + <p> + Dyke went down the stairs to the street and proceeded onward aimlessly in + the direction of the Yosemite House, fingering the yellow envelope and + looking vacantly at the sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + There was a stoop to his massive shoulders. His great arms dangled loosely + at his sides, the palms of his hands open. + </p> + <p> + As he went along, a certain feeling of shame touched him. Surely his + predicament must be apparent to every passer-by. No doubt, every one + recognised the unsuccessful man in the very way he slouched along. The + young girls in lawns, muslins, and garden hats, returning from the Post + Office, their hands full of letters, must surely see in him the type of + the failure, the bankrupt. + </p> + <p> + Then brusquely his tardy rage flamed up. By God, NO, it was not his fault; + he had made no mistake. His energy, industry, and foresight had been + sound. He had been merely the object of a colossal trick, a sordid + injustice, a victim of the insatiate greed of the monster, caught and + choked by one of those millions of tentacles suddenly reaching up from + below, from out the dark beneath his feet, coiling around his throat, + throttling him, strangling him, sucking his blood. For a moment he thought + of the courts, but instantly laughed at the idea. What court was immune + from the power of the monster? Ah, the rage of helplessness, the fury of + impotence! No help, no hope,—ruined in a brief instant—he a + veritable giant, built of great sinews, powerful, in the full tide of his + manhood, having all his health, all his wits. How could he now face his + home? How could he tell his mother of this catastrophe? And Sidney—the + little tad; how could he explain to her this wretchedness—how soften + her disappointment? How keep the tears from out her eyes—how keep + alive her confidence in him—her faith in his resources? + </p> + <p> + Bitter, fierce, ominous, his wrath loomed up in his heart. His fists + gripped tight together, his teeth clenched. Oh, for a moment to have his + hand upon the throat of S. Behrman, wringing the breath from him, + wrenching out the red life of him—staining the street with the blood + sucked from the veins of the People! + </p> + <p> + To the first friend that he met, Dyke told the tale of the tragedy, and to + the next, and to the next. The affair went from mouth to mouth, spreading + with electrical swiftness, overpassing and running ahead of Dyke himself, + so that by the time he reached the lobby of the Yosemite House, he found + his story awaiting him. A group formed about him. In his immediate + vicinity business for the instant was suspended. The group swelled. One + after another of his friends added themselves to it. Magnus Derrick joined + it, and Annixter. Again and again, Dyke recounted the matter, beginning + with the time when he was discharged from the same corporation's service + for refusing to accept an unfair wage. His voice quivered with + exasperation; his heavy frame shook with rage; his eyes were injected, + bloodshot; his face flamed vermilion, while his deep bass rumbled + throughout the running comments of his auditors like the thunderous + reverberation of diapason. + </p> + <p> + From all points of view, the story was discussed by those who listened to + him, now in the heat of excitement, now calmly, judicially. One verdict, + however, prevailed. It was voiced by Annixter: “You're stuck. You can roar + till you're black in the face, but you can't buck against the Railroad. + There's nothing to be done.” “You can shoot the ruffian, you can shoot S. + Behrman,” clamoured one of the group. “Yes, sir; by the Lord, you can + shoot him.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor fool,” commented Annixter, turning away. + </p> + <p> + Nothing to be done. No, there was nothing to be done—not one thing. + Dyke, at last alone and driving his team out of the town, turned the + business confusedly over in his mind from end to end. Advice, suggestion, + even offers of financial aid had been showered upon him from all + directions. Friends were not wanting who heatedly presented to his + consideration all manner of ingenious plans, wonderful devices. They were + worthless. The tentacle held fast. He was stuck. + </p> + <p> + By degrees, as his wagon carried him farther out into the country, and + open empty fields, his anger lapsed, and the numbness of bewilderment + returned. He could not look one hour ahead into the future; could + formulate no plans even for the next day. He did not know what to do. He + was stuck. + </p> + <p> + With the limpness and inertia of a sack of sand, the reins slipping + loosely in his dangling fingers, his eyes fixed, staring between the + horses' heads, he allowed himself to be carried aimlessly along. He + resigned himself. What did he care? What was the use of going on? He was + stuck. + </p> + <p> + The team he was driving had once belonged to the Los Muertos stables and + unguided as the horses were, they took the county road towards Derrick's + ranch house. Dyke, all abroad, was unaware of the fact till, drawn by the + smell of water, the horses halted by the trough in front of Caraher's + saloon. + </p> + <p> + The ex-engineer dismounted, looking about him, realising where he was. So + much the worse; it did not matter. Now that he had come so far it was as + short to go home by this route as to return on his tracks. Slowly he + unchecked the horses and stood at their heads, watching them drink. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see,” he muttered, “just what I am going to do.” + </p> + <p> + Caraher appeared at the door of his place, his red face, red beard, and + flaming cravat standing sharply out from the shadow of the doorway. He + called a welcome to Dyke. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Captain.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke looked up, nodding his head listlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Caraher,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” continued the saloonkeeper, coming forward a step, “what's the + news in town?” + </p> + <p> + Dyke told him. Caraher's red face suddenly took on a darker colour. The + red glint in his eyes shot from under his eyebrows. Furious, he vented a + rolling explosion of oaths. + </p> + <p> + “And now it's your turn,” he vociferated. “They ain't after only the big + wheat-growers, the rich men. By God, they'll even pick the poor man's + pocket. Oh, they'll get their bellies full some day. It can't last + forever. They'll wake up the wrong kind of man some morning, the man + that's got guts in him, that will hit back when he's kicked and that will + talk to 'em with a torch in one hand and a stick of dynamite in the + other.” He raised his clenched fists in the air. “So help me, God,” he + cried, “when I think it all over I go crazy, I see red. Oh, if the people + only knew their strength. Oh, if I could wake 'em up. There's not only + Shelgrim, but there's others. All the magnates, all the butchers, all the + blood-suckers, by the thousands. Their day will come, by God, it will.” + </p> + <p> + By now, the ex-engineer and the bar-keeper had retired to the saloon back + of the grocery to talk over the details of this new outrage. Dyke, still a + little dazed, sat down by one of the tables, preoccupied, saying but + little, and Caraher as a matter of course set the whiskey bottle at his + elbow. + </p> + <p> + It happened that at this same moment, Presley, returning to Los Muertos + from Bonneville, his pockets full of mail, stopped in at the grocery to + buy some black lead for his bicycle. In the saloon, on the other side of + the narrow partition, he overheard the conversation between Dyke and + Caraher. The door was open. He caught every word distinctly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us all about it, Dyke,” urged Caraher. + </p> + <p> + For the fiftieth time Dyke told the story. Already it had crystallised + into a certain form. He used the same phrases with each repetition, the + same sentences, the same words. In his mind it became set. Thus he would + tell it to any one who would listen from now on, week after week, year + after year, all the rest of his life—“And I based my calculations on + a two-cent rate. So soon as they saw I was to make money they doubled the + tariff—all the traffic would bear—and I mortgaged to S. + Behrman—ruined me with a turn of the hand—stuck, cinched, and + not one thing to be done.” + </p> + <p> + As he talked, he drank glass after glass of whiskey, and the honest rage, + the open, above-board fury of his mind coagulated, thickened, and sunk to + a dull, evil hatred, a wicked, oblique malevolence. Caraher, sure now of + winning a disciple, replenished his glass. + </p> + <p> + “Do you blame us now,” he cried, “us others, the Reds? Ah, yes, it's all + very well for your middle class to preach moderation. I could do it, too. + You could do it, too, if your belly was fed, if your property was safe, if + your wife had not been murdered if your children were not starving. Easy + enough then to preach law-abiding methods, legal redress, and all such + rot. But how about US?” he vociferated. “Ah, yes, I'm a loud-mouthed + rum-seller, ain't I? I'm a wild-eyed striker, ain't I? I'm a blood-thirsty + anarchist, ain't I? Wait till you've seen your wife brought home to you + with the face you used to kiss smashed in by a horse's hoof—killed + by the Trust, as it happened to me. Then talk about moderation! And you, + Dyke, black-listed engineer, discharged employee, ruined agriculturist, + wait till you see your little tad and your mother turned out of doors when + S. Behrman forecloses. Wait till you see 'em getting thin and white, and + till you hear your little girl ask you why you all don't eat a little more + and that she wants her dinner and you can't give it to her. Wait till you + see—at the same time that your family is dying for lack of bread—a + hundred thousand acres of wheat—millions of bushels of food—grabbed + and gobbled by the Railroad Trust, and then talk of moderation. That talk + is just what the Trust wants to hear. It ain't frightened of that. There's + one thing only it does listen to, one thing it is frightened of—the + people with dynamite in their hands,—six inches of plugged gaspipe. + THAT talks.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke did not reply. He filled another pony of whiskey and drank it in two + gulps. His frown had lowered to a scowl, his face was a dark red, his head + had sunk, bull-like, between his massive shoulders; without winking he + gazed long and with troubled eyes at his knotted, muscular hands, lying + open on the table before him, idle, their occupation gone. + </p> + <p> + Presley forgot his black lead. He listened to Caraher. Through the open + door he caught a glimpse of Dyke's back, broad, muscled, bowed down, the + great shoulders stooping. + </p> + <p> + The whole drama of the doubled freight rate leaped salient and distinct in + the eye of his mind. And this was but one instance, an isolated case. + Because he was near at hand he happened to see it. How many others were + there, the length and breadth of the State? Constantly this sort of thing + must occur—little industries choked out in their very beginnings, + the air full of the death rattles of little enterprises, expiring + unobserved in far-off counties, up in canyons and arroyos of the + foothills, forgotten by every one but the monster who was daunted by the + magnitude of no business, however great, who overlooked no opportunity of + plunder, however petty, who with one tentacle grabbed a hundred thousand + acres of wheat, and with another pilfered a pocketful of growing hops. + </p> + <p> + He went away without a word, his head bent, his hands clutched tightly on + the cork grips of the handle bars of his bicycle. His lips were white. In + his heart a blind demon of revolt raged tumultuous, shrieking blasphemies. + </p> + <p> + At Los Muertos, Presley overtook Annixter. As he guided his wheel up the + driveway to Derrick's ranch house, he saw the master of Quien Sabe and + Harran in conversation on the steps of the porch. Magnus stood in the + doorway, talking to his wife. + </p> + <p> + Occupied with the press of business and involved in the final conference + with the League's lawyers on the eve of the latter's departure for + Washington, Annixter had missed the train that was to take him back to + Guadalajara and Quien Sabe. Accordingly, he had accepted the Governor's + invitation to return with him on his buck-board to Los Muertos, and before + leaving Bonneville had telephoned to his ranch to have young Vacca bring + the buckskin, by way of the Lower Road, to meet him at Los Muertos. He + found her waiting there for him, but before going on, delayed a few + moments to tell Harran of Dyke's affair. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what he will do now?” observed Harran when his first outburst of + indignation had subsided. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” declared Annixter. “He's stuck.” + </p> + <p> + “That eats up every cent of Dyke's earnings,” Harran went on. “He has been + ten years saving them. Oh, I told him to make sure of the Railroad when he + first spoke to me about growing hops.” + </p> + <p> + “I've just seen him,” said Presley, as he joined the others. “He was at + Caraher's. I only saw his back. He was drinking at a table and his back + was towards me. But the man looked broken—absolutely crushed. It is + terrible, terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “He was at Caraher's, was he?” demanded Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Drinking, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so. Yes, I saw a bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Drinking at Caraher's,” exclaimed Annixter, rancorously; “I can see HIS + finish.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. It seemed as if nothing more was to be said. They + paused, looking thoughtfully on the ground. + </p> + <p> + In silence, grim, bitter, infinitely sad, the three men as if at that + moment actually standing in the bar-room of Caraher's roadside saloon, + contemplated the slow sinking, the inevitable collapse and submerging of + one of their companions, the wreck of a career, the ruin of an individual; + an honest man, strong, fearless, upright, struck down by a colossal power, + perverted by an evil influence, go reeling to his ruin. + </p> + <p> + “I see his finish,” repeated Annixter. “Exit Dyke, and score another tally + for S. Behrman, Shelgrim and Co.” + </p> + <p> + He moved away impatiently, loosening the tie-rope with which the buckskin + was fastened. He swung himself up. + </p> + <p> + “God for us all,” he declared as he rode away, “and the devil take the + hindmost. Good-bye, I'm going home. I still have one a little longer.” + </p> + <p> + He galloped away along the Lower Road, in the direction of Quien Sabe, + emerging from the grove of cypress and eucalyptus about the ranch house, + and coming out upon the bare brown plain of the wheat land, stretching + away from him in apparent barrenness on either hand. + </p> + <p> + It was late in the day, already his shadow was long upon the padded dust + of the road in front of him. On ahead, a long ways off, and a little to + the north, the venerable campanile of the Mission San Juan was glinting + radiant in the last rays of the sun, while behind him, towards the north + and west, the gilded dome of the courthouse at Bonneville stood + silhouetted in purplish black against the flaming west. Annixter spurred + the buck-skin forward. He feared he might be late to his supper. He + wondered if it would be brought to him by Hilma. + </p> + <p> + Hilma! The name struck across in his brain with a pleasant, glowing + tremour. All through that day of activity, of strenuous business, the + minute and cautious planning of the final campaign in the great war of the + League and the Trust, the idea of her and the recollection of her had been + the undercurrent of his thoughts. At last he was alone. He could put all + other things behind him and occupy himself solely with her. + </p> + <p> + In that glory of the day's end, in that chaos of sunshine, he saw her + again. Unimaginative, crude, direct, his fancy, nevertheless, placed her + before him, steeped in sunshine, saturated with glorious light, brilliant, + radiant, alluring. He saw the sweet simplicity of her carriage, the + statuesque evenness of the contours of her figure, the single, deep swell + of her bosom, the solid masses of her hair. He remembered the small + contradictory suggestions of feminine daintiness he had so often remarked + about her, her slim, narrow feet, the little steel buckles of her low + shoes, the knot of black ribbon she had begun to wear of late on the back + of her head, and he heard her voice, low-pitched, velvety, a sweet, + murmuring huskiness that seemed to come more from her chest than from her + throat. + </p> + <p> + The buckskin's hoofs clattered upon the gravelly flats of Broderson's + Creek underneath the Long Trestle. Annixter's mind went back to the scene + of the previous evening, when he had come upon her at this place. He set + his teeth with anger and disappointment. Why had she not been able to + understand? What was the matter with these women, always set upon this + marrying notion? Was it not enough that he wanted her more than any other + girl he knew and that she wanted him? She had said as much. Did she think + she was going to be mistress of Quien Sabe? Ah, that was it. She was after + his property, was for marrying him because of his money. His unconquerable + suspicion of the woman, his innate distrust of the feminine element would + not be done away with. What fathomless duplicity was hers, that she could + appear so innocent. It was almost unbelievable; in fact, was it + believable? + </p> + <p> + For the first time doubt assailed him. Suppose Hilma was indeed all that + she appeared to be. Suppose it was not with her a question of his + property, after all; it was a poor time to think of marrying him for his + property when all Quien Sabe hung in the issue of the next few months. + Suppose she had been sincere. But he caught himself up. Was he to be + fooled by a feemale girl at this late date? He, Buck Annixter, crafty, + hard-headed, a man of affairs? Not much. Whatever transpired he would + remain the master. + </p> + <p> + He reached Quien Sabe in this frame of mind. But at this hour, Annixter, + for all his resolutions, could no longer control his thoughts. As he + stripped the saddle from the buckskin and led her to the watering trough + by the stable corral, his heart was beating thick at the very notion of + being near Hilma again. It was growing dark, but covertly he glanced here + and there out of the corners of his eyes to see if she was anywhere about. + Annixter—how, he could not tell—had become possessed of the + idea that Hilma would not inform her parents of what had passed between + them the previous evening under the Long Trestle. He had no idea that + matters were at an end between himself and the young woman. He must + apologise, he saw that clearly enough, must eat crow, as he told himself. + Well, he would eat crow. He was not afraid of her any longer, now that she + had made her confession to him. He would see her as soon as possible and + get this business straightened out, and begin again from a new starting + point. What he wanted with Hilma, Annixter did not define clearly in his + mind. At one time he had known perfectly well what he wanted. Now, the + goal of his desires had become vague. He could not say exactly what it + was. He preferred that things should go forward without much idea of + consequences; if consequences came, they would do so naturally enough, and + of themselves; all that he positively knew was that Hilma occupied his + thoughts morning, noon, and night; that he was happy when he was with her, + and miserable when away from her. + </p> + <p> + The Chinese cook served his supper in silence. Annixter ate and drank and + lighted a cigar, and after his meal sat on the porch of his house, smoking + and enjoying the twilight. The evening was beautiful, warm, the sky one + powder of stars. From the direction of the stables he heard one of the + Portuguese hands picking a guitar. + </p> + <p> + But he wanted to see Hilma. The idea of going to bed without at least a + glimpse of her became distasteful to him. Annixter got up and descending + from the porch began to walk aimlessly about between the ranch buildings, + with eye and ear alert. Possibly he might meet her somewheres. + </p> + <p> + The Trees' little house, toward which inevitably Annixter directed his + steps, was dark. Had they all gone to bed so soon? He made a wide circuit + about it, listening, but heard no sound. The door of the dairy-house stood + ajar. He pushed it open, and stepped into the odorous darkness of its + interior. The pans and deep cans of polished metal glowed faintly from the + corners and from the walls. The smell of new cheese was pungent in his + nostrils. Everything was quiet. There was nobody there. He went out again, + closing the door, and stood for a moment in the space between the + dairy-house and the new barn, uncertain as to what he should do next. + </p> + <p> + As he waited there, his foreman came out of the men's bunk house, on the + other side of the kitchens, and crossed over toward the barn. “Hello, + Billy,” muttered Annixter as he passed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good evening, Mr. Annixter,” said the other, pausing in front of him. + “I didn't know you were back. By the way,” he added, speaking as though + the matter was already known to Annixter, “I see old man Tree and his + family have left us. Are they going to be gone long? Have they left for + good?” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” Annixter exclaimed. “When did they go? Did all of them go, + all three?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought you knew. Sure, they all left on the afternoon train for + San Francisco. Cleared out in a hurry—took all their trunks. Yes, + all three went—the young lady, too. They gave me notice early this + morning. They ain't ought to have done that. I don't know who I'm to get + to run the dairy on such short notice. Do you know any one, Mr. Annixter?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why in hell did you let them go?” vociferated Annixter. “Why didn't + you keep them here till I got back? Why didn't you find out if they were + going for good? I can't be everywhere. What do I feed you for if it ain't + to look after things I can't attend to?” + </p> + <p> + He turned on his heel and strode away straight before him, not caring + where he was going. He tramped out from the group of ranch buildings; + holding on over the open reach of his ranch, his teeth set, his heels + digging furiously into the ground. The minutes passed. He walked on + swiftly, muttering to himself from time to time. + </p> + <p> + “Gone, by the Lord. Gone, by the Lord. By the Lord Harry, she's cleared + out.” + </p> + <p> + As yet his head was empty of all thought. He could not steady his wits to + consider this new turn of affairs. He did not even try. + </p> + <p> + “Gone, by the Lord,” he exclaimed. “By the Lord, she's cleared out.” + </p> + <p> + He found the irrigating ditch, and the beaten path made by the ditch + tenders that bordered it, and followed it some five minutes; then struck + off at right angles over the rugged surface of the ranch land, to where a + great white stone jutted from the ground. There he sat down, and leaning + forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and looked out vaguely into the + night, his thoughts swiftly readjusting themselves. + </p> + <p> + He was alone. The silence of the night, the infinite repose of the flat, + bare earth—two immensities—widened around and above him like + illimitable seas. A grey half-light, mysterious, grave, flooded downward + from the stars. + </p> + <p> + Annixter was in torment. Now, there could be no longer any doubt—now + it was Hilma or nothing. Once out of his reach, once lost to him, and the + recollection of her assailed him with unconquerable vehemence. Much as she + had occupied his mind, he had never realised till now how vast had been + the place she had filled in his life. He had told her as much, but even + then he did not believe it. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, a bitter rage against himself overwhelmed him as he thought of + the hurt he had given her the previous evening. He should have managed + differently. How, he did not know, but the sense of the outrage he had put + upon her abruptly recoiled against him with cruel force. Now, he was sorry + for it, infinitely sorry, passionately sorry. He had hurt her. He had + brought the tears to her eyes. He had so flagrantly insulted her that she + could no longer bear to breathe the same air with him. She had told her + parents all. She had left Quien Sabe—had left him for good, at the + very moment when he believed he had won her. Brute, beast that he was, he + had driven her away. + </p> + <p> + An hour went by; then two, then four, then six. Annixter still sat in his + place, groping and battling in a confusion of spirit, the like of which he + had never felt before. He did not know what was the matter with him. He + could not find his way out of the dark and out of the turmoil that wheeled + around him. He had had no experience with women. There was no precedent to + guide him. How was he to get out of this? What was the clew that would set + everything straight again? + </p> + <p> + That he would give Hilma up, never once entered his head. Have her he + would. She had given herself to him. Everything should have been easy + after that, and instead, here he was alone in the night, wrestling with + himself, in deeper trouble than ever, and Hilma farther than ever away + from him. + </p> + <p> + It was true, he might have Hilma, even now, if he was willing to marry + her. But marriage, to his mind, had been always a vague, most remote + possibility, almost as vague and as remote as his death,—a thing + that happened to some men, but that would surely never occur to him, or, + if it did, it would be after long years had passed, when he was older, + more settled, more mature—an event that belonged to the period of + his middle life, distant as yet. + </p> + <p> + He had never faced the question of his marriage. He had kept it at an + immense distance from him. It had never been a part of his order of + things. He was not a marrying man. + </p> + <p> + But Hilma was an ever-present reality, as near to him as his right hand. + Marriage was a formless, far distant abstraction. Hilma a tangible, + imminent fact. Before he could think of the two as one; before he could + consider the idea of marriage, side by side with the idea of Hilma, + measureless distances had to be traversed, things as disassociated in his + mind as fire and water, had to be fused together; and between the two he + was torn as if upon a rack. + </p> + <p> + Slowly, by imperceptible degrees, the imagination, unused, unwilling + machine, began to work. The brain's activity lapsed proportionately. He + began to think less, and feel more. In that rugged composition, confused, + dark, harsh, a furrow had been driven deep, a little seed planted, a + little seed at first weak, forgotten, lost in the lower dark places of his + character. + </p> + <p> + But as the intellect moved slower, its functions growing numb, the idea of + self dwindled. Annixter no longer considered himself; no longer considered + the notion of marriage from the point of view of his own comfort, his own + wishes, his own advantage. He realised that in his newfound desire to make + her happy, he was sincere. There was something in that idea, after all. To + make some one happy—how about that now? It was worth thinking of. + </p> + <p> + Far away, low down in the east, a dim belt, a grey light began to whiten + over the horizon. The tower of the Mission stood black against it. The + dawn was coming. The baffling obscurity of the night was passing. Hidden + things were coming into view. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, his eyes half-closed, his chin upon his fist, allowed his + imagination full play. How would it be if he should take Hilma into his + life, this beautiful young girl, pure as he now knew her to be; innocent, + noble with the inborn nobility of dawning womanhood? An overwhelming sense + of his own unworthiness suddenly bore down upon him with crushing force, + as he thought of this. He had gone about the whole affair wrongly. He had + been mistaken from the very first. She was infinitely above him. He did + not want—he should not desire to be the master. It was she, his + servant, poor, simple, lowly even, who should condescend to him. + </p> + <p> + Abruptly there was presented to his mind's eye a picture of the years to + come, if he now should follow his best, his highest, his most unselfish + impulse. He saw Hilma, his own, for better or for worse, for richer or for + poorer, all barriers down between them, he giving himself to her as + freely, as nobly, as she had given herself to him. By a supreme effort, + not of the will, but of the emotion, he fought his way across that vast + gulf that for a time had gaped between Hilma and the idea of his marriage. + Instantly, like the swift blending of beautiful colours, like the harmony + of beautiful chords of music, the two ideas melted into one, and in that + moment into his harsh, unlovely world a new idea was born. Annixter stood + suddenly upright, a mighty tenderness, a gentleness of spirit, such as he + had never conceived of, in his heart strained, swelled, and in a moment + seemed to burst. Out of the dark furrows of his soul, up from the deep + rugged recesses of his being, something rose, expanding. He opened his + arms wide. An immense happiness overpowered him. Actual tears came to his + eyes. Without knowing why, he was not ashamed of it. This poor, crude + fellow, harsh, hard, narrow, with his unlovely nature, his fierce + truculency, his selfishness, his obstinacy, abruptly knew that all the + sweetness of life, all the great vivifying eternal force of humanity had + burst into life within him. + </p> + <p> + The little seed, long since planted, gathering strength quietly, had at + last germinated. + </p> + <p> + Then as the realisation of this hardened into certainty, in the growing + light of the new day that had just dawned for him, Annixter uttered a cry. + Now at length, he knew the meaning of it all. + </p> + <p> + “Why—I—I, I LOVE her,” he cried. Never until then had it + occurred to him. Never until then, in all his thoughts of Hilma, had that + great word passed his lips. + </p> + <p> + It was a Memnonian cry, the greeting of the hard, harsh image of man, + rough-hewn, flinty, granitic, uttering a note of joy, acclaiming the new + risen sun. + </p> + <p> + By now it was almost day. The east glowed opalescent. All about him + Annixter saw the land inundated with light. But there was a change. + Overnight something had occurred. In his perturbation the change seemed to + him, at first, elusive, almost fanciful, unreal. But now as the light + spread, he looked again at the gigantic scroll of ranch lands unrolled + before him from edge to edge of the horizon. The change was not fanciful. + The change was real. The earth was no longer bare. The land was no longer + barren,—no longer empty, no longer dull brown. All at once Annixter + shouted aloud. + </p> + <p> + There it was, the Wheat, the Wheat! The little seed long planted, + germinating in the deep, dark furrows of the soil, straining, swelling, + suddenly in one night had burst upward to the light. The wheat had come + up. It was there before him, around him, everywhere, illimitable, + immeasurable. The winter brownness of the ground was overlaid with a + little shimmer of green. The promise of the sowing was being fulfilled. + The earth, the loyal mother, who never failed, who never disappointed, was + keeping her faith again. Once more the strength of nations was renewed. + Once more the force of the world was revivified. Once more the Titan, + benignant, calm, stirred and woke, and the morning abruptly blazed into + glory upon the spectacle of a man whose heart leaped exuberant with the + love of a woman, and an exulting earth gleaming transcendent with the + radiant magnificence of an inviolable pledge. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Presley's room in the ranch house of Los Muertos was in the second story + of the building. It was a corner room; one of its windows facing the + south, the other the east. Its appointments were of the simplest. In one + angle was the small white painted iron bed, covered with a white + counterpane. The walls were hung with a white paper figured with knots of + pale green leaves, very gay and bright. There was a straw matting on the + floor. White muslin half-curtains hung in the windows, upon the sills of + which certain plants bearing pink waxen flowers of which Presley did not + know the name, grew in oblong green boxes. The walls were unadorned, save + by two pictures, one a reproduction of the “Reading from Homer,” the other + a charcoal drawing of the Mission of San Juan de Guadalajara, which + Presley had made himself. By the east window stood the plainest of deal + tables, innocent of any cloth or covering, such as might have been used in + a kitchen. It was Presley's work table, and was invariably littered with + papers, half-finished manuscripts, drafts of poems, notebooks, pens, + half-smoked cigarettes, and the like. Near at hand, upon a shelf, were his + books. There were but two chairs in the room—the straight backed + wooden chair, that stood in front of the table, angular, upright, and in + which it was impossible to take one's ease, and the long comfortable + wicker steamer chair, stretching its length in front of the south window. + Presley was immensely fond of this room. It amused and interested him to + maintain its air of rigorous simplicity and freshness. He abhorred + cluttered bric-a-brac and meaningless objets d'art. Once in so often he + submitted his room to a vigorous inspection; setting it to rights, + removing everything but the essentials, the few ornaments which, in a way, + were part of his life. + </p> + <p> + His writing had by this time undergone a complete change. The notes for + his great Song of the West, the epic poem he once had hoped to write he + had flung aside, together with all the abortive attempts at its beginning. + Also he had torn up a great quantity of “fugitive” verses, preserving only + a certain half-finished poem, that he called “The Toilers.” This poem was + a comment upon the social fabric, and had been inspired by the sight of a + painting he had seen in Cedarquist's art gallery. He had written all but + the last verse. + </p> + <p> + On the day that he had overheard the conversation between Dyke and + Caraher, in the latter's saloon, which had acquainted him with the + monstrous injustice of the increased tariff, Presley had returned to Los + Muertos, white and trembling, roused to a pitch of exaltation, the like of + which he had never known in all his life. His wrath was little short of + even Caraher's. He too “saw red”; a mighty spirit of revolt heaved + tumultuous within him. It did not seem possible that this outrage could go + on much longer. The oppression was incredible; the plain story of it set + down in truthful statement of fact would not be believed by the outside + world. + </p> + <p> + He went up to his little room and paced the floor with clenched fists and + burning face, till at last, the repression of his contending thoughts all + but suffocated him, and he flung himself before his table and began to + write. For a time, his pen seemed to travel of itself; words came to him + without searching, shaping themselves into phrases,—the phrases + building themselves up to great, forcible sentences, full of eloquence, of + fire, of passion. As his prose grew more exalted, it passed easily into + the domain of poetry. Soon the cadence of his paragraphs settled to an + ordered beat and rhythm, and in the end Presley had thrust aside his + journal and was once more writing verse. + </p> + <p> + He picked up his incomplete poem of “The Toilers,” read it hastily a + couple of times to catch its swing, then the Idea of the last verse—the + Idea for which he so long had sought in vain—abruptly springing to + his brain, wrote it off without so much as replenishing his pen with ink. + He added still another verse, bringing the poem to a definite close, + resuming its entire conception, and ending with a single majestic thought, + simple, noble, dignified, absolutely convincing. + </p> + <p> + Presley laid down his pen and leaned back in his chair, with the certainty + that for one moment he had touched untrod heights. His hands were cold, + his head on fire, his heart leaping tumultuous in his breast. + </p> + <p> + Now at last, he had achieved. He saw why he had never grasped the + inspiration for his vast, vague, IMPERSONAL Song of the West. At the time + when he sought for it, his convictions had not been aroused; he had not + then cared for the People. His sympathies had not been touched. Small + wonder that he had missed it. Now he was of the People; he had been + stirred to his lowest depths. His earnestness was almost a frenzy. He + BELIEVED, and so to him all things were possible at once. + </p> + <p> + Then the artist in him reasserted itself. He became more interested in his + poem, as such, than in the cause that had inspired it. He went over it + again, retouching it carefully, changing a word here and there, and + improving its rhythm. For the moment, he forgot the People, forgot his + rage, his agitation of the previous hour, he remembered only that he had + written a great poem. + </p> + <p> + Then doubt intruded. After all, was it so great? Did not its sublimity + overpass a little the bounds of the ridiculous? Had he seen true? Had he + failed again? He re-read the poem carefully; and it seemed all at once to + lose force. + </p> + <p> + By now, Presley could not tell whether what he had written was true poetry + or doggerel. He distrusted profoundly his own judgment. He must have the + opinion of some one else, some one competent to judge. He could not wait; + to-morrow would not do. He must know to a certainty before he could rest + that night. + </p> + <p> + He made a careful copy of what he had written, and putting on his hat and + laced boots, went down stairs and out upon the lawn, crossing over to the + stables. He found Phelps there, washing down the buckboard. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where Vanamee is to-day?” he asked the latter. Phelps put his + chin in the air. + </p> + <p> + “Ask me something easy,” he responded. “He might be at Guadalajara, or he + might be up at Osterman's, or he might be a hundred miles away from either + place. I know where he ought to be, Mr. Presley, but that ain't saying + where the crazy gesabe is. He OUGHT to be range-riding over east of Four, + at the head waters of Mission Creek.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll try for him there, at all events,” answered Presley. “If you see + Harran when he comes in, tell him I may not be back in time for supper.” + </p> + <p> + Presley found the pony in the corral, cinched the saddle upon him, and + went off over the Lower Road, going eastward at a brisk canter. + </p> + <p> + At Hooven's he called a “How do you do” to Minna, whom he saw lying in a + slat hammock under the mammoth live oak, her foot in bandages; and then + galloped on over the bridge across the irrigating ditch, wondering vaguely + what would become of such a pretty girl as Minna, and if in the end she + would marry the Portuguese foreman in charge of the ditching-gang. He told + himself that he hoped she would, and that speedily. There was no lack of + comment as to Minna Hooven about the ranches. Certainly she was a good + girl, but she was seen at all hours here and there about Bonneville and + Guadalajara, skylarking with the Portuguese farm hands of Quien Sabe and + Los Muertos. She was very pretty; the men made fools of themselves over + her. Presley hoped they would not end by making a fool of her. + </p> + <p> + Just beyond the irrigating ditch, Presley left the Lower Road, and + following a trail that branched off southeasterly from this point, held on + across the Fourth Division of the ranch, keeping the Mission Creek on his + left. A few miles farther on, he went through a gate in a barbed wire + fence, and at once engaged himself in a system of little arroyos and low + rolling hills, that steadily lifted and increased in size as he proceeded. + This higher ground was the advance guard of the Sierra foothills, and + served as the stock range for Los Muertos. The hills were huge rolling + hummocks of bare ground, covered only by wild oats. At long intervals, + were isolated live oaks. In the canyons and arroyos, the chaparral and + manzanita grew in dark olive-green thickets. The ground was honey-combed + with gopher-holes, and the gophers themselves were everywhere. + Occasionally a jack rabbit bounded across the open, from one growth of + chaparral to another, taking long leaps, his ears erect. High overhead, a + hawk or two swung at anchor, and once, with a startling rush of wings, a + covey of quail flushed from the brush at the side of the trail. + </p> + <p> + On the hillsides, in thinly scattered groups were the cattle, grazing + deliberately, working slowly toward the water-holes for their evening + drink, the horses keeping to themselves, the colts nuzzling at their + mothers' bellies, whisking their tails, stamping their unshod feet. But + once in a remoter field, solitary, magnificent, enormous, the short hair + curling tight upon his forehead, his small red eyes twinkling, his vast + neck heavy with muscles, Presley came upon the monarch, the king, the + great Durham bull, maintaining his lonely state, unapproachable, austere. + </p> + <p> + Presley found the one-time shepherd by a water-hole, in a far distant + corner of the range. He had made his simple camp for the night. His + blue-grey army blanket lay spread under a live oak, his horse grazed near + at hand. He himself sat on his heels before a little fire of dead + manzanita roots, cooking his coffee and bacon. Never had Presley conceived + so keen an impression of loneliness as his crouching figure presented. The + bald, bare landscape widened about him to infinity. Vanamee was a spot in + it all, a tiny dot, a single atom of human organisation, floating + endlessly on the ocean of an illimitable nature. + </p> + <p> + The two friends ate together, and Vanamee, having snared a brace of + quails, dressed and then roasted them on a sharpened stick. After eating, + they drank great refreshing draughts from the water-hole. Then, at length, + Presley having lit his cigarette, and Vanamee his pipe, the former said: + </p> + <p> + “Vanamee, I have been writing again.” + </p> + <p> + Vanamee turned his lean ascetic face toward him, his black eyes fixed + attentively. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said, “your journal.” + </p> + <p> + “No, this is a poem. You remember, I told you about it once. 'The + Toilers,' I called it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, verse! Well, I am glad you have gone back to it. It is your natural + vehicle.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember the poem?” asked Presley. “It was unfinished.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember it. There was better promise in it than anything you ever + wrote. Now, I suppose, you have finished it.” + </p> + <p> + Without reply, Presley brought it from out the breast pocket of his + shooting coat. The moment seemed propitious. The stillness of the vast, + bare hills was profound. The sun was setting in a cloudless brazier of red + light; a golden dust pervaded all the landscape. Presley read his poem + aloud. When he had finished, his friend looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing lately?” he demanded. Presley, wondering, told + of his various comings and goings. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean that,” returned the other. “Something has happened to you, + something has aroused you. I am right, am I not? Yes, I thought so. In + this poem of yours, you have not been trying to make a sounding piece of + literature. You wrote it under tremendous stress. Its very imperfections + show that. It is better than a mere rhyme. It is an Utterance—a + Message. It is Truth. You have come back to the primal heart of things, + and you have seen clearly. Yes, it is a great poem.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” exclaimed Presley fervidly. “I had begun to mistrust myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Now,” observed Vanamee, “I presume you will rush it into print. To have + formulated a great thought, simply to have accomplished, is not enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I am sincere,” objected Presley. “If it is good it will do good + to others. You said yourself it was a Message. If it has any value, I do + not think it would be right to keep it back from even a very small and + most indifferent public.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't publish it in the magazines at all events,” Vanamee answered. “Your + inspiration has come FROM the People. Then let it go straight TO the + People—not the literary readers of the monthly periodicals, the + rich, who would only be indirectly interested. If you must publish it, let + it be in the daily press. Don't interrupt. I know what you will say. It + will be that the daily press is common, is vulgar, is undignified; and I + tell you that such a poem as this of yours, called as it is, 'The + Toilers,' must be read BY the Toilers. It MUST BE common; it must be + vulgarised. You must not stand upon your dignity with the People, if you + are to reach them.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, I suppose,” Presley admitted, “but I can't get rid of the + idea that it would be throwing my poem away. The great magazine gives me + such—a—background; gives me such weight.” + </p> + <p> + “Gives YOU such weight, gives you such background. Is it YOURSELF you + think of? You helper of the helpless. Is that your sincerity? You must + sink yourself; must forget yourself and your own desire of fame, of + admitted success. It is your POEM, your MESSAGE, that must prevail,—not + YOU, who wrote it. You preach a doctrine of abnegation, of + self-obliteration, and you sign your name to your words as high on the + tablets as you can reach, so that all the world may see, not the poem, but + the poet. Presley, there are many like you. The social reformer writes a + book on the iniquity of the possession of land, and out of the proceeds, + buys a corner lot. The economist who laments the hardships of the poor, + allows himself to grow rich upon the sale of his book.” + </p> + <p> + But Presley would hear no further. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he cried, “I know I am sincere, and to prove it to you, I will + publish my poem, as you say, in the daily press, and I will accept no + money for it.” + </p> + <p> + They talked on for about an hour, while the evening wore away. Presley + very soon noticed that Vanamee was again preoccupied. More than ever of + late, his silence, his brooding had increased. By and by he rose abruptly, + turning his head to the north, in the direction of the Mission church of + San Juan. “I think,” he said to Presley, “that I must be going.” + </p> + <p> + “Going? Where to at this time of night?” + </p> + <p> + “Off there.” Vanamee made an uncertain gesture toward the north. + “Good-bye,” and without another word he disappeared in the grey of the + twilight. Presley was left alone wondering. He found his horse, and, + tightening the girths, mounted and rode home under the sheen of the stars, + thoughtful, his head bowed. Before he went to bed that night he sent “The + Toilers” to the Sunday Editor of a daily newspaper in San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + Upon leaving Presley, Vanamee, his thumbs hooked into his empty cartridge + belt, strode swiftly down from the hills of the Los Muertos stock-range + and on through the silent town of Guadalajara. His lean, swarthy face, + with its hollow cheeks, fine, black, pointed beard, and sad eyes, was set + to the northward. As was his custom, he was bareheaded, and the rapidity + of his stride made a breeze in his long, black hair. He knew where he was + going. He knew what he must live through that night. + </p> + <p> + Again, the deathless grief that never slept leaped out of the shadows, and + fastened upon his shoulders. It was scourging him back to that scene of a + vanished happiness, a dead romance, a perished idyl,—the Mission + garden in the shade of the venerable pear trees. + </p> + <p> + But, besides this, other influences tugged at his heart. There was a + mystery in the garden. In that spot the night was not always empty, the + darkness not always silent. Something far off stirred and listened to his + cry, at times drawing nearer to him. At first this presence had been a + matter for terror; but of late, as he felt it gradually drawing nearer, + the terror had at long intervals given place to a feeling of an almost + ineffable sweetness. But distrusting his own senses, unwilling to submit + himself to such torturing, uncertain happiness, averse to the terrible + confusion of spirit that followed upon a night spent in the garden, + Vanamee had tried to keep away from the place. However, when the sorrow of + his life reassailed him, and the thoughts and recollections of Angele + brought the ache into his heart, and the tears to his eyes, the temptation + to return to the garden invariably gripped him close. There were times + when he could not resist. Of themselves, his footsteps turned in that + direction. It was almost as if he himself had been called. + </p> + <p> + Guadalajara was silent, dark. Not even in Solotari's was there a light. + The town was asleep. Only the inevitable guitar hummed from an unseen + 'dobe. Vanamee pushed on. The smell of the fields and open country, and a + distant scent of flowers that he knew well, came to his nostrils, as he + emerged from the town by way of the road that led on towards the Mission + through Quien Sabe. On either side of him lay the brown earth, silently + nurturing the implanted seed. Two days before it had rained copiously, and + the soil, still moist, disengaged a pungent aroma of fecundity. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee, following the road, passed through the collection of buildings of + Annixter's home ranch. Everything slept. At intervals, the aer-motor on + the artesian well creaked audibly, as it turned in a languid breeze from + the northeast. A cat, hunting field-mice, crept from the shadow of the + gigantic barn and paused uncertainly in the open, the tip of her tail + twitching. From within the barn itself came the sound of the friction of a + heavy body and a stir of hoofs, as one of the dozing cows lay down with a + long breath. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee left the ranch house behind him and proceeded on his way. Beyond + him, to the right of the road, he could make out the higher ground in the + Mission enclosure, and the watching tower of the Mission itself. The + minutes passed. He went steadily forward. Then abruptly he paused, his + head in the air, eye and ear alert. To that strange sixth sense of his, + responsive as the leaves of the sensitive plant, had suddenly come the + impression of a human being near at hand. He had neither seen nor heard, + but for all that he stopped an instant in his tracks; then, the sensation + confirmed, went on again with slow steps, advancing warily. + </p> + <p> + At last, his swiftly roving eyes lighted upon an object, just darker than + the grey-brown of the night-ridden land. It was at some distance from the + roadside. Vanamee approached it cautiously, leaving the road, treading + carefully upon the moist clods of earth underfoot. Twenty paces distant, + he halted. + </p> + <p> + Annixter was there, seated upon a round, white rock, his back towards him. + He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. He + did not move. Silent, motionless, he gazed out upon the flat, sombre land. + </p> + <p> + It was the night wherein the master of Quien Sabe wrought out his + salvation, struggling with Self from dusk to dawn. At the moment when + Vanamee came upon him, the turmoil within him had only begun. The heart of + the man had not yet wakened. The night was young, the dawn far distant, + and all around him the fields of upturned clods lay bare and brown, empty + of all life, unbroken by a single green shoot. + </p> + <p> + For a moment, the life-circles of these two men, of so widely differing + characters, touched each other, there in the silence of the night under + the stars. Then silently Vanamee withdrew, going on his way, wondering at + the trouble that, like himself, drove this hardheaded man of affairs, + untroubled by dreams, out into the night to brood over an empty land. + </p> + <p> + Then speedily he forgot all else. The material world drew off from him. + Reality dwindled to a point and vanished like the vanishing of a star at + moonrise. Earthly things dissolved and disappeared, as a strange, unnamed + essence flowed in upon him. A new atmosphere for him pervaded his + surroundings. He entered the world of the Vision, of the Legend, of the + Miracle, where all things were possible. He stood at the gate of the + Mission garden. + </p> + <p> + Above him rose the ancient tower of the Mission church. Through the arches + at its summit, where swung the Spanish queen's bells, he saw the + slow-burning stars. The silent bats, with flickering wings, threw their + dancing shadows on the pallid surface of the venerable facade. + </p> + <p> + Not the faintest chirring of a cricket broke the silence. The bees were + asleep. In the grasses, in the trees, deep in the calix of punka flower + and magnolia bloom, the gnats, the caterpillars, the beetles, all the + microscopic, multitudinous life of the daytime drowsed and dozed. Not even + the minute scuffling of a lizard over the warm, worn pavement of the + colonnade disturbed the infinite repose, the profound stillness. Only + within the garden, the intermittent trickling of the fountain made itself + heard, flowing steadily, marking off the lapse of seconds, the progress of + hours, the cycle of years, the inevitable march of centuries. At one time, + the doorway before which Vanamee now stood had been hermetically closed. + But he, himself, had long since changed that. He stood before it for a + moment, steeping himself in the mystery and romance of the place, then + raising he latch, pushed open the gate, entered, and closed it softly + behind him. He was in the cloister garden. + </p> + <p> + The stars were out, strewn thick and close in the deep blue of the sky, + the milky way glowing like a silver veil. Ursa Major wheeled gigantic in + the north. The great nebula in Orion was a whorl of shimmering star dust. + Venus flamed a lambent disk of pale saffron, low over the horizon. From + edge to edge of the world marched the constellations, like the progress of + emperors, and from the innumerable glory of their courses a mysterious + sheen of diaphanous light disengaged itself, expanding over all the earth, + serene, infinite, majestic. + </p> + <p> + The little garden revealed itself but dimly beneath the brooding light, + only half emerging from the shadow. The polished surfaces of the leaves of + the pear trees winked faintly back the reflected light as the trees just + stirred in the uncertain breeze. A blurred shield of silver marked the + ripples of the fountain. Under the flood of dull blue lustre, the + gravelled walks lay vague amid the grasses, like webs of white satin on + the bed of a lake. Against the eastern wall the headstones of the graves, + an indistinct procession of grey cowls ranged themselves. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee crossed the garden, pausing to kiss the turf upon Angele's grave. + Then he approached the line of pear trees, and laid himself down in their + shadow, his chin propped upon his hands, his eyes wandering over the + expanse of the little valley that stretched away from the foot of the hill + upon which the Mission was built. + </p> + <p> + Once again he summoned the Vision. Once again he conjured up the Illusion. + Once again, tortured with doubt, racked with a deathless grief, he craved + an Answer of the night. Once again, mystic that he was, he sent his mind + out from him across the enchanted sea of the Supernatural. Hope, of what + he did not know, roused up within him. Surely, on such a night as this, + the hallucination must define itself. Surely, the Manifestation must be + vouchsafed. + </p> + <p> + His eyes closed, his will girding itself to a supreme effort, his senses + exalted to a state of pleasing numbness, he called upon Angele to come to + him, his voiceless cry penetrating far out into that sea of faint, + ephemeral light that floated tideless over the little valley beneath him. + Then motionless, prone upon the ground, he waited. + </p> + <p> + Months had passed since that first night when, at length, an Answer had + come to Vanamee. At first, startled out of all composure, troubled and + stirred to his lowest depths, because of the very thing for which he + sought, he resolved never again to put his strange powers to the test. But + for all that, he had come a second night to the garden, and a third, and a + fourth. At last, his visits were habitual. Night after night he was there, + surrendering himself to the influences of the place, gradually convinced + that something did actually answer when he called. His faith increased as + the winter grew into spring. As the spring advanced and the nights became + shorter, it crystallised into certainty. Would he have her again, his + love, long dead? Would she come to him once more out of the grave, out of + the night? He could not tell; he could only hope. All that he knew was + that his cry found an answer, that his outstretched hands, groping in the + darkness, met the touch of other fingers. Patiently he waited. The nights + became warmer as the spring drew on. The stars shone clearer. The nights + seemed brighter. For nearly a month after the occasion of his first answer + nothing new occurred. Some nights it failed him entirely; upon others it + was faint, illusive. + </p> + <p> + Then, at last, the most subtle, the barest of perceptible changes began. + His groping mind far-off there, wandering like a lost bird over the + valley, touched upon some thing again, touched and held it and this time + drew it a single step closer to him. His heart beating, the blood surging + in his temples, he watched with the eyes of his imagination, this gradual + approach. What was coming to him? Who was coming to him? Shrouded in the + obscurity of the night, whose was the face now turned towards his? Whose + the footsteps that with such infinite slowness drew nearer to where he + waited? He did not dare to say. + </p> + <p> + His mind went back many years to that time before the tragedy of Angele's + death, before the mystery of the Other. He waited then as he waited now. + But then he had not waited in vain. Then, as now, he had seemed to feel + her approach, seemed to feel her drawing nearer and nearer to their + rendezvous. Now, what would happen? He did not know. He waited. He waited, + hoping all things. He waited, believing all things. He waited, enduring + all things. He trusted in the Vision. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, as spring advanced, the flowers in the Seed ranch began to come + to life. Over the five hundred acres whereon the flowers were planted, the + widening growth of vines and bushes spread like the waves of a green sea. + Then, timidly, colours of the faintest tints began to appear. Under the + moonlight, Vanamee saw them expanding, delicate pink, faint blue, + tenderest variations of lavender and yellow, white shimmering with + reflections of gold, all subdued and pallid in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + By degrees, the night became impregnated with the perfume of the flowers. + Illusive at first, evanescent as filaments of gossamer; then as the buds + opened, emphasising itself, breathing deeper, stronger. An exquisite + mingling of many odours passed continually over the Mission, from the + garden of the Seed ranch, meeting and blending with the aroma of its + magnolia buds and punka blossoms. + </p> + <p> + As the colours of the flowers of the Seed ranch deepened, and as their + odours penetrated deeper and more distinctly, as the starlight of each + succeeding night grew brighter and the air became warmer, the illusion + defined itself. By imperceptible degrees, as Vanamee waited under the + shadows of the pear trees, the Answer grew nearer and nearer. He saw + nothing but the distant glimmer of the flowers. He heard nothing but the + drip of the fountain. Nothing moved about him but the invisible, + slow-passing breaths of perfume; yet he felt the approach of the Vision. + </p> + <p> + It came first to about the middle of the Seed ranch itself, some half a + mile away, where the violets grew; shrinking, timid flowers, hiding close + to the ground. Then it passed forward beyond the violets, and drew nearer + and stood amid the mignonette, hardier blooms that dared look heavenward + from out the leaves. A few nights later it left the mignonette behind, and + advanced into the beds of white iris that pushed more boldly forth from + the earth, their waxen petals claiming the attention. It advanced then a + long step into the proud, challenging beauty of the carnations and roses; + and at last, after many nights, Vanamee felt that it paused, as if + trembling at its hardihood, full in the superb glory of the royal lilies + themselves, that grew on the extreme border of the Seed ranch nearest to + him. After this, there was a certain long wait. Then, upon a dark + midnight, it advanced again. Vanamee could scarcely repress a cry. Now, + the illusion emerged from the flowers. It stood, not distant, but unseen, + almost at the base of the hill upon whose crest he waited, in a depression + of the ground where the shadows lay thickest. It was nearly within + earshot. + </p> + <p> + The nights passed. The spring grew warmer. In the daytime intermittent + rains freshened all the earth. The flowers of the Seed ranch grew rapidly. + Bud after bud burst forth, while those already opened expanded to full + maturity. The colour of the Seed ranch deepened. + </p> + <p> + One night, after hours of waiting, Vanamee felt upon his cheek the touch + of a prolonged puff of warm wind, breathing across the little valley from + out the east. It reached the Mission garden and stirred the branches of + the pear trees. It seemed veritably to be compounded of the very essence + of the flowers. Never had the aroma been so sweet, so pervasive. It passed + and faded, leaving in its wake an absolute silence. Then, at length, the + silence of the night, that silence to which Vanamee had so long appealed, + was broken by a tiny sound. Alert, half-risen from the ground, he + listened; for now, at length, he heard something. The sound repeated + itself. It came from near at hand, from the thick shadow at the foot of + the hill. What it was, he could not tell, but it did not belong to a + single one of the infinite similar noises of the place with which he was + so familiar. It was neither the rustle of a leaf, the snap of a parted + twig, the drone of an insect, the dropping of a magnolia blossom. It was a + vibration merely, faint, elusive, impossible of definition; a minute notch + in the fine, keen edge of stillness. + </p> + <p> + Again the nights passed. The summer stars became brighter. The warmth + increased. The flowers of the Seed ranch grew still more. The five hundred + acres of the ranch were carpeted with them. + </p> + <p> + At length, upon a certain midnight, a new light began to spread in the + sky. The thin scimitar of the moon rose, veiled and dim behind the + earth-mists. The light increased. Distant objects, until now hidden, came + into view, and as the radiance brightened, Vanamee, looking down upon the + little valley, saw a spectacle of incomparable beauty. All the buds of the + Seed ranch had opened. The faint tints of the flowers had deepened, had + asserted themselves. They challenged the eye. Pink became a royal red. + Blue rose into purple. Yellow flamed into orange. Orange glowed golden and + brilliant. The earth disappeared under great bands and fields of + resplendent colour. Then, at length, the moon abruptly soared zenithward + from out the veiling mist, passing from one filmy haze to another. For a + moment there was a gleam of a golden light, and Vanamee, his eyes + searching the shade at the foot of the hill, felt his heart suddenly leap, + and then hang poised, refusing to beat. In that instant of passing light, + something had caught his eye. Something that moved, down there, half in + and half out of the shadow, at the hill's foot. It had come and gone in an + instant. The haze once more screened the moonlight. The shade again + engulfed the vision. What was it he had seen? He did not know. So brief + had been that movement, the drowsy brain had not been quick enough to + interpret the cipher message of the eye. Now it was gone. But something + had been there. He had seen it. Was it the lifting of a strand of hair, + the wave of a white hand, the flutter of a garment's edge? He could not + tell, but it did not belong to any of those sights which he had seen so + often in that place. It was neither the glancing of a moth's wing, the + nodding of a wind-touched blossom, nor the noiseless flitting of a bat. It + was a gleam merely, faint, elusive, impossible of definition, an + intangible agitation, in the vast, dim blur of the darkness. + </p> + <p> + And that was all. Until now no single real thing had occurred, nothing + that Vanamee could reduce to terms of actuality, nothing he could put into + words. The manifestation, when not recognisable to that strange sixth + sense of his, appealed only to the most refined, the most delicate + perception of eye and ear. It was all ephemeral, filmy, dreamy, the mystic + forming of the Vision—the invisible developing a concrete nucleus, + the starlight coagulating, the radiance of the flowers thickening to + something actual; perfume, the most delicious fragrance, becoming a + tangible presence. + </p> + <p> + But into that garden the serpent intruded. Though cradled in the slow + rhythm of the dream, lulled by this beauty of a summer's night, heavy with + the scent of flowers, the silence broken only by a rippling fountain, the + darkness illuminated by a world of radiant blossoms, Vanamee could not + forget the tragedy of the Other; that terror of many years ago,—that + prowler of the night, that strange, fearful figure with the unseen face, + swooping in there from out the darkness, gone in an instant, yet leaving + behind the trail and trace of death and of pollution. + </p> + <p> + Never had Vanamee seen this more clearly than when leaving Presley on the + stock range of Los Muertos, he had come across to the Mission garden by + way of the Quien Sabe ranch. + </p> + <p> + It was the same night in which Annixter out-watched the stars, coming, at + last, to himself. + </p> + <p> + As the hours passed, the two men, far apart, ignoring each other, waited + for the Manifestation,—Annixter on the ranch, Vanamee in the garden. + </p> + <p> + Prone upon his face, under the pear trees, his forehead buried in the + hollow of his arm, Vanamee lay motionless. For the last time, raising his + head, he sent his voiceless cry out into the night across the + multi-coloured levels of the little valley, calling upon the miracle, + summoning the darkness to give Angele back to him, resigning himself to + the hallucination. He bowed his head upon his arm again and waited. The + minutes passed. The fountain dripped steadily. Over the hills a haze of + saffron light foretold the rising of the full moon. Nothing stirred. The + silence was profound. + </p> + <p> + Then, abruptly, Vanamee's right hand shut tight upon his wrist. There—there + it was. It began again, his invocation was answered. Far off there, the + ripple formed again upon the still, black pool of the night. No sound, no + sight; vibration merely, appreciable by some sublimated faculty of the + mind as yet unnamed. Rigid, his nerves taut, motionless, prone on the + ground, he waited. + </p> + <p> + It advanced with infinite slowness. Now it passed through the beds of + violets, now through the mignonette. A moment later, and he knew it stood + among the white iris. Then it left those behind. It was in the splendour + of the red roses and carnations. It passed like a moving star into the + superb abundance, the imperial opulence of the royal lilies. It was + advancing slowly, but there was no pause. He held his breath, not daring + to raise his head. It passed beyond the limits of the Seed ranch, and + entered the shade at the foot of the hill below him. Would it come farther + than this? Here it had always stopped hitherto, stopped for a moment, and + then, in spite of his efforts, had slipped from his grasp and faded back + into the night. But now he wondered if he had been willing to put forth + his utmost strength, after all. Had there not always been an element of + dread in the thought of beholding the mystery face to face? Had he not + even allowed the Vision to dissolve, the Answer to recede into the + obscurity whence it came? + </p> + <p> + But never a night had been so beautiful as this. It was the full period of + the spring. The air was a veritable caress. The infinite repose of the + little garden, sleeping under the night, was delicious beyond expression. + It was a tiny corner of the world, shut off, discreet, distilling romance, + a garden of dreams, of enchantments. + </p> + <p> + Below, in the little valley, the resplendent colourations of the million + flowers, roses, lilies, hyacinths, carnations, violets, glowed like + incandescence in the golden light of the rising moon. The air was thick + with the perfume, heavy with it, clogged with it. The sweetness filled the + very mouth. The throat choked with it. Overhead wheeled the illimitable + procession of the constellations. Underfoot, the earth was asleep. The + very flowers were dreaming. A cathedral hush overlay all the land, and a + sense of benediction brooded low,—a divine kindliness manifesting + itself in beauty, in peace, in absolute repose. + </p> + <p> + It was a time for visions. It was the hour when dreams come true, and + lying deep in the grasses beneath the pear trees, Vanamee, dizzied with + mysticism, reaching up and out toward the supernatural, felt, as it were, + his mind begin to rise upward from out his body. He passed into a state of + being the like of which he had not known before. He felt that his + imagination was reshaping itself, preparing to receive an impression never + experienced until now. His body felt light to him, then it dwindled, + vanished. He saw with new eyes, heard with new ears, felt with a new + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Come to me,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + Then slowly he felt the advance of the Vision. It was approaching. Every + instant it drew gradually nearer. At last, he was to see. It had left the + shadow at the base of the hill; it was on the hill itself. Slowly, + steadily, it ascended the slope; just below him there, he heard a faint + stirring. The grasses rustled under the touch of a foot. The leaves of the + bushes murmured, as a hand brushed against them; a slender twig creaked. + The sounds of approach were more distinct. They came nearer. They reached + the top of the hill. They were within whispering distance. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee, trembling, kept his head buried in his arm. The sounds, at + length, paused definitely. The Vision could come no nearer. He raised his + head and looked. The moon had risen. Its great shield of gold stood over + the eastern horizon. Within six feet of Vanamee, clear and distinct, + against the disk of the moon, stood the figure of a young girl. She was + dressed in a gown of scarlet silk, with flowing sleeves, such as Japanese + wear, embroidered with flowers and figures of birds worked in gold + threads. On either side of her face, making three-cornered her round, + white forehead, hung the soft masses of her hair of gold. Her hands hung + limply at her sides. But from between her parted lips—lips of almost + an Egyptian fulness—her breath came slow and regular, and her eyes, + heavy lidded, slanting upwards toward the temples, perplexing, oriental, + were closed. She was asleep. + </p> + <p> + From out this life of flowers, this world of colour, this atmosphere + oppressive with perfume, this darkness clogged and cloyed, and thickened + with sweet odours, she came to him. She came to him from out of the + flowers, the smell of the roses in her hair of gold, the aroma and the + imperial red of the carnations in her lips, the whiteness of the lilies, + the perfume of the lilies, and the lilies' slender, balancing grace in her + neck. Her hands disengaged the scent of the heliotrope. The folds of her + scarlet gown gave off the enervating smell of poppies. Her feet were + redolent of hyacinth. She stood before him, a Vision realised—a + dream come true. She emerged from out the invisible. He beheld her, a + figure of gold and pale vermilion, redolent of perfume, poised motionless + in the faint saffron sheen of the new-risen moon. She, a creation of + sleep, was herself asleep. She, a dream, was herself dreaming. + </p> + <p> + Called forth from out the darkness, from the grip of the earth, the + embrace of the grave, from out the memory of corruption, she rose into + light and life, divinely pure. Across that white forehead was no smudge, + no trace of an earthly pollution—no mark of a terrestrial dishonour. + He saw in her the same beauty of untainted innocence he had known in his + youth. Years had made no difference with her. She was still young. It was + the old purity that returned, the deathless beauty, the ever-renascent + life, the eternal consecrated and immortal youth. For a few seconds, she + stood there before him, and he, upon the ground at her feet, looked up at + her, spellbound. Then, slowly she withdrew. Still asleep, her eyelids + closed, she turned from him, descending the slope. She was gone. + </p> + <p> + Vanamee started up, coming, as it were, to himself, looking wildly about + him. Sarria was there. + </p> + <p> + “I saw her,” said the priest. “It was Angele, the little girl, your + Angele's daughter. She is like her mother.” + </p> + <p> + But Vanamee scarcely heard. He walked as if in a trance, pushing by + Sarria, going forth from the garden. Angele or Angele's daughter, it was + all one with him. It was She. Death was overcome. The grave vanquished. + Life, ever-renewed, alone existed. Time was naught; change was naught; all + things were immortal but evil; all things eternal but grief. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, the dawn came; the east burned roseate toward the zenith. + Vanamee walked on, he knew not where. The dawn grew brighter. At length, + he paused upon the crest of a hill overlooking the ranchos, and cast his + eye below him to the southward. Then, suddenly flinging up his arms, he + uttered a great cry. + </p> + <p> + There it was. The Wheat! The Wheat! In the night it had come up. It was + there, everywhere, from margin to margin of the horizon. The earth, long + empty, teemed with green life. Once more the pendulum of the seasons swung + in its mighty arc, from death back to life. Life out of death, eternity + rising from out dissolution. There was the lesson. Angele was not the + symbol, but the PROOF of immortality. The seed dying, rotting and + corrupting in the earth; rising again in life unconquerable, and in + immaculate purity,—Angele dying as she gave birth to her little + daughter, life springing from her death,—the pure, unconquerable, + coming forth from the defiled. Why had he not had the knowledge of God? + Thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened except it die. So the + seed had died. So died Angele. And that which thou sowest, thou sowest not + that body that shall be, but bare grain. It may chance of wheat, or of + some other grain. The wheat called forth from out the darkness, from out + the grip of the earth, of the grave, from out corruption, rose triumphant + into light and life. So Angele, so life, so also the resurrection of the + dead. It is sown in corruption. It is raised in incorruption. It is sown + in dishonour. It is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness. It is raised + in power. Death was swallowed up in Victory. + </p> + <p> + The sun rose. The night was over. The glory of the terrestrial was one, + and the glory of the celestial was another. Then, as the glory of sun + banished the lesser glory of moon and stars, Vanamee, from his mountain + top, beholding the eternal green life of the growing Wheat, bursting its + bonds, and in his heart exulting in his triumph over the grave, flung out + his arms with a mighty shout: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Death, where is thy sting? Oh, Grave, where is thy victory?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Presley's Socialistic poem, “The Toilers,” had an enormous success. The + editor of the Sunday supplement of the San Francisco paper to which it was + sent, printed it in Gothic type, with a scare-head title so decorative as + to be almost illegible, and furthermore caused the poem to be illustrated + by one of the paper's staff artists in a most impressive fashion. The + whole affair occupied an entire page. Thus advertised, the poem attracted + attention. It was promptly copied in New York, Boston, and Chicago papers. + It was discussed, attacked, defended, eulogised, ridiculed. It was praised + with the most fulsome adulation; assailed with the most violent + condemnation. Editorials were written upon it. Special articles, in + literary pamphlets, dissected its rhetoric and prosody. The phrases were + quoted,—were used as texts for revolutionary sermons, reactionary + speeches. It was parodied; it was distorted so as to read as an + advertisement for patented cereals and infants' foods. Finally, the editor + of an enterprising monthly magazine reprinted the poem, supplementing it + by a photograph and biography of Presley himself. + </p> + <p> + Presley was stunned, bewildered. He began to wonder at himself. Was he + actually the “greatest American poet since Bryant”? He had had no thought + of fame while composing “The Toilers.” He had only been moved to his + heart's foundations,—thoroughly in earnest, seeing clearly,—and + had addressed himself to the poem's composition in a happy moment when + words came easily to him, and the elaboration of fine sentences was not + difficult. Was it thus fame was achieved? For a while he was tempted to + cross the continent and go to New York and there come unto his own, + enjoying the triumph that awaited him. But soon he denied himself this + cheap reward. Now he was too much in earnest. He wanted to help his + People, the community in which he lived—the little world of the San + Joaquin, at grapples with the Railroad. The struggle had found its poet. + He told himself that his place was here. Only the words of the manager of + a lecture bureau troubled him for a moment. To range the entire nation, + telling all his countrymen of the drama that was working itself out on + this fringe of the continent, this ignored and distant Pacific Coast, + rousing their interest and stirring them up to action—appealed to + him. It might do great good. To devote himself to “the Cause,” accepting + no penny of remuneration; to give his life to loosing the grip of the + iron-hearted monster of steel and steam would be beyond question heroic. + Other States than California had their grievances. All over the country + the family of cyclops was growing. He would declare himself the champion + of the People in their opposition to the Trust. He would be an apostle, a + prophet, a martyr of Freedom. + </p> + <p> + But Presley was essentially a dreamer, not a man of affairs. He hesitated + to act at this precise psychological moment, striking while the iron was + yet hot, and while he hesitated, other affairs near at hand began to + absorb his attention. + </p> + <p> + One night, about an hour after he had gone to bed, he was awakened by the + sound of voices on the porch of the ranch house, and, descending, found + Mrs. Dyke there with Sidney. The ex-engineer's mother was talking to + Magnus and Harran, and crying as she talked. It seemed that Dyke was + missing. He had gone into town early that afternoon with the wagon and + team, and was to have been home for supper. By now it was ten o'clock and + there was no news of him. Mrs. Dyke told how she first had gone to Quien + Sabe, intending to telephone from there to Bonneville, but Annixter was in + San Francisco, and in his absence the house was locked up, and the + over-seer, who had a duplicate key, was himself in Bonneville. She had + telegraphed three times from Guadalajara to Bonneville for news of her + son, but without result. Then, at last, tortured with anxiety, she had + gone to Hooven's, taking Sidney with her, and had prevailed upon + “Bismarck” to hitch up and drive her across Los Muertos to the Governor's, + to beg him to telephone into Bonneville, to know what had become of Dyke. + </p> + <p> + While Harran rang up Central in town, Mrs. Dyke told Presley and Magnus of + the lamentable change in Dyke. + </p> + <p> + “They have broken my son's spirit, Mr. Derrick,” she said. “If you were + only there to see. Hour after hour, he sits on the porch with his hands + lying open in his lap, looking at them without a word. He won't look me in + the face any more, and he don't sleep. Night after night, he has walked + the floor until morning. And he will go on that way for days together, + very silent, without a word, and sitting still in his chair, and then, all + of a sudden, he will break out—oh, Mr. Derrick, it is terrible—into + an awful rage, cursing, swearing, grinding his teeth, his hands clenched + over his head, stamping so that the house shakes, and saying that if S. + Behrman don't give him back his money, he will kill him with his two + hands. But that isn't the worst, Mr. Derrick. He goes to Mr. Caraher's + saloon now, and stays there for hours, and listens to Mr. Caraher. There + is something on my son's mind; I know there is—something that he and + Mr. Caraher have talked over together, and I can't find out what it is. + Mr. Caraher is a bad man, and my son has fallen under his influence.” The + tears filled her eyes. Bravely, she turned to hide them, turning away to + take Sidney in her arms, putting her head upon the little girl's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I—I haven't broken down before, Mr. Derrick,” she said, “but after + we have been so happy in our little house, just us three—and the + future seemed so bright—oh, God will punish the gentlemen who own + the railroad for being so hard and cruel.” + </p> + <p> + Harran came out on the porch, from the telephone, and she interrupted + herself, fixing her eyes eagerly upon him. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is all right, Mrs. Dyke,” he said, reassuringly. “We know + where he is, I believe. You and the little tad stay here, and Hooven and I + will go after him.” + </p> + <p> + About two hours later, Harran brought Dyke back to Los Muertos in Hooven's + wagon. He had found him at Caraher's saloon, very drunk. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing maudlin about Dyke's drunkenness. In him the alcohol + merely roused the spirit of evil, vengeful, reckless. + </p> + <p> + As the wagon passed out from under the eucalyptus trees about the ranch + house, taking Mrs. Dyke, Sidney, and the one-time engineer back to the hop + ranch, Presley leaning from his window heard the latter remark: + </p> + <p> + “Caraher is right. There is only one thing they listen to, and that's + dynamite.” + </p> + <p> + The following day Presley drove Magnus over to Guadalajara to take the + train for San Francisco. But after he had said good-bye to the Governor, + he was moved to go on to the hop ranch to see the condition of affairs in + that quarter. He returned to Los Muertos overwhelmed with sadness and + trembling with anger. The hop ranch that he had last seen in the full tide + of prosperity was almost a ruin. Work had evidently been abandoned long + since. Weeds were already choking the vines. Everywhere the poles sagged + and drooped. Many had even fallen, dragging the vines with them, spreading + them over the ground in an inextricable tangle of dead leaves, decaying + tendrils, and snarled string. The fence was broken; the unfinished + storehouse, which never was to see completion, was a lamentable spectacle + of gaping doors and windows—a melancholy skeleton. Last of all, + Presley had caught a glimpse of Dyke himself, seated in his rocking chair + on the porch, his beard and hair unkempt, motionless, looking with vague + eyes upon his hands that lay palm upwards and idle in his lap. + </p> + <p> + Magnus on his way to San Francisco was joined at Bonneville by Osterman. + Upon seating himself in front of the master of Los Muertos in the + smoking-car of the train, this latter, pushing back his hat and smoothing + his bald head, observed: + </p> + <p> + “Governor, you look all frazeled out. Anything wrong these days?” + </p> + <p> + The other answered in the negative, but, for all that, Osterman was right. + The Governor had aged suddenly. His former erectness was gone, the broad + shoulders stooped a little, the strong lines of his thin-lipped mouth were + relaxed, and his hand, as it clasped over the yellowed ivory knob of his + cane, had an unwonted tremulousness not hitherto noticeable. But the + change in Magnus was more than physical. At last, in the full tide of + power, President of the League, known and talked of in every county of the + State, leader in a great struggle, consulted, deferred to as the + “Prominent Man,” at length attaining that position, so long and vainly + sought for, he yet found no pleasure in his triumph, and little but + bitterness in life. His success had come by devious methods, had been + reached by obscure means. + </p> + <p> + He was a briber. He could never forget that. To further his ends, + disinterested, public-spirited, even philanthropic as those were, he had + connived with knavery, he, the politician of the old school, of such + rigorous integrity, who had abandoned a “career” rather than compromise + with honesty. At this eleventh hour, involved and entrapped in the + fine-spun web of a new order of things, bewildered by Osterman's + dexterity, by his volubility and glibness, goaded and harassed beyond the + point of reason by the aggression of the Trust he fought, he had at last + failed. He had fallen he had given a bribe. He had thought that, after + all, this would make but little difference with him. The affair was known + only to Osterman, Broderson, and Annixter; they would not judge him, being + themselves involved. He could still preserve a bold front; could still + hold his head high. As time went on the affair would lose its point. + </p> + <p> + But this was not so. Some subtle element of his character had forsaken + him. He felt it. He knew it. Some certain stiffness that had given him all + his rigidity, that had lent force to his authority, weight to his + dominance, temper to his fine, inflexible hardness, was diminishing day by + day. In the decisions which he, as President of the League, was called + upon to make so often, he now hesitated. He could no longer be arrogant, + masterful, acting upon his own judgment, independent of opinion. He began + to consult his lieutenants, asking their advice, distrusting his own + opinions. He made mistakes, blunders, and when those were brought to his + notice, took refuge in bluster. He knew it to be bluster—knew that + sooner or later his subordinates would recognise it as such. How long + could he maintain his position? So only he could keep his grip upon the + lever of control till the battle was over, all would be well. If not, he + would fall, and, once fallen, he knew that now, briber that he was, he + would never rise again. + </p> + <p> + He was on his way at this moment to the city to consult with Lyman as to a + certain issue of the contest between the Railroad and the ranchers, which, + of late, had been brought to his notice. + </p> + <p> + When appeal had been taken to the Supreme Court by the League's Executive + Committee, certain test cases had been chosen, which should represent all + the lands in question. Neither Magnus nor Annixter had so appealed, + believing, of course, that their cases were covered by the test cases on + trial at Washington. Magnus had here blundered again, and the League's + agents in San Francisco had written to warn him that the Railroad might be + able to take advantage of a technicality, and by pretending that neither + Quien Sabe nor Los Muertos were included in the appeal, attempt to put its + dummy buyers in possession of the two ranches before the Supreme Court + handed down its decision. The ninety days allowed for taking this appeal + were nearly at an end and after then the Railroad could act. Osterman and + Magnus at once decided to go up to the city, there joining Annixter (who + had been absent from Quien Sabe for the last ten days), and talk the + matter over with Lyman. Lyman, because of his position as Commissioner, + might be cognisant of the Railroad's plans, and, at the same time, could + give sound legal advice as to what was to be done should the new rumour + prove true. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” remarked Osterman, as the train pulled out of the Bonneville + station, and the two men settled themselves for the long journey, “say + Governor, what's all up with Buck Annixter these days? He's got a bean + about something, sure.” + </p> + <p> + “I had not noticed,” answered Magnus. “Mr. Annixter has been away some + time lately. I cannot imagine what should keep him so long in San + Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + “That's it,” said Osterman, winking. “Have three guesses. Guess right and + you get a cigar. I guess g-i-r-l spells Hilma Tree. And a little while ago + she quit Quien Sabe and hiked out to 'Frisco. So did Buck. Do I draw the + cigar? It's up to you.” “I have noticed her,” observed Magnus. “A fine + figure of a woman. She would make some man a good wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Hoh! Wife! Buck Annixter marry! Not much. He's gone a-girling at last, + old Buck! It's as funny as twins. Have to josh him about it when I see + him, sure.” + </p> + <p> + But when Osterman and Magnus at last fell in with Annixter in the + vestibule of the Lick House, on Montgomery Street, nothing could be got + out of him. He was in an execrable humour. When Magnus had broached the + subject of business, he had declared that all business could go to pot, + and when Osterman, his tongue in his cheek, had permitted himself a most + distant allusion to a feemale girl, Annixter had cursed him for a + “busy-face” so vociferously and tersely, that even Osterman was cowed. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” insinuated Osterman, “what are you dallying 'round 'Frisco so much + for?” + </p> + <p> + “Cat fur, to make kitten-breeches,” retorted Annixter with oracular + vagueness. + </p> + <p> + Two weeks before this time, Annixter had come up to the city and had gone + at once to a certain hotel on Bush Street, behind the First National Bank, + that he knew was kept by a family connection of the Trees. In his + conjecture that Hilma and her parents would stop here, he was right. Their + names were on the register. Ignoring custom, Annixter marched straight up + to their rooms, and before he was well aware of it, was “eating crow” + before old man Tree. + </p> + <p> + Hilma and her mother were out at the time. Later on, Mrs. Tree returned + alone, leaving Hilma to spend the day with one of her cousins who lived + far out on Stanyan Street in a little house facing the park. + </p> + <p> + Between Annixter and Hilma's parents, a reconciliation had been effected, + Annixter convincing them both of his sincerity in wishing to make Hilma + his wife. Hilma, however, refused to see him. As soon as she knew he had + followed her to San Francisco she had been unwilling to return to the + hotel and had arranged with her cousin to spend an indefinite time at her + house. + </p> + <p> + She was wretchedly unhappy during all this time; would not set foot out of + doors, and cried herself to sleep night after night. She detested the + city. Already she was miserably homesick for the ranch. She remembered the + days she had spent in the little dairy-house, happy in her work, making + butter and cheese; skimming the great pans of milk, scouring the copper + vessels and vats, plunging her arms, elbow deep, into the white curds; + coming and going in that atmosphere of freshness, cleanliness, and + sunlight, gay, singing, supremely happy just because the sun shone. She + remembered her long walks toward the Mission late in the afternoons, her + excursions for cresses underneath the Long Trestle, the crowing of the + cocks, the distant whistle of the passing trains, the faint sounding of + the Angelus. She recalled with infinite longing the solitary expanse of + the ranches, the level reaches between the horizons, full of light and + silence; the heat at noon, the cloudless iridescence of the sunrise and + sunset. She had been so happy in that life! Now, all those days were + passed. This crude, raw city, with its crowding houses all of wood and + tin, its blotting fogs, its uproarious trade winds, disturbed and saddened + her. There was no outlook for the future. + </p> + <p> + At length, one day, about a week after Annixter's arrival in the city, she + was prevailed upon to go for a walk in the park. She went alone, putting + on for the first time the little hat of black straw with its puff of white + silk her mother had bought for her, a pink shirtwaist, her belt of + imitation alligator skin, her new skirt of brown cloth, and her low shoes, + set off with their little steel buckles. + </p> + <p> + She found a tiny summer house, built in Japanese fashion, around a + diminutive pond, and sat there for a while, her hands folded in her lap, + amused with watching the goldfish, wishing—she knew not what. + </p> + <p> + Without any warning, Annixter sat down beside her. She was too frightened + to move. She looked at him with wide eyes that began to fill with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, at last, “oh—I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” exclaimed Annixter, “here you are at last. I've been watching that + blamed house till I was afraid the policeman would move me on. By the + Lord,” he suddenly cried, “you're pale. You—you, Hilma, do you feel + well?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I am well,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “No, you're not,” he declared. “I know better. You are coming back to + Quien Sabe with me. This place don't agree with you. Hilma, what's all the + matter? Why haven't you let me see you all this time? Do you know—how + things are with me? Your mother told you, didn't she? Do you know how + sorry I am? Do you know that I see now that I made the mistake of my life + there, that time, under the Long Trestle? I found it out the night after + you went away. I sat all night on a stone out on the ranch somewhere and I + don't know exactly what happened, but I've been a different man since + then. I see things all different now. Why, I've only begun to live since + then. I know what love means now, and instead of being ashamed of it, I'm + proud of it. If I never was to see you again I would be glad I'd lived + through that night, just the same. I just woke up that night. I'd been + absolutely and completely selfish up to the moment I realised I really + loved you, and now, whether you'll let me marry you or not, I mean to live—I + don't know, in a different way. I've GOT to live different. I—well—oh, + I can't make you understand, but just loving you has changed my life all + around. It's made it easier to do the straight, clean thing. I want to do + it, it's fun doing it. Remember, once I said I was proud of being a hard + man, a driver, of being glad that people hated me and were afraid of me? + Well, since I've loved you I'm ashamed of it all. I don't want to be hard + any more, and nobody is going to hate me if I can help it. I'm happy and I + want other people so. I love you,” he suddenly exclaimed; “I love you, and + if you will forgive me, and if you will come down to such a beast as I am, + I want to be to you the best a man can be to a woman, Hilma. Do you + understand, little girl? I want to be your husband.” + </p> + <p> + Hilma looked at the goldfishes through her tears. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got anything to say to me, Hilma?” he asked, after a while. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you want me to say,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do,” he insisted. “I've followed you 'way up here to hear it. + I've waited around in these beastly, draughty picnic grounds for over a + week to hear it. You know what I want to hear, Hilma.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—I forgive you,” she hazarded. + </p> + <p> + “That will do for a starter,” he answered. “But that's not IT.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, I don't know what.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I say it for you?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated a long minute, then: + </p> + <p> + “You mightn't say it right,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Trust me for that. Shall I say it for you, Hilma?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you'll say.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll say what you are thinking of. Shall I say it?” + </p> + <p> + There was a very long pause. A goldfish rose to the surface of the little + pond, with a sharp, rippling sound. The fog drifted overhead. There was + nobody about. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Hilma, at length. “I—I—I can say it for myself. I—” + All at once she turned to him and put her arms around his neck. “Oh, DO + you love me?” she cried. “Is it really true? Do you mean every word of it? + And you are sorry and you WILL be good to me if I will be your wife? You + will be my dear, dear husband?” + </p> + <p> + The tears sprang to Annixter's eyes. He took her in his arms and held her + there for a moment. Never in his life had he felt so unworthy, so + undeserving of this clean, pure girl who forgave him and trusted his + spoken word and believed him to be the good man he could only wish to be. + She was so far above him, so exalted, so noble that he should have bowed + his forehead to her feet, and instead, she took him in her arms, believing + him to be good, to be her equal. He could think of no words to say. The + tears overflowed his eyes and ran down upon his cheeks. She drew away from + him and held him a second at arm's length, looking at him, and he saw that + she, too, had been crying. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he said, “we are a couple of softies.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she insisted. “I want to cry and want you to cry, too. Oh, dear, + I haven't a handkerchief.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, take mine.” + </p> + <p> + They wiped each other's eyes like two children and for a long time sat in + the deserted little Japanese pleasure house, their arms about each other, + talking, talking, talking. + </p> + <p> + On the following Saturday they were married in an uptown Presbyterian + church, and spent the week of their honeymoon at a small, family hotel on + Sutter Street. As a matter of course, they saw the sights of the city + together. They made the inevitable bridal trip to the Cliff House and + spent an afternoon in the grewsome and made-to-order beauties of Sutro's + Gardens; they went through Chinatown, the Palace Hotel, the park museum—where + Hilma resolutely refused to believe in the Egyptian mummy—and they + drove out in a hired hack to the Presidio and the Golden Gate. + </p> + <p> + On the sixth day of their excursions, Hilma abruptly declared they had had + enough of “playing out,” and must be serious and get to work. + </p> + <p> + This work was nothing less than the buying of the furniture and + appointments for the rejuvenated ranch house at Quien Sabe, where they + were to live. Annixter had telegraphed to his overseer to have the + building repainted, replastered, and reshingled and to empty the rooms of + everything but the telephone and safe. He also sent instructions to have + the dimensions of each room noted down and the result forwarded to him. It + was the arrival of these memoranda that had roused Hilma to action. + </p> + <p> + Then ensued a most delicious week. Armed with formidable lists, written by + Annixter on hotel envelopes, they two descended upon the department stores + of the city, the carpet stores, the furniture stores. Right and left they + bought and bargained, sending each consignment as soon as purchased to + Quien Sabe. Nearly an entire car load of carpets, curtains, kitchen + furniture, pictures, fixtures, lamps, straw matting, chairs, and the like + were sent down to the ranch, Annixter making a point that their new home + should be entirely equipped by San Francisco dealers. + </p> + <p> + The furnishings of the bedroom and sitting-room were left to the very + last. For the former, Hilma bought a “set” of pure white enamel, three + chairs, a washstand and bureau, a marvellous bargain of thirty dollars, + discovered by wonderful accident at a “Friday Sale.” The bed was a piece + by itself, bought elsewhere, but none the less a wonder. It was of brass, + very brave and gay, and actually boasted a canopy! They bought it + complete, just as it stood in the window of the department store and Hilma + was in an ecstasy over its crisp, clean, muslin curtains, spread, and + shams. Never was there such a bed, the luxury of a princess, such a bed as + she had dreamed about her whole life. + </p> + <p> + Next the appointments of the sitting-room occupied her—since + Annixter, himself, bewildered by this astonishing display, unable to offer + a single suggestion himself, merely approved of all she bought. In the + sitting-room was to be a beautiful blue and white paper, cool straw + matting, set off with white wool rugs, a stand of flowers in the window, a + globe of goldfish, rocking chairs, a sewing machine, and a great, round + centre table of yellow oak whereon should stand a lamp covered with a deep + shade of crinkly red tissue paper. On the walls were to hang several + pictures—lovely affairs, photographs from life, all properly tinted—of + choir boys in robes, with beautiful eyes; pensive young girls in pink + gowns, with flowing yellow hair, drooping over golden harps; a coloured + reproduction of “Rouget de Lisle, Singing the Marseillaise,” and two + “pieces” of wood carving, representing a quail and a wild duck, hung by + one leg in the midst of game bags and powder horns,—quite + masterpieces, both. + </p> + <p> + At last everything had been bought, all arrangements made, Hilma's trunks + packed with her new dresses, and the tickets to Bonneville bought. + </p> + <p> + “We'll go by the Overland, by Jingo,” declared Annixter across the table + to his wife, at their last meal in the hotel where they had been stopping; + “no way trains or locals for us, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “But we reach Bonneville at SUCH an hour,” protested Hilma. “Five in the + morning!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” he declared, “we'll go home in PULLMAN'S, Hilma. I'm not + going to have any of those slobs in Bonneville say I didn't know how to do + the thing in style, and we'll have Vacca meet us with the team. No, sir, + it is Pullman's or nothing. When it comes to buying furniture, I don't + shine, perhaps, but I know what's due my wife.” + </p> + <p> + He was obdurate, and late one afternoon the couple boarded the + Transcontinental (the crack Overland Flyer of the Pacific and + Southwestern) at the Oakland mole. Only Hilma's parents were there to say + good-bye. Annixter knew that Magnus and Osterman were in the city, but he + had laid his plans to elude them. Magnus, he could trust to be dignified, + but that goat Osterman, one could never tell what he would do next. He did + not propose to start his journey home in a shower of rice. Annixter + marched down the line of cars, his hands encumbered with wicker telescope + baskets, satchels, and valises, his tickets in his mouth, his hat on wrong + side foremost, Hilma and her parents hurrying on behind him, trying to + keep up. Annixter was in a turmoil of nerves lest something should go + wrong; catching a train was always for him a little crisis. He rushed + ahead so furiously that when he had found his Pullman he had lost his + party. He set down his valises to mark the place and charged back along + the platform, waving his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” he cried, when, at length, he espied the others. “We've no more + time.” + </p> + <p> + He shouldered and urged them forward to where he had set his valises, only + to find one of them gone. Instantly he raised an outcry. Aha, a fine way + to treat passengers! There was P. and S. W. management for you. He would, + by the Lord, he would—but the porter appeared in the vestibule of + the car to placate him. He had already taken his valises inside. + </p> + <p> + Annixter would not permit Hilma's parents to board the car, declaring that + the train might pull out any moment. So he and his wife, following the + porter down the narrow passage by the stateroom, took their places and, + raising the window, leaned out to say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Tree. These + latter would not return to Quien Sabe. Old man Tree had found a business + chance awaiting him in the matter of supplying his relative's hotel with + dairy products. But Bonneville was not too far from San Francisco; the + separation was by no means final. + </p> + <p> + The porters began taking up the steps that stood by the vestibule of each + sleeping-car. + </p> + <p> + “Well, have a good time, daughter,” observed her father; “and come up to + see us whenever you can.” + </p> + <p> + From beyond the enclosure of the depot's reverberating roof came the + measured clang of a bell. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we're off,” cried Annixter. “Good-bye, Mrs. Tree.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember your promise, Hilma,” her mother hastened to exclaim, “to write + every Sunday afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + There came a prolonged creaking and groan of straining wood and iron work, + all along the length of the train. They all began to cry their good-byes + at once. The train stirred, moved forward, and gathering slow headway, + rolled slowly out into the sunlight. Hilma leaned out of the window and as + long as she could keep her mother in sight waved her handkerchief. Then at + length she sat back in her seat and looked at her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” echoed Annixter, “happy?” for the tears rose in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + She nodded energetically, smiling at him bravely. + </p> + <p> + “You look a little pale,” he declared, frowning uneasily; “feel well?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well.” + </p> + <p> + Promptly he was seized with uneasiness. “But not ALL well, hey? Is that + it?” + </p> + <p> + It was true that Hilma had felt a faint tremour of seasickness on the + ferry-boat coming from the city to the Oakland mole. No doubt a little + nausea yet remained with her. But Annixter refused to accept this + explanation. He was distressed beyond expression. + </p> + <p> + “Now you're going to be sick,” he cried anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she protested, “not a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said you didn't feel very well. Where is it you feel sick?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I'm not sick. Oh, dear me, why will you bother?” + </p> + <p> + “Headache?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least.” + </p> + <p> + “You feel tired, then. That's it. No wonder, the way rushed you 'round + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear, I'm NOT tired, and I'm NOT sick, and I'm all RIGHT.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; I can tell. I think we'd best have the berth made up and you lie + down.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be perfectly ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, where is it you feel sick? Show me; put your hand on the place. + Want to eat something?” + </p> + <p> + With elaborate minuteness, he cross-questioned her, refusing to let the + subject drop, protesting that she had dark circles under her eyes; that + she had grown thinner. + </p> + <p> + “Wonder if there's a doctor on board,” he murmured, looking uncertainly + about the car. “Let me see your tongue. I know—a little whiskey is + what you want, that and some pru——” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, NO,” she exclaimed. “I'm as well as I ever was in all my life. + Look at me. Now, tell me, do l look likee a sick lady?” + </p> + <p> + He scrutinised her face distressfully. + </p> + <p> + “Now, don't I look the picture of health?” she challenged. + </p> + <p> + “In a way you do,” he began, “and then again——” + </p> + <p> + Hilma beat a tattoo with her heels upon the floor, shutting her fists, the + thumbs tucked inside. She closed her eyes, shaking her head energetically. + </p> + <p> + “I won't listen, I won't listen, I won't listen,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “But, just the same——” + </p> + <p> + “Gibble—gibble—gibble,” she mocked. “I won't Listen, I won't + listen.” She put a hand over his mouth. “Look, here's the dining-car + waiter, and the first call for supper, and your wife is hungry.” + </p> + <p> + They went forward and had supper in the diner, while the long train, now + out upon the main line, settled itself to its pace, the prolonged, even + gallop that it would hold for the better part of the week, spinning out + the miles as a cotton spinner spins thread. + </p> + <p> + It was already dark when Antioch was left behind. Abruptly the sunset + appeared to wheel in the sky and readjusted itself to the right of the + track behind Mount Diablo, here visible almost to its base. The train had + turned southward. Neroly was passed, then Brentwood, then Byron. In the + gathering dusk, mountains began to build themselves up on either hand, far + off, blocking the horizon. The train shot forward, roaring. Between the + mountains the land lay level, cut up into farms, ranches. These + continually grew larger; growing wheat began to appear, billowing in the + wind of the train's passage. The mountains grew higher, the land richer, + and by the time the moon rose, the train was well into the northernmost + limits of the valley of the San Joaquin. + </p> + <p> + Annixter had engaged an entire section, and after he and his wife went to + bed had the porter close the upper berth. Hilma sat up in bed to say her + prayers, both hands over her face, and then kissing Annixter good-night, + went to sleep with the directness of a little child, holding his hand in + both her own. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, who never could sleep on the train, dozed and tossed and fretted + for hours, consulting his watch and time-table whenever there was a stop; + twice he rose to get a drink of ice water, and between whiles was forever + sitting up in the narrow berth, stretching himself and yawning, murmuring + with uncertain relevance: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord! Oh-h-h LORD!” + </p> + <p> + There were some dozen other passengers in the car—a lady with three + children, a group of school-teachers, a couple of drummers, a stout + gentleman with whiskers, and a well-dressed young man in a plaid + travelling cap, whom Annixter had observed before supper time reading + Daudet's “Tartarin” in the French. + </p> + <p> + But by nine o'clock, all these people were in their berths. Occasionally, + above the rhythmic rumble of the wheels, Annixter could hear one of the + lady's children fidgeting and complaining. The stout gentleman snored + monotonously in two notes, one a rasping bass, the other a prolonged + treble. At intervals, a brakeman or the passenger conductor pushed down + the aisle, between the curtains, his red and white lamp over his arm. + Looking out into the car Annixter saw in an end section where the berths + had not been made up, the porter, in his white duck coat, dozing, his + mouth wide open, his head on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + The hours passed. Midnight came and went. Annixter, checking off the + stations, noted their passage of Modesto, Merced, and Madeira. Then, after + another broken nap, he lost count. He wondered where they were. Had they + reached Fresno yet? Raising the window curtain, he made a shade with both + hands on either side of his face and looked out. The night was thick, + dark, clouded over. A fine rain was falling, leaving horizontal streaks on + the glass of the outside window. Only the faintest grey blur indicated the + sky. Everything else was impenetrable blackness. + </p> + <p> + “I think sure we must have passed Fresno,” he muttered. He looked at his + watch. It was about half-past three. “If we have passed Fresno,” he said + to himself, “I'd better wake the little girl pretty soon. She'll need + about an hour to dress. Better find out for sure.” + </p> + <p> + He drew on his trousers and shoes, got into his coat, and stepped out into + the aisle. In the seat that had been occupied by the porter, the Pullman + conductor, his cash box and car-schedules before him, was checking up his + berths, a blue pencil behind his ear. + </p> + <p> + “What's the next stop, Captain?” inquired Annixter, coming up. “Have we + reached Fresno yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Just passed it,” the other responded, looking at Annixter over his + spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “What's the next stop?” + </p> + <p> + “Goshen. We will be there in about forty-five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Fair black night, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Black as a pocket. Let's see, you're the party in upper and lower 9.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter caught at the back of the nearest seat, just in time to prevent a + fall, and the conductor's cash box was shunted off the surface of the + plush seat and came clanking to the floor. The Pintsch lights overhead + vibrated with blinding rapidity in the long, sliding jar that ran through + the train from end to end, and the momentum of its speed suddenly + decreasing, all but pitched the conductor from his seat. A hideous + ear-splitting rasp made itself heard from the clamped-down Westinghouse + gear underneath, and Annixter knew that the wheels had ceased to revolve + and that the train was sliding forward upon the motionless flanges. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, hello,” he exclaimed, “what's all up now?” + </p> + <p> + “Emergency brakes,” declared the conductor, catching up his cash box and + thrusting his papers and tickets into it. “Nothing much; probably a cow on + the track.” + </p> + <p> + He disappeared, carrying his lantern with him. + </p> + <p> + But the other passengers, all but the stout gentleman, were awake; heads + were thrust from out the curtains, and Annixter, hurrying back to Hilma, + was assailed by all manner of questions. + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “What's up, anyways?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma was just waking as Annixter pushed the curtain aside. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I was so frightened. What's the matter, dear?” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he answered. “Only the emergency brakes. Just a cow on the + track, I guess. Don't get scared. It isn't anything.” + </p> + <p> + But with a final shriek of the Westinghouse appliance, the train came to a + definite halt. + </p> + <p> + At once the silence was absolute. The ears, still numb with the + long-continued roar of wheels and clashing iron, at first refused to + register correctly the smaller noises of the surroundings. Voices came + from the other end of the car, strange and unfamiliar, as though heard at + a great distance across the water. The stillness of the night outside was + so profound that the rain, dripping from the car roof upon the road-bed + underneath, was as distinct as the ticking of a clock. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we've sure stopped,” observed one of the drummers. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Hilma again. “Are you sure there's nothing wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Annixter. Outside, underneath their window, they heard the + sound of hurried footsteps crushing into the clinkers by the side of the + ties. They passed on, and Annixter heard some one in the distance shout: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, on the other side.” + </p> + <p> + Then the door at the end of their car opened and a brakeman with a red + beard ran down the aisle and out upon the platform in front. The forward + door closed. Everything was quiet again. In the stillness the fat + gentleman's snores made themselves heard once more. + </p> + <p> + The minutes passed; nothing stirred. There was no sound but the dripping + rain. The line of cars lay immobilised and inert under the night. One of + the drummers, having stepped outside on the platform for a look around, + returned, saying: + </p> + <p> + “There sure isn't any station anywheres about and no siding. Bet you they + have had an accident of some kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask the porter.” + </p> + <p> + “I did. He don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they stopped to take on wood or water, or something.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they wouldn't use the emergency brakes for that, would they? Why, + this train stopped almost in her own length. Pretty near slung me out the + berth. Those were the emergency brakes. I heard some one say so.” + </p> + <p> + From far out towards the front of the train, near the locomotive, came the + sharp, incisive report of a revolver; then two more almost simultaneously; + then, after a long interval, a fourth. + </p> + <p> + “Say, that's SHOOTING. By God, boys, they're shooting. Say, this is a + hold-up.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly a white-hot excitement flared from end to end of the car. + Incredibly sinister, heard thus in the night, and in the rain, mysterious, + fearful, those four pistol shots started confusion from out the sense of + security like a frightened rabbit hunted from her burrow. Wide-eyed, the + passengers of the car looked into each other's faces. It had come to them + at last, this, they had so often read about. Now they were to see the real + thing, now they were to face actuality, face this danger of the night, + leaping in from out the blackness of the roadside, masked, armed, ready to + kill. They were facing it now. They were held up. + </p> + <p> + Hilma said nothing, only catching Annixter's hand, looking squarely into + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Steady, little girl,” he said. “They can't hurt you. I won't leave you. + By the Lord,” he suddenly exclaimed, his excitement getting the better of + him for a moment. “By the Lord, it's a hold-up.” + </p> + <p> + The school-teachers were in the aisle of the car, in night gown, wrapper, + and dressing sack, huddled together like sheep, holding on to each other, + looking to the men, silently appealing for protection. Two of them were + weeping, white to the lips. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh, oh, it's terrible. Oh, if they only won't hurt me.” + </p> + <p> + But the lady with the children looked out from her berth, smiled + reassuringly, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a bit frightened. They won't do anything to us if we keep quiet. + I've my watch and jewelry all ready for them in my little black bag, see?” + </p> + <p> + She exhibited it to the passengers. Her children were all awake. They were + quiet, looking about them with eager faces, interested and amused at this + surprise. In his berth, the fat gentleman with whiskers snored profoundly. + </p> + <p> + “Say, I'm going out there,” suddenly declared one of the drummers, + flourishing a pocket revolver. + </p> + <p> + His friend caught his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Don't make a fool of yourself, Max,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “They won't come near us,” observed the well-dressed young man; “they are + after the Wells-Fargo box and the registered mail. You won't do any good + out there.” + </p> + <p> + But the other loudly protested. No; he was going out. He didn't propose to + be buncoed without a fight. He wasn't any coward. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you don't go, that's all,” said his friend, angrily. “There's women + and children in this car. You ain't going to draw the fire here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's to be thought of,” said the other, allowing himself to be + pacified, but still holding his pistol. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let him open that window,” cried Annixter sharply from his place by + Hilma's side, for the drummer had made as if to open the sash in one of + the sections that had not been made up. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, that's right,” said the others. “Don't open any windows. Keep your + head in. You'll get us all shot if you aren't careful.” + </p> + <p> + However, the drummer had got the window up and had leaned out before the + others could interfere and draw him away. + </p> + <p> + “Say, by jove,” he shouted, as he turned back to the car, “our engine's + gone. We're standing on a curve and you can see the end of the train. + She's gone, I tell you. Well, look for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of their precautions, one after another, his friends looked out. + Sure enough, the train was without a locomotive. + </p> + <p> + “They've done it so we can't get away,” vociferated the drummer with the + pistol. “Now, by jiminy-Christmas, they'll come through the cars and stand + us up. They'll be in here in a minute. LORD! WHAT WAS THAT?” + </p> + <p> + From far away up the track, apparently some half-mile ahead of the train, + came the sound of a heavy explosion. The windows of the car vibrated with + it. + </p> + <p> + “Shooting again.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't shooting,” exclaimed Annixter. “They've pulled the express and + mail car on ahead with the engine and now they are dynamiting her open.” + </p> + <p> + “That must be it. Yes, sure, that's just what they are doing.” + </p> + <p> + The forward door of the car opened and closed and the school-teachers + shrieked and cowered. The drummer with the revolver faced about, his eyes + bulging. However, it was only the train conductor, hatless, his lantern in + his hand. He was soaked with rain. He appeared in the aisle. + </p> + <p> + “Is there a doctor in this car?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Promptly the passengers surrounded him, voluble with questions. But he was + in a bad temper. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything more than you,” he shouted angrily. “It was a + hold-up. I guess you know that, don't you? Well, what more do you want to + know? I ain't got time to fool around. They cut off our express car and + have cracked it open, and they shot one of our train crew, that's all, and + I want a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “Did they shoot him—kill him, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Is he hurt bad?” + </p> + <p> + “Did the men get away?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shut up, will you all?” exclaimed the conductor. + </p> + <p> + “What do I know? Is there a DOCTOR in this car, that's what I want to + know?” + </p> + <p> + The well-dressed young man stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a doctor,” he said. “Well, come along then,” returned the conductor, + in a surly voice, “and the passengers in this car,” he added, turning back + at the door and nodding his head menacingly, “will go back to bed and STAY + there. It's all over and there's nothing to see.” + </p> + <p> + He went out, followed by the young doctor. + </p> + <p> + Then ensued an interminable period of silence. The entire train seemed + deserted. Helpless, bereft of its engine, a huge, decapitated monster it + lay, half-way around a curve, rained upon, abandoned. + </p> + <p> + There was more fear in this last condition of affairs, more terror in the + idea of this prolonged line of sleepers, with their nickelled fittings, + their plate glass, their upholstery, vestibules, and the like, loaded down + with people, lost and forgotten in the night and the rain, than there had + been when the actual danger threatened. + </p> + <p> + What was to become of them now? Who was there to help them? Their engine + was gone; they were helpless. What next was to happen? + </p> + <p> + Nobody came near the car. Even the porter had disappeared. The wait seemed + endless, and the persistent snoring of the whiskered gentleman rasped the + nerves like the scrape of a file. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how long are we going to stick here now?” began one of the + drummers. “Wonder if they hurt the engine with their dynamite?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know they will come through the car and rob us,” wailed the + school-teachers. + </p> + <p> + The lady with the little children went back to bed, and Annixter, assured + that the trouble was over, did likewise. But nobody slept. From berth to + berth came the sound of suppressed voices talking it all over, formulating + conjectures. Certain points seemed to be settled upon, no one knew how, as + indisputable. The highwaymen had been four in number and had stopped the + train by pulling the bell cord. A brakeman had attempted to interfere and + had been shot. The robbers had been on the train all the way from San + Francisco. The drummer named Max remembered to have seen four + “suspicious-looking characters” in the smoking-car at Lathrop, and had + intended to speak to the conductor about them. This drummer had been in a + hold-up before, and told the story of it over and over again. + </p> + <p> + At last, after what seemed to have been an hour's delay, and when the dawn + had already begun to show in the east, the locomotive backed on to the + train again with a reverberating jar that ran from car to car. At the + jolting, the school-teachers screamed in chorus, and the whiskered + gentleman stopped snoring and thrust his head from his curtains, blinking + at the Pintsch lights. It appeared that he was an Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he asked of the drummer named Max, “I say, my friend, what place + is this?” + </p> + <p> + The others roared with derision. + </p> + <p> + “We were HELD UP, sir, that's what we were. We were held up and you slept + through it all. You missed the show of your life.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman fixed the group with a prolonged gaze. He said never a word, + but little by little he was convinced that the drummers told the truth. + All at once he grew wrathful, his face purpling. He withdrew his head + angrily, buttoning his curtains together in a fury. The cause of his rage + was inexplicable, but they could hear him resettling himself upon his + pillows with exasperated movements of his head and shoulders. In a few + moments the deep bass and shrill treble of his snoring once more sounded + through the car. + </p> + <p> + At last the train got under way again, with useless warning blasts of the + engine's whistle. In a few moments it was tearing away through the dawn at + a wonderful speed, rocking around curves, roaring across culverts, making + up time. + </p> + <p> + And all the rest of that strange night the passengers, sitting up in their + unmade beds, in the swaying car, lighted by a strange mingling of pallid + dawn and trembling Pintsch lights, rushing at break-neck speed through the + misty rain, were oppressed by a vision of figures of terror, far behind + them in the night they had left, masked, armed, galloping toward the + mountains pistol in hand, the booty bound to the saddle bow, galloping, + galloping on, sending a thrill of fear through all the country side. + </p> + <p> + The young doctor returned. He sat down in the smoking-room, lighting a + cigarette, and Annixter and the drummers pressed around him to know the + story of the whole affair. + </p> + <p> + “The man is dead,” he declared, “the brakeman. He was shot through the + lungs twice. They think the fellow got away with about five thousand in + gold coin.” + </p> + <p> + “The fellow? Wasn't there four of them?” + </p> + <p> + “No; only one. And say, let me tell you, he had his nerve with him. It + seems he was on the roof of the express car all the time, and going as + fast as we were, he jumped from the roof of the car down on to the coal on + the engine's tender, and crawled over that and held up the men in the cab + with his gun, took their guns from 'em and made 'em stop the train. Even + ordered 'em to use the emergency gear, seems he knew all about it. Then he + went back and uncoupled the express car himself. + </p> + <p> + “While he was doing this, a brakeman—you remember that brakeman that + came through here once or twice—had a red mustache.” + </p> + <p> + “THAT chap?” “Sure. Well, as soon as the train stopped, this brakeman + guessed something was wrong and ran up, saw the fellow cutting off the + express car and took a couple of shots at him, and the fireman says the + fellow didn't even take his hand off the coupling-pin; just turned around + as cool as how-do-you-do and NAILED the brakeman right there. They weren't + five feet apart when they began shooting. The brakeman had come on him + unexpected, had no idea he was so close.” + </p> + <p> + “And the express messenger, all this time?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he did his best. Jumped out with his repeating shot-gun, but the + fellow had him covered before he could turn round. Held him up and took + his gun away from him. Say, you know I call that nerve, just the same. One + man standing up a whole train-load, like that. Then, as soon as he'd cut + the express car off, he made the engineer run her up the track about half + a mile to a road crossing, WHERE HE HAD A HORSE TIED. What do you think of + that? Didn't he have it all figured out close? And when he got there, he + dynamited the safe and got the Wells-Fargo box. He took five thousand in + gold coin; the messenger says it was railroad money that the company were + sending down to Bakersfield to pay off with. It was in a bag. He never + touched the registered mail, nor a whole wad of greenbacks that were in + the safe, but just took the coin, got on his horse, and lit out. The + engineer says he went to the east'ard.” + </p> + <p> + “He got away, did he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but they think they'll get him. He wore a kind of mask, but the + brakeman recognised him positively. We got his ante-mortem statement. The + brakeman said the fellow had a grudge against the road. He was a + discharged employee, and lives near Bonneville.” + </p> + <p> + “Dyke, by the Lord!” exclaimed Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “That's the name,” said the young doctor. + </p> + <p> + When the train arrived at Bonneville, forty minutes behind time, it landed + Annixter and Hilma in the midst of the very thing they most wished to + avoid—an enormous crowd. The news that the Overland had been held up + thirty miles south of Fresno, a brakeman killed and the safe looted, and + that Dyke alone was responsible for the night's work, had been wired on + ahead from Fowler, the train conductor throwing the despatch to the + station agent from the flying train. + </p> + <p> + Before the train had come to a standstill under the arched roof of the + Bonneville depot, it was all but taken by assault. Annixter, with Hilma on + his arm, had almost to fight his way out of the car. The depot was black + with people. S. Behrman was there, Delaney, Cyrus Ruggles, the town + marshal, the mayor. Genslinger, his hat on the back of his head, ranged + the train from cab to rear-lights, note-book in hand, interviewing, + questioning, collecting facts for his extra. As Annixter descended finally + to the platform, the editor, alert as a black-and-tan terrier, his thin, + osseous hands quivering with eagerness, his brown, dry face working with + excitement, caught his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Can I have your version of the affair, Mr. Annixter?” + </p> + <p> + Annixter turned on him abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” he exclaimed fiercely. “You and your gang drove Dyke from his job + because he wouldn't work for starvation wages. Then you raised freight + rates on him and robbed him of all he had. You ruined him and drove him to + fill himself up with Caraher's whiskey. He's only taken back what you + plundered him of, and now you're going to hound him over the State, hunt + him down like a wild animal, and bring him to the gallows at San Quentin. + That's my version of the affair, Mister Genslinger, but it's worth your + subsidy from the P. and S. W. to print it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a murmur of approval from the crowd that stood around, and + Genslinger, with an angry shrug of one shoulder, took himself away. + </p> + <p> + At length, Annixter brought Hilma through the crowd to where young Vacca + was waiting with the team. However, they could not at once start for the + ranch, Annixter wishing to ask some questions at the freight office about + a final consignment of chairs. It was nearly eleven o'clock before they + could start home. But to gain the Upper Road to Quien Sabe, it was + necessary to traverse all of Main Street, running through the heart of + Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + The entire town seemed to be upon the sidewalks. By now the rain was over + and the sun shining. The story of the hold-up—the work of a man whom + every one knew and liked—was in every mouth. How had Dyke come to do + it? Who would have believed it of him? Think of his poor mother and the + little tad. Well, after all, he was not so much to blame; the railroad + people had brought it on themselves. But he had shot a man to death. Ah, + that was a serious business. Good-natured, big, broad-shouldered, jovial + Dyke, the man they knew, with whom they had shaken hands only yesterday, + yes, and drank with him. He had shot a man, killed him, had stood there in + the dark and in the rain while they were asleep in their beds, and had + killed a man. Now where was he? Instinctively eyes were turned eastward, + over the tops of the houses, or down vistas of side streets to where the + foot-hills of the mountains rose dim and vast over the edge of the valley. + He was in amongst them; somewhere, in all that pile of blue crests and + purple canyons he was hidden away. Now for weeks of searching, false + alarms, clews, trailings, watchings, all the thrill and heart-bursting + excitement of a man-hunt. Would he get away? Hardly a man on the sidewalks + of the town that day who did not hope for it. + </p> + <p> + As Annixter's team trotted through the central portion of the town, young + Vacca pointed to a denser and larger crowd around the rear entrance of the + City Hall. Fully twenty saddle horses were tied to the iron rail + underneath the scant, half-grown trees near by, and as Annixter and Hilma + drove by, the crowd parted and a dozen men with revolvers on their hips + pushed their way to the curbstone, and, mounting their horses, rode away + at a gallop. + </p> + <p> + “It's the posse,” said young Vacca. + </p> + <p> + Outside the town limits the ground was level. There was nothing to + obstruct the view, and to the north, in the direction of Osterman's ranch, + Vacca made out another party of horsemen, galloping eastward, and beyond + these still another. + </p> + <p> + “There're the other posses,” he announced. “That further one is Archie + Moore's. He's the sheriff. He came down from Visalia on a special engine + this morning.” + </p> + <p> + When the team turned into the driveway to the ranch house, Hilma uttered a + little cry, clasping her hands joyfully. The house was one glitter of new + white paint, the driveway had been freshly gravelled, the flower-beds + replenished. Mrs. Vacca and her daughter, who had been busy putting on the + finishing touches, came to the door to welcome them. + </p> + <p> + “What's this case here?” asked Annixter, when, after helping his wife from + the carry-all, his eye fell upon a wooden box of some three by five feet + that stood on the porch and bore the red Wells-Fargo label. + </p> + <p> + “It came here last night, addressed to you, sir,” exclaimed Mrs. Vacca. + “We were sure it wasn't any of your furniture, so we didn't open it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, maybe it's a wedding present,” exclaimed Hilma, her eyes sparkling. + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe it is,” returned her husband. “Here, m' son, help me in with + this.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter and young Vacca bore the case into the sitting-room of the house, + and Annixter, hammer in hand, attacked it vigorously. Vacca discreetly + withdrew on signal from his mother, closing the door after him. Annixter + and his wife were left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hurry, hurry,” cried Hilma, dancing around him. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see what it is. Who do you suppose could have sent it to us? + And so heavy, too. What do you think it can be?” + </p> + <p> + Annixter put the claw of the hammer underneath the edge of the board top + and wrenched with all his might. The boards had been clamped together by a + transverse bar and the whole top of the box came away in one piece. A + layer of excelsior was disclosed, and on it a letter addressed by + typewriter to Annixter. It bore the trade-mark of a business firm of Los + Angeles. Annixter glanced at this and promptly caught it up before Hilma + could see, with an exclamation of intelligence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know what this is,” he observed, carelessly trying to restrain her + busy hands. “It isn't anything. Just some machinery. Let it go.” But + already she had pulled away the excelsior. Underneath, in temporary racks, + were two dozen Winchester repeating rifles. + </p> + <p> + “Why—what—what—” murmured Hilma blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I told you not to mind,” said Annixter. “It isn't anything. Let's + look through the rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said you knew what it was,” she protested, bewildered. “You + wanted to make believe it was machinery. Are you keeping anything from me? + Tell me what it all means. Oh, why are you getting—these?” + </p> + <p> + She caught his arm, looking with intense eagerness into his face. She half + understood already. Annixter saw that. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, lamely, “YOU know—it may not come to anything at + all, but you know—well, this League of ours—suppose the + Railroad tries to jump Quien Sabe or Los Muertos or any of the other + ranches—we made up our minds—the Leaguers have—that we + wouldn't let it. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “And I thought,” cried Hilma, drawing back fearfully from the case of + rifles, “and I thought it was a wedding present.” + </p> + <p> + And that was their home-coming, the end of their bridal trip. Through the + terror of the night, echoing with pistol shots, through that scene of + robbery and murder, into this atmosphere of alarms, a man-hunt organising, + armed horsemen silhouetted against the horizons, cases of rifles where + wedding presents should have been, Annixter brought his young wife to be + mistress of a home he might at any moment be called upon to defend with + his life. + </p> + <p> + The days passed. Soon a week had gone by. Magnus Derrick and Osterman + returned from the city without any definite idea as to the Corporation's + plans. Lyman had been reticent. He knew nothing as to the progress of the + land cases in Washington. There was no news. The Executive Committee of + the League held a perfunctory meeting at Los Muertos at which nothing but + routine business was transacted. A scheme put forward by Osterman for a + conference with the railroad managers fell through because of the refusal + of the company to treat with the ranchers upon any other basis than that + of the new grading. It was impossible to learn whether or not the company + considered Los Muertos, Quien Sabe, and the ranches around Bonneville + covered by the test cases then on appeal. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile there was no decrease in the excitement that Dyke's hold-up had + set loose over all the county. Day after day it was the one topic of + conversation, at street corners, at cross-roads, over dinner tables, in + office, bank, and store. S. Behrman placarded the town with a notice of + $500.00 reward for the ex-engineer's capture, dead or alive, and the + express company supplemented this by another offer of an equal amount. The + country was thick with parties of horsemen, armed with rifles and + revolvers, recruited from Visalia, Goshen, and the few railroad + sympathisers around Bonneville and Guadlajara. One after another of these + returned, empty-handed, covered with dust and mud, their horses exhausted, + to be met and passed by fresh posses starting out to continue the pursuit. + The sheriff of Santa Clara County sent down his bloodhounds from San Jose—small, + harmless-looking dogs, with a terrific bay—to help in the chase. + Reporters from the San Francisco papers appeared, interviewing every one, + sometimes even accompanying the searching bands. Horse hoofs clattered + over the roads at night; bells were rung, the “Mercury” issued extra after + extra; the bloodhounds bayed, gun butts clashed on the asphalt pavements + of Bonneville; accidental discharges of revolvers brought the whole town + into the street; farm hands called to each other across the fences of + ranch-divisions—in a word, the country-side was in an uproar. + </p> + <p> + And all to no effect. The hoof-marks of Dyke's horse had been traced in + the mud of the road to within a quarter of a mile of the foot-hills and + there irretrievably lost. Three days after the hold-up, a sheep-herder was + found who had seen the highwayman on a ridge in the higher mountains, to + the northeast of Taurusa. And that was absolutely all. Rumours were thick, + promising clews were discovered, new trails taken up, but nothing + transpired to bring the pursuers and pursued any closer together. Then, + after ten days of strain, public interest began to flag. It was believed + that Dyke had succeeded in getting away. If this was true, he had gone to + the southward, after gaining the mountains, and it would be his intention + to work out of the range somewhere near the southern part of the San + Joaquin, near Bakersfield. Thus, the sheriffs, marshals, and deputies + decided. They had hunted too many criminals in these mountains before not + to know the usual courses taken. In time, Dyke MUST come out of the + mountains to get water and provisions. But this time passed, and from not + one of the watched points came any word of his appearance. At last the + posses began to disband. Little by little the pursuit was given up. + </p> + <p> + Only S. Behrman persisted. He had made up his mind to bring Dyke in. He + succeeded in arousing the same degree of determination in Delaney—by + now, a trusted aide of the Railroad—and of his own cousin, a real + estate broker, named Christian, who knew the mountains and had once been + marshal of Visalia in the old stock-raising days. These two went into the + Sierras, accompanied by two hired deputies, and carrying with them a + month's provisions and two of the bloodhounds loaned by the Santa Clara + sheriff. + </p> + <p> + On a certain Sunday, a few days after the departure of Christian and + Delaney, Annixter, who had been reading “David Copperfield” in his hammock + on the porch of the ranch house, put down the book and went to find Hilma, + who was helping Louisa Vacca set the table for dinner. He found her in the + dining-room, her hands full of the gold-bordered china plates, only used + on special occasions and which Louisa was forbidden to touch. + </p> + <p> + His wife was more than ordinarily pretty that day. She wore a dress of + flowered organdie over pink sateen with pink ribbons about her waist and + neck, and on her slim feet the low shoes she always affected, with their + smart, bright buckles. Her thick, brown, sweet-smelling hair was heaped + high upon her head and set off with a bow of black velvet, and underneath + the shadow of its coils, her wide-open eyes, rimmed with the thin, black + line of her lashes, shone continually, reflecting the sunlight. Marriage + had only accentuated the beautiful maturity of Hilma's figure—now no + longer precocious—defining the single, deep swell from her throat to + her waist, the strong, fine amplitude of her hips, the sweet feminine + undulation of her neck and shoulders. Her cheeks were pink with health, + and her large round arms carried the piled-up dishes with never a tremour. + Annixter, observant enough where his wife was concerned noted how the + reflection of the white china set a glow of pale light underneath her + chin. + </p> + <p> + “Hilma,” he said, “I've been wondering lately about things. We're so + blamed happy ourselves it won't do for us to forget about other people who + are down, will it? Might change our luck. And I'm just likely to forget + that way, too. It's my nature.” + </p> + <p> + His wife looked up at him joyfully. Here was the new Annixter, certainly. + </p> + <p> + “In all this hullabaloo about Dyke,” he went on “there's some one nobody + ain't thought about at all. That's MRS. Dyke—and the little tad. I + wouldn't be surprised if they were in a hole over there. What do you say + we drive over to the hop ranch after dinner and see if she wants + anything?” + </p> + <p> + Hilma put down the plates and came around the table and kissed him without + a word. + </p> + <p> + As soon as their dinner was over, Annixter had the carry-all hitched up, + and, dispensing with young Vacca, drove over to the hop ranch with Hilma. + </p> + <p> + Hilma could not keep back the tears as they passed through the lamentable + desolation of the withered, brown vines, symbols of perished hopes and + abandoned effort, and Annixter swore between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + Though the wheels of the carry-all grated loudly on the roadway in front + of the house, nobody came to the door nor looked from the windows. The + place seemed tenantless, infinitely lonely, infinitely sad. Annixter tied + the team, and with Hilma approached the wide-open door, scuffling and + tramping on the porch to attract attention. Nobody stirred. A Sunday + stillness pervaded the place. Outside, the withered hop-leaves rustled + like dry paper in the breeze. The quiet was ominous. They peered into the + front room from the doorway, Hilma holding her husband's hand. Mrs. Dyke + was there. She sat at the table in the middle of the room, her head, with + its white hair, down upon her arm. A clutter of unwashed dishes were + strewed over the red and white tablecloth. The unkempt room, once a marvel + of neatness, had not been cleaned for days. Newspapers, Genslinger's + extras and copies of San Francisco and Los Angeles dailies were scattered + all over the room. On the table itself were crumpled yellow telegrams, a + dozen of them, a score of them, blowing about in the draught from the + door. And in the midst of all this disarray, surrounded by the published + accounts of her son's crime, the telegraphed answers to her pitiful + appeals for tidings fluttering about her head, the highwayman's mother, + worn out, abandoned and forgotten, slept through the stillness of the + Sunday afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Neither Hilma nor Annixter ever forgot their interview with Mrs. Dyke that + day. Suddenly waking, she had caught sight of Annixter, and at once + exclaimed eagerly: + </p> + <p> + “Is there any news?” + </p> + <p> + For a long time afterwards nothing could be got from her. She was numb to + all other issues than the one question of Dyke's capture. She did not + answer their questions nor reply to their offers of assistance. Hilma and + Annixter conferred together without lowering their voices, at her very + elbow, while she looked vacantly at the floor, drawing one hand over the + other in a persistent, maniacal gesture. From time to time she would start + suddenly from her chair, her eyes wide, and as if all at once realising + Annixter's presence, would cry out: + </p> + <p> + “Is there any news?” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Sidney, Mrs. Dyke?” asked Hilma for the fourth time. “Is she + well? Is she taken care of?” + </p> + <p> + “Here's the last telegram,” said Mrs. Dyke, in a loud, monotonous voice. + “See, it says there is no news. He didn't do it,” she moaned, rocking + herself back and forth, drawing one hand over the other, “he didn't do it, + he didn't do it, he didn't do it. I don't know where he is.” + </p> + <p> + When at last she came to herself, it was with a flood of tears. Hilma put + her arms around the poor, old woman, as she bowed herself again upon the + table, sobbing and weeping. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my son, my son,” she cried, “my own boy, my only son! If I could have + died for you to have prevented this. I remember him when he was little. + Such a splendid little fellow, so brave, so loving, with never an unkind + thought, never a mean action. So it was all his life. We were never apart. + It was always 'dear little son,' and 'dear mammy' between us—never + once was he unkind, and he loved me and was the gentlest son to me. And he + was a GOOD man. He is now, he is now. They don't understand him. They are + not even sure that he did this. He never meant it. They don't know my son. + Why, he wouldn't have hurt a kitten. Everybody loved him. He was driven to + it. They hounded him down, they wouldn't let him alone. He was not right + in his mind. They hounded him to it,” she cried fiercely, “they hounded + him to it. They drove him and goaded him till he couldn't stand it any + longer, and now they mean to kill him for turning on them. They are + hunting him with dogs; night after night I have stood on the porch and + heard the dogs baying far off. They are tracking my boy with dogs like a + wild animal. May God never forgive them.” She rose to her feet, terrible, + her white hair unbound. “May God punish them as they deserve, may they + never prosper—on my knees I shall pray for it every night—may + their money be a curse to them, may their sons, their first-born, only + sons, be taken from them in their youth.” + </p> + <p> + But Hilma interrupted, begging her to be silent, to be quiet. The tears + came again then and the choking sobs. Hilma took her in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my little boy, my little boy,” she cried. “My only son, all that I + had, to have come to this! He was not right in his mind or he would have + known it would break my heart. Oh, my son, my son, if I could have died + for you.” + </p> + <p> + Sidney came in, clinging to her dress, weeping, imploring her not to cry, + protesting that they never could catch her papa, that he would come back + soon. Hilma took them both, the little child and the broken-down old + woman, in the great embrace of her strong arms, and they all three sobbed + together. + </p> + <p> + Annixter stood on the porch outside, his back turned, looking straight + before him into the wilderness of dead vines, his teeth shut hard, his + lower lip thrust out. + </p> + <p> + “I hope S. Behrman is satisfied with all this,” he muttered. “I hope he is + satisfied now, damn his soul!” + </p> + <p> + All at once an idea occurred to him. He turned about and reentered the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs Dyke,” he began, “I want you and Sidney to come over and live at + Quien Sabe. I know—you can't make me believe that the reporters and + officers and officious busy-faces that pretend to offer help just so as + they can satisfy their curiosity aren't nagging you to death. I want you + to let me take care of you and the little tad till all this trouble of + yours is over with. There's plenty of place for you. You can have the + house my wife's people used to live in. You've got to look these things in + the face. What are you going to do to get along? You must be very short of + money. S. Behrman will foreclose on you and take the whole place in a + little while, now. I want you to let me help you, let Hilma and me be good + friends to you. It would be a privilege.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dyke tried bravely to assume her pride, insisting that she could + manage, but her spirit was broken. The whole affair ended unexpectedly, + with Annixter and Hilma bringing Dyke's mother and little girl back to + Quien Sabe in the carry-all. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Dyke would not take with her a stick of furniture nor a single + ornament. It would only serve to remind her of a vanished happiness. She + packed a few clothes of her own and Sidney's in a little trunk, Hilma + helping her, and Annixter stowed the trunk under the carry-all's back + seat. Mrs. Dyke turned the key in the door of the house and Annixter + helped her to her seat beside his wife. They drove through the sear, brown + hop vines. At the angle of the road Mrs. Dyke turned around and looked + back at the ruin of the hop ranch, the roof of the house just showing + above the trees. She never saw it again. + </p> + <p> + As soon as Annixter and Hilma were alone, after their return to Quien Sabe—Mrs. + Dyke and Sidney having been installed in the Trees' old house—Hilma + threw her arms around her husband's neck. + </p> + <p> + “Fine,” she exclaimed, “oh, it was fine of you, dear to think of them and + to be so good to them. My husband is such a GOOD man. So unselfish. You + wouldn't have thought of being kind to Mrs. Dyke and Sidney a little while + ago. You wouldn't have thought of them at all. But you did now, and it's + just because you love me true, isn't it? Isn't it? And because it's made + you a better man. I'm so proud and glad to think it's so. It is so, isn't + it? Just because you love me true.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet it is, Hilma,” he told her. + </p> + <p> + As Hilma and Annixter were sitting down to the supper which they found + waiting for them, Louisa Vacca came to the door of the dining-room to say + that Harran Derrick had telephoned over from Los Muertos for Annixter, and + had left word for him to ring up Los Muertos as soon as he came in. + </p> + <p> + “He said it was important,” added Louisa Vacca. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they have news from Washington,” suggested Hilma. + </p> + <p> + Annixter would not wait to have supper, but telephoned to Los Muertos at + once. Magnus answered the call. There was a special meeting of the + Executive Committee of the League summoned for the next day, he told + Annixter. It was for the purpose of considering the new grain tariff + prepared by the Railroad Commissioners. Lyman had written that the + schedule of this tariff had just been issued, that he had not been able to + construct it precisely according to the wheat-growers' wishes, and that + he, himself, would come down to Los Muertos and explain its apparent + discrepancies. Magnus said Lyman would be present at the session. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, curious for details, forbore, nevertheless, to question. The + connection from Los Muertos to Quien Sabe was made through Bonneville, and + in those troublesome times no one could be trusted. It could not be known + who would overhear conversations carried on over the lines. He assured + Magnus that he would be on hand. The time for the Committee meeting had + been set for seven o'clock in the evening, in order to accommodate Lyman, + who wrote that he would be down on the evening train, but would be + compelled, by pressure of business, to return to the city early the next + morning. + </p> + <p> + At the time appointed, the men composing the Committee gathered about the + table in the dining-room of the Los Muertos ranch house. It was almost a + reproduction of the scene of the famous evening when Osterman had proposed + the plan of the Ranchers' Railroad Commission. Magnus Derrick sat at the + head of the table, in his buttoned frock coat. Whiskey bottles and siphons + of soda-water were within easy reach. Presley, who by now was considered + the confidential friend of every member of the Committee, lounged as + before on the sofa, smoking cigarettes, the cat Nathalie on his knee. + Besides Magnus and Annixter, Osterman was present, and old Broderson and + Harran; Garnet from the Ruby Rancho and Gethings of the San Pablo, who + were also members of the Executive Committee, were on hand, preoccupied, + bearded men, smoking black cigars, and, last of all, Dabney, the silent + old man, of whom little was known but his name, and who had been made a + member of the Committee, nobody could tell why. + </p> + <p> + “My son Lyman should be here, gentlemen, within at least ten minutes. I + have sent my team to meet him at Bonneville,” explained Magnus, as he + called the meeting to order. “The Secretary will call the roll.” + </p> + <p> + Osterman called the roll, and, to fill in the time, read over the minutes + of the previous meeting. The treasurer was making his report as to the + funds at the disposal of the League when Lyman arrived. + </p> + <p> + Magnus and Harran went forward to meet him, and the Committee rather + awkwardly rose and remained standing while the three exchanged greetings, + the members, some of whom had never seen their commissioner, eyeing him + out of the corners of their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Lyman was dressed with his usual correctness. His cravat was of the latest + fashion, his clothes of careful design and unimpeachable fit. His shoes, + of patent leather, reflected the lamplight, and he carried a drab overcoat + over his arm. Before being introduced to the Committee, he excused himself + a moment and ran to see his mother, who waited for him in the adjoining + sitting-room. But in a few moments he returned, asking pardon for the + delay. + </p> + <p> + He was all affability; his protruding eyes, that gave such an unusual, + foreign appearance to his very dark face, radiated geniality. He was + evidently anxious to please, to produce a good impression upon the grave, + clumsy farmers before whom he stood. But at the same time, Presley, + watching him from his place on the sofa, could imagine that he was rather + nervous. He was too nimble in his cordiality, and the little gestures he + made in bringing his cuffs into view and in touching the ends of his + tight, black mustache with the ball of his thumb were repeated with + unnecessary frequency. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Broderson, my son, Lyman, my eldest son. Mr. Annixter, my son, + Lyman.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor introduced him to the ranchers, proud of Lyman's good looks, + his correct dress, his ease of manner. Lyman shook hands all around, + keeping up a flow of small talk, finding a new phrase for each member, + complimenting Osterman, whom he already knew, upon his talent for + organisation, recalling a mutual acquaintance to the mind of old + Broderson. At length, however, he sat down at the end of the table, + opposite his brother. There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + Magnus rose to recapitulate the reasons for the extra session of the + Committee, stating again that the Board of Railway Commissioners which + they—the ranchers—had succeeded in seating had at length + issued the new schedule of reduced rates, and that Mr. Derrick had been + obliging enough to offer to come down to Los Muertos in person to acquaint + the wheat-growers of the San Joaquin with the new rates for the carriage + of their grain. + </p> + <p> + But Lyman very politely protested, addressing his father punctiliously as + “Mr. Chairman,” and the other ranchers as “Gentlemen of the Executive + Committee of the League.” He had no wish, he said, to disarrange the + regular proceedings of the Committee. Would it not be preferable to defer + the reading of his report till “new business” was called for? In the + meanwhile, let the Committee proceed with its usual work. He understood + the necessarily delicate nature of this work, and would be pleased to + withdraw till the proper time arrived for him to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Good deal of backing and filling about the reading of a column of + figures,” muttered Annixter to the man at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + Lyman “awaited the Committee's decision.” He sat down, touching the ends + of his mustache. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, play ball,” growled Annixter. + </p> + <p> + Gethings rose to say that as the meeting had been called solely for the + purpose of hearing and considering the new grain tariff, he was of the + opinion that routine business could be dispensed with and the schedule + read at once. It was so ordered. + </p> + <p> + Lyman rose and made a long speech. Voluble as Osterman himself, he, + nevertheless, had at his command a vast number of ready-made phrases, the + staples of a political speaker, the stock in trade of the commercial + lawyer, which rolled off his tongue with the most persuasive fluency. By + degrees, in the course of his speech, he began to insinuate the idea that + the wheat-growers had never expected to settle their difficulties with the + Railroad by the work of a single commission; that they had counted upon a + long, continued campaign of many years, railway commission succeeding + railway commission, before the desired low rates should be secured; that + the present Board of Commissioners was only the beginning and that too + great results were not expected from them. All this he contrived to + mention casually, in the talk, as if it were a foregone conclusion, a + matter understood by all. + </p> + <p> + As the speech continued, the eyes of the ranchers around the table were + fixed with growing attention upon this well-dressed, city-bred young man, + who spoke so fluently and who told them of their own intentions. A feeling + of perplexity began to spread, and the first taint of distrust invaded + their minds. + </p> + <p> + “But the good work has been most auspiciously inaugurated,” continued + Lyman. “Reforms so sweeping as the one contemplated cannot be accomplished + in a single night. Great things grow slowly, benefits to be permanent must + accrue gradually. Yet, in spite of all this, your commissioners have done + much. Already the phalanx of the enemy is pierced, already his armour is + dinted. Pledged as were your commissioners to an average ten per cent. + reduction in rates for the carriage of grain by the Pacific and + Southwestern Railroad, we have rigidly adhered to the demands of our + constituency, we have obeyed the People. The main problem has not yet been + completely solved; that is for later, when we shall have gathered + sufficient strength to attack the enemy in his very stronghold; BUT AN + AVERAGE TEN PER CENT. CUT HAS BEEN MADE ALL OVER THE STATE. We have made a + great advance, have taken a great step forward, and if the work is carried + ahead, upon the lines laid down by the present commissioners and their + constituents, there is every reason to believe that within a very few + years equitable and stable rates for the shipment of grain from the San + Joaquin Valley to Stockton, Port Costa, and tidewater will be permanently + imposed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hold on,” exclaimed Annixter, out of order and ignoring the + Governor's reproof, “hasn't your commission reduced grain rates in the San + Joaquin?” + </p> + <p> + “We have reduced grain rates by ten per cent. all over the State,” + rejoined Lyman. “Here are copies of the new schedule.” + </p> + <p> + He drew them from his valise and passed them around the table. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he observed, “the rate between Mayfield and Oakland, for + instance, has been reduced by twenty-five cents a ton.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but—but—” said old Broderson, “it is rather + unusual, isn't it, for wheat in that district to be sent to Oakland?” + “Why, look here,” exclaimed Annixter, looking up from the schedule, “where + is there any reduction in rates in the San Joaquin—from Bonneville + and Guadalajara, for instance? I don't see as you've made any reduction at + all. Is this right? Did you give me the right schedule?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, ALL the points in the State could not be covered at once,” + returned Lyman. “We never expected, you know, that we could cut rates in + the San Joaquin the very first move; that is for later. But you will see + we made very material reductions on shipments from the upper Sacramento + Valley; also the rate from Ione to Marysville has been reduced eighty + cents a ton.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, rot,” cried Annixter, “no one ever ships wheat that way.” + </p> + <p> + “The Salinas rate,” continued Lyman, “has been lowered seventy-five cents; + the St. Helena rate fifty cents, and please notice the very drastic cut + from Red Bluff, north, along the Oregon route, to the Oregon State Line.” + </p> + <p> + “Where not a carload of wheat is shipped in a year,” commented Gethings of + the San Pablo. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you will find yourself mistaken there, Mr. Gethings,” returned Lyman + courteously. “And for the matter of that, a low rate would stimulate + wheat-production in that district.” + </p> + <p> + The order of the meeting was broken up, neglected; Magnus did not even + pretend to preside. In the growing excitement over the inexplicable + schedule, routine was not thought of. Every one spoke at will. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Lyman,” demanded Magnus, looking across the table to his son, “is + this schedule correct? You have not cut rates in the San Joaquin at all. + We—these gentlemen here and myself, we are no better off than we + were before we secured your election as commissioner.” + </p> + <p> + “We were pledged to make an average ten per cent. cut, sir——” + “It IS an average ten per cent. cut,” cried Osterman. “Oh, yes, that's + plain. It's an average ten per cent. cut all right, but you've made it by + cutting grain rates between points where practically no grain is shipped. + We, the wheat-growers in the San Joaquin, where all the wheat is grown, + are right where we were before. The Railroad won't lose a nickel. By + Jingo, boys,” he glanced around the table, “I'd like to know what this + means.” + </p> + <p> + “The Railroad, if you come to that,” returned Lyman, “has already lodged a + protest against the new rate.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter uttered a derisive shout. + </p> + <p> + “A protest! That's good, that is. When the P. and S. W. objects to rates + it don't 'protest,' m' son. The first you hear from Mr. Shelgrim is an + injunction from the courts preventing the order for new rates from taking + effect. By the Lord,” he cried angrily, leaping to his feet, “I would like + to know what all this means, too. Why didn't you reduce our grain rates? + What did we elect you for?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, what did we elect you for?” demanded Osterman and Gethings, also + getting to their feet. + </p> + <p> + “Order, order, gentlemen,” cried Magnus, remembering the duties of his + office and rapping his knuckles on the table. “This meeting has been + allowed to degenerate too far already.” + </p> + <p> + “You elected us,” declared Lyman doggedly, “to make an average ten per + cent. cut on grain rates. We have done it. Only because you don't benefit + at once, you object. It makes a difference whose ox is gored, it seems.” + </p> + <p> + “Lyman!” + </p> + <p> + It was Magnus who spoke. He had drawn himself to his full six feet. His + eyes were flashing direct into his son's. His voice rang with severity. + </p> + <p> + “Lyman, what does this mean?” + </p> + <p> + The other spread out his hands. + </p> + <p> + “As you see, sir. We have done our best. I warned you not to expect too + much. I told you that this question of transportation was difficult. You + would not wish to put rates so low that the action would amount to + confiscation of property.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not lower rates in the valley of the San Joaquin?” + </p> + <p> + “That was not a PROMINENT issue in the affair,” responded Lyman, carefully + emphasising his words. “I understand, of course, it was to be approached + IN TIME. The main point was AN AVERAGE TEN PER CENT. REDUCTION. Rates WILL + be lowered in the San Joaquin. The ranchers around Bonneville will be able + to ship to Port Costa at equitable rates, but so radical a measure as that + cannot be put through in a turn of the hand. We must study——” + </p> + <p> + “You KNEW the San Joaquin rate was an issue,” shouted Annixter, shaking + his finger across the table. “What do we men who backed you care about + rates up in Del Norte and Siskiyou Counties? Not a whoop in hell. It was + the San Joaquin rate we were fighting for, and we elected you to reduce + that. You didn't do it and you don't intend to, and, by the Lord Harry, I + want to know why.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll know, sir—” began Lyman. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tell you why,” vociferated Osterman. “I'll tell you why. It's + because we have been sold out. It's because the P. and S. W. have had + their spoon in this boiling. It's because our commissioners have betrayed + us. It's because we're a set of damn fool farmers and have been cinched + again.” + </p> + <p> + Lyman paled under his dark skin at the direct attack. He evidently had not + expected this so soon. For the fraction of one instant he lost his poise. + He strove to speak, but caught his breath, stammering. + </p> + <p> + “What have you to say, then?” cried Harran, who, until now, had not + spoken. + </p> + <p> + “I have this to say,” answered Lyman, making head as best he might, “that + this is no proper spirit in which to discuss business. The Commission has + fulfilled its obligations. It has adjusted rates to the best of its + ability. We have been at work for two months on the preparation of this + schedule——” + </p> + <p> + “That's a lie,” shouted Annixter, his face scarlet; “that's a lie. That + schedule was drawn in the offices of the Pacific and Southwestern and you + know it. It's a scheme of rates made for the Railroad and by the Railroad + and you were bought over to put your name to it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a concerted outburst at the words. All the men in the room were + on their feet, gesticulating and vociferating. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, gentlemen,” cried Magnus, “are we schoolboys, are we ruffians + of the street?” + </p> + <p> + “We're a set of fool farmers and we've been betrayed,” cried Osterman. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what have you to say? What have you to say?” persisted Harran, + leaning across the table toward his brother. “For God's sake, Lyman, + you've got SOME explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “You've misunderstood,” protested Lyman, white and trembling. “You've + misunderstood. You've expected too much. Next year,—next year,—soon + now, the Commission will take up the—the Commission will consider + the San Joaquin rate. We've done our best, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you, sir?” demanded Magnus. + </p> + <p> + The Governor's head was in a whirl; a sensation, almost of faintness, had + seized upon him. Was it possible? Was it possible? + </p> + <p> + “Have you done your best?” For a second he compelled Lyman's eye. The + glances of father and son met, and, in spite of his best efforts, Lyman's + eyes wavered. He began to protest once more, explaining the matter over + again from the beginning. But Magnus did not listen. In that brief lapse + of time he was convinced that the terrible thing had happened, that the + unbelievable had come to pass. It was in the air. Between father and son, + in some subtle fashion, the truth that was a lie stood suddenly revealed. + But even then Magnus would not receive it. Lyman do this! His son, his + eldest son, descend to this! Once more and for the last time he turned to + him and in his voice there was that ring that compelled silence. + </p> + <p> + “Lyman,” he said, “I adjure you—I—I demand of you as you are + my son and an honourable man, explain yourself. What is there behind all + this? It is no longer as Chairman of the Committee I speak to you, you a + member of the Railroad Commission. It is your father who speaks, and I + address you as my son. Do you understand the gravity of this crisis; do + you realise the responsibility of your position; do you not see the + importance of this moment? Explain yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to explain.” + </p> + <p> + “You have not reduced rates in the San Joaquin? You have not reduced rates + between Bonneville and tidewater?” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat, sir, what I said before. An average ten per cent. cut——” + </p> + <p> + “Lyman, answer me, yes or no. Have you reduced the Bonneville rate?” + </p> + <p> + “It could not be done so soon. Give us time. We——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes or no! By God, sir, do you dare equivocate with me? Yes or no; have + you reduced the Bonneville rate?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And answer ME,” shouted Harran, leaning far across the table, “answer ME. + Were you paid by the Railroad to leave the San Joaquin rate untouched?” + </p> + <p> + Lyman, whiter than ever, turned furious upon his brother. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you dare put that question to me again.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won't,” cried Harran, “because I'll TELL you to your villain's face + that you WERE paid to do it.” + </p> + <p> + On the instant the clamour burst forth afresh. Still on their feet, the + ranchers had, little by little, worked around the table, Magnus alone + keeping his place. The others were in a group before Lyman, crowding him, + as it were, to the wall, shouting into his face with menacing gestures. + The truth that was a lie, the certainty of a trust betrayed, a pledge + ruthlessly broken, was plain to every one of them. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord! men have been shot for less than this,” cried Osterman. + “You've sold us out, you, and if you ever bring that dago face of yours on + a level with mine again, I'll slap it.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep your hands off,” exclaimed Lyman quickly, the aggressiveness of the + cornered rat flaming up within him. “No violence. Don't you go too far.” + </p> + <p> + “How much were you paid? How much were you paid?” vociferated Harran. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, what was your price?” cried the others. They were beside + themselves with anger; their words came harsh from between their set + teeth; their gestures were made with their fists clenched. + </p> + <p> + “You know the Commission acted in good faith,” retorted Lyman. “You know + that all was fair and above board.” + </p> + <p> + “Liar,” shouted Annixter; “liar, bribe-eater. You were bought and paid + for,” and with the words his arm seemed almost of itself to leap out from + his shoulder. Lyman received the blow squarely in the face and the force + of it sent him staggering backwards toward the wall. He tripped over his + valise and fell half way, his back supported against the closed door of + the room. Magnus sprang forward. His son had been struck, and the + instincts of a father rose up in instant protest; rose for a moment, then + forever died away in his heart. He checked the words that flashed to his + mind. He lowered his upraised arm. No, he had but one son. The poor, + staggering creature with the fine clothes, white face, and blood-streaked + lips was no longer his. A blow could not dishonour him more than he had + dishonoured himself. + </p> + <p> + But Gethings, the older man, intervened, pulling Annixter back, crying: + </p> + <p> + “Stop, this won't do. Not before his father.” + </p> + <p> + “I am no father to this man, gentlemen,” exclaimed Magnus. “From now on, I + have but one son. You, sir,” he turned to Lyman, “you, sir, leave my + house.” + </p> + <p> + Lyman, his handkerchief to his lips, his smart cravat in disarray, caught + up his hat and coat. He was shaking with fury, his protruding eyes were + blood-shot. He swung open the door. + </p> + <p> + “Ruffians,” he shouted from the threshold, “ruffians, bullies. Do your own + dirty business yourselves after this. I'm done with you. How is it, all of + a sudden you talk about honour? How is it that all at once you're so clean + and straight? You weren't so particular at Sacramento just before the + nominations. How was the Board elected? I'm a bribe-eater, am I? Is it any + worse than GIVING a bribe? Ask Magnus Derrick what he thinks about that. + Ask him how much he paid the Democratic bosses at Sacramento to swing the + convention.” + </p> + <p> + He went out, slamming the door. + </p> + <p> + Presley followed. The whole affair made him sick at heart, filled him with + infinite disgust, infinite weariness. He wished to get away from it all. + He left the dining-room and the excited, clamouring men behind him and + stepped out on the porch of the ranch house, closing the door behind him. + Lyman was nowhere in sight. Presley was alone. It was late, and after the + lamp-heated air of the dining-room, the coolness of the night was + delicious, and its vast silence, after the noise and fury of the committee + meeting, descended from the stars like a benediction. Presley stepped to + the edge of the porch, looking off to southward. + </p> + <p> + And there before him, mile after mile, illimitable, covering the earth + from horizon to horizon, lay the Wheat. The growth, now many days old, was + already high from the ground. There it lay, a vast, silent ocean, + shimmering a pallid green under the moon and under the stars; a mighty + force, the strength of nations, the life of the world. There in the night, + under the dome of the sky, it was growing steadily. To Presley's mind, the + scene in the room he had just left dwindled to paltry insignificance + before this sight. Ah, yes, the Wheat—it was over this that the + Railroad, the ranchers, the traitor false to his trust, all the members of + an obscure conspiracy, were wrangling. As if human agency could affect + this colossal power! What were these heated, tiny squabbles, this + feverish, small bustle of mankind, this minute swarming of the human + insect, to the great, majestic, silent ocean of the Wheat itself! + Indifferent, gigantic, resistless, it moved in its appointed grooves. Men, + Liliputians, gnats in the sunshine, buzzed impudently in their tiny + battles, were born, lived through their little day, died, and were + forgotten; while the Wheat, wrapped in Nirvanic calm, grew steadily under + the night, alone with the stars and with God. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + Jack-rabbits were a pest that year and Presley occasionally found + amusement in hunting them with Harran's half-dozen greyhounds, following + the chase on horseback. One day, between two and three months after Lyman + s visit to Los Muertos, as he was returning toward the ranch house from a + distant and lonely quarter of Los Muertos, he came unexpectedly upon a + strange sight. + </p> + <p> + Some twenty men, Annixter's and Osterman's tenants, and small ranchers + from east of Guadalajara—all members of the League—were going + through the manual of arms under Harran Derrick's supervision. They were + all equipped with new Winchester rifles. Harran carried one of these + himself and with it he illustrated the various commands he gave. As soon + as one of the men under his supervision became more than usually + proficient, he was told off to instruct a file of the more backward. After + the manual of arms, Harran gave the command to take distance as + skirmishers, and when the line had opened out so that some half-dozen feet + intervened between each man, an advance was made across the field, the men + stooping low and snapping the hammers of their rifles at an imaginary + enemy. + </p> + <p> + The League had its agents in San Francisco, who watched the movements of + the Railroad as closely as was possible, and some time before this, + Annixter had received word that the Marshal and his deputies were coming + down to Bonneville to put the dummy buyers of his ranch in possession. The + report proved to be but the first of many false alarms, but it had + stimulated the League to unusual activity, and some three or four hundred + men were furnished with arms and from time to time were drilled in secret. + </p> + <p> + Among themselves, the ranchers said that if the Railroad managers did not + believe they were terribly in earnest in the stand they had taken, they + were making a fatal mistake. + </p> + <p> + Harran reasserted this statement to Presley on the way home to the ranch + house that same day. Harran had caught up with him by the time he reached + the Lower Road, and the two jogged homeward through the miles of standing + wheat. + </p> + <p> + “They may jump the ranch, Pres,” he said, “if they try hard enough, but + they will never do it while I am alive. By the way,” he added, “you know + we served notices yesterday upon S. Behrman and Cy. Ruggles to quit the + country. Of course, they won't do it, but they won't be able to say they + didn't have warning.” + </p> + <p> + About an hour later, the two reached the ranch house, but as Harran rode + up the driveway, he uttered an exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he said, “something is up. That's Genslinger's buckboard.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, the editor's team was tied underneath the shade of a giant + eucalyptus tree near by. Harran, uneasy under this unexpected visit of the + enemy's friend, dismounted without stabling his horse, and went at once to + the dining-room, where visitors were invariably received. But the + dining-room was empty, and his mother told him that Magnus and the editor + were in the “office.” Magnus had said they were not to be disturbed. + </p> + <p> + Earlier in the afternoon, the editor had driven up to the porch and had + asked Mrs. Derrick, whom he found reading a book of poems on the porch, if + he could see Magnus. At the time, the Governor had gone with Phelps to + inspect the condition of the young wheat on Hooven's holding, but within + half an hour he returned, and Genslinger had asked him for a “few moments' + talk in private.” + </p> + <p> + The two went into the “office,” Magnus locking the door behind him. “Very + complete you are here, Governor,” observed the editor in his alert, jerky + manner, his black, bead-like eyes twinkling around the room from behind + his glasses. “Telephone, safe, ticker, account-books—well, that's + progress, isn't it? Only way to manage a big ranch these days. But the day + of the big ranch is over. As the land appreciates in value, the temptation + to sell off small holdings will be too strong. And then the small holding + can be cultivated to better advantage. I shall have an editorial on that + some day.” + </p> + <p> + “The cost of maintaining a number of small holdings,” said Magnus, + indifferently, “is, of course, greater than if they were all under one + management.” + </p> + <p> + “That may be, that may be,” rejoined the other. + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. Genslinger leaned back in his chair and rubbed a + knee. Magnus, standing erect in front of the safe, waited for him to + speak. + </p> + <p> + “This is an unfortunate business, Governor,” began the editor, “this + misunderstanding between the ranchers and the Railroad. I wish it could be + adjusted. HERE are two industries that MUST be in harmony with one + another, or we all go to pot.” + </p> + <p> + “I should prefer not to be interviewed on the subject, Mr. Genslinger,” + said Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, oh, no. Lord love you, Governor, I don't want to interview you. + We all know how you stand.” + </p> + <p> + Again there was a long silence. Magnus wondered what this little man, + usually so garrulous, could want of him. At length, Genslinger began + again. He did not look at Magnus, except at long intervals. + </p> + <p> + “About the present Railroad Commission,” he remarked. “That was an + interesting campaign you conducted in Sacramento and San Francisco.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus held his peace, his hands shut tight. Did Genslinger know of + Lyman's disgrace? Was it for this he had come? Would the story of it be + the leading article in to-morrow's Mercury? + </p> + <p> + “An interesting campaign,” repeated Genslinger, slowly; “a very + interesting campaign. I watched it with every degree of interest. I saw + its every phase, Mr. Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + “The campaign was not without its interest,” admitted Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Genslinger, still more deliberately, “and some phases of it + were—more interesting than others, as, for instance, let us say the + way in which you—personally—secured the votes of certain + chairmen of delegations—NEED I particularise further? Yes, those men—the + way you got their votes. Now, THAT I should say, Mr. Derrick, was the most + interesting move in the whole game—to you. Hm, curious,” he + murmured, musingly. “Let's see. You deposited two one-thousand dollar + bills and four five-hundred dollar bills in a box—three hundred and + eight was the number—in a box in the Safety Deposit Vaults in San + Francisco, and then—let's see, you gave a key to this box to each of + the gentlemen in question, and after the election the box was empty. Now, + I call that interesting—curious, because it's a new, safe, and + highly ingenious method of bribery. How did you happen to think of it, + Governor?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what you are doing, sir?” Magnus burst forth. “Do you know + what you are insinuating, here, in my own house?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Governor,” returned the editor, blandly, “I'm not INSINUATING + anything. I'm talking about what I KNOW.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a lie.” + </p> + <p> + Genslinger rubbed his chin reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he answered, “you can have a chance to prove it before the Grand + Jury, if you want to.” + </p> + <p> + “My character is known all over the State,” blustered Magnus. “My politics + are pure politics. My——” + </p> + <p> + “No one needs a better reputation for pure politics than the man who sets + out to be a briber,” interrupted Genslinger, “and I might as well tell + you, Governor, that you can't shout me down. I can put my hand on the two + chairmen you bought before it's dark to-day. I've had their depositions in + my safe for the last six weeks. We could make the arrests to-morrow, if we + wanted. Governor, you sure did a risky thing when you went into that + Sacramento fight, an awful risky thing. Some men can afford to have + bribery charges preferred against them, and it don't hurt one little bit, + but YOU—Lord, it would BUST you, Governor, bust you dead. I know all + about the whole shananigan business from A to Z, and if you don't believe + it—here,” he drew a long strip of paper from his pocket, “here's a + galley proof of the story.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus took it in his hands. There, under his eyes, scare-headed, + double-leaded, the more important clauses printed in bold type, was the + detailed account of the “deal” Magnus had made with the two delegates. It + was pitiless, remorseless, bald. Every statement was substantiated, every + statistic verified with Genslinger's meticulous love for exactness. + Besides all that, it had the ring of truth. It was exposure, ruin, + absolute annihilation. + </p> + <p> + “That's about correct, isn't it?” commented Genslinger, as Derrick + finished reading. Magnus did not reply. “I think it is correct enough,” + the editor continued. “But I thought it would only be fair to you to let + you see it before it was published.” + </p> + <p> + The one thought uppermost in Derrick's mind, his one impulse of the moment + was, at whatever cost, to preserve his dignity, not to allow this man to + exult in the sight of one quiver of weakness, one trace of defeat, one + suggestion of humiliation. By an effort that put all his iron rigidity to + the test, he forced himself to look straight into Genslinger's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you,” he observed, handing back the proof, “upon your + journalistic enterprise. Your paper will sell to-morrow.” “Oh, I don't + know as I want to publish this story,” remarked the editor, indifferently, + putting away the galley. “I'm just like that. The fun for me is running a + good story to earth, but once I've got it, I lose interest. And, then, I + wouldn't like to see you—holding the position you do, President of + the League and a leading man of the county—I wouldn't like to see a + story like this smash you over. It's worth more to you to keep it out of + print than for me to put it in. I've got nothing much to gain but a few + extra editions, but you—Lord, you would lose everything. Your + committee was in the deal right enough. But your League, all the San + Joaquin Valley, everybody in the State believes the commissioners were + fairly elected.” + </p> + <p> + “Your story,” suddenly exclaimed Magnus, struck with an idea, “will be + thoroughly discredited just so soon as the new grain tariff is published. + I have means of knowing that the San Joaquin rate—the issue upon + which the board was elected—is not to be touched. Is it likely the + ranchers would secure the election of a board that plays them false?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we know all about that,” answered Genslinger, smiling. “You thought + you were electing Lyman easily. You thought you had got the Railroad to + walk right into your trap. You didn't understand how you could pull off + your deal so easily. Why, Governor, LYMAN WAS PLEDGED TO THE RAILROAD TWO + YEARS AGO. He was THE ONE PARTICULAR man the corporation wanted for + commissioner. And your people elected him—saved the Railroad all the + trouble of campaigning for him. And you can't make any counter charge of + bribery there. No, sir, the corporation don't use such amateurish methods + as that. Confidentially and between us two, all that the Railroad has done + for Lyman, in order to attach him to their interests, is to promise to + back him politically in the next campaign for Governor. It's too bad,” he + continued, dropping his voice, and changing his position. “It really is + too bad to see good men trying to bunt a stone wall over with their bare + heads. You couldn't have won at any stage of the game. I wish I could have + talked to you and your friends before you went into that Sacramento fight. + I could have told you then how little chance you had. When will you people + realise that you can't buck against the Railroad? Why, Magnus, it's like + me going out in a paper boat and shooting peas at a battleship.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all you wished to see me about, Mr. Genslinger?” remarked Magnus, + bestirring himself. “I am rather occupied to-day.” “Well,” returned the + other, “you know what the publication of this article would mean for you.” + He paused again, took off his glasses, breathed on them, polished the + lenses with his handkerchief and readjusted them on his nose. “I've been + thinking, Governor,” he began again, with renewed alertness, and quite + irrelevantly, “of enlarging the scope of the 'Mercury.' You see, I'm + midway between the two big centres of the State, San Francisco and Los + Angeles, and I want to extend the 'Mercury's' sphere of influence as far + up and down the valley as I can. I want to illustrate the paper. You see, + if I had a photo-engraving plant of my own, I could do a good deal of + outside jobbing as well, and the investment would pay ten per cent. But it + takes money to make money. I wouldn't want to put in any dinky, one-horse + affair. I want a good plant. I've been figuring out the business. Besides + the plant, there would be the expense of a high grade paper. Can't print + half-tones on anything but coated paper, and that COSTS. Well, what with + this and with that and running expenses till the thing began to pay, it + would cost me about ten thousand dollars, and I was wondering if, perhaps, + you couldn't see your way clear to accommodating me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ten thousand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Say five thousand down, and the balance within sixty days.” + </p> + <p> + Magnus, for the moment blind to what Genslinger had in mind, turned on him + in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Why, man, what security could you give me for such an amount?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to tell the truth,” answered the editor, “I hadn't thought much + about securities. In fact, I believed you would see how greatly it was to + your advantage to talk business with me. You see, I'm not going to print + this article about you, Governor, and I'm not going to let it get out so + as any one else can print it, and it seems to me that one good turn + deserves another. You understand?” + </p> + <p> + Magnus understood. An overwhelming desire suddenly took possession of him + to grip this blackmailer by the throat, to strangle him where he stood; + or, if not, at least to turn upon him with that old-time terrible anger, + before which whole conventions had once cowered. But in the same moment + the Governor realised this was not to be. Only its righteousness had made + his wrath terrible; only the justice of his anger had made him feared. Now + the foundation was gone from under his feet; he had knocked it away + himself. Three times feeble was he whose quarrel was unjust. Before this + country editor, this paid speaker of the Railroad, he stood, convicted. + The man had him at his mercy. The detected briber could not resent an + insult. Genslinger rose, smoothing his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “of course, you want time to think it over, and you can't + raise money like that on short notice. I'll wait till Friday noon of this + week. We begin to set Saturday's paper at about four, Friday afternoon, + and the forms are locked about two in the morning. I hope,” he added, + turning back at the door of the room, “that you won't find anything + disagreeable in your Saturday morning 'Mercury,' Mr. Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + He went out, closing the door behind him, and in a moment, Magnus heard + the wheels of his buckboard grating on the driveway. + </p> + <p> + The following morning brought a letter to Magnus from Gethings, of the San + Pueblo ranch, which was situated very close to Visalia. The letter was to + the effect that all around Visalia, upon the ranches affected by the + regrade of the Railroad, men were arming and drilling, and that the + strength of the League in that quarter was undoubted. “But to refer,” + continued the letter, “to a most painful recollection. You will, no doubt, + remember that, at the close of our last committee meeting, specific + charges were made as to fraud in the nomination and election of one of our + commissioners, emanating, most unfortunately, from the commissioner + himself. These charges, my dear Mr. Derrick, were directed at yourself. + How the secrets of the committee have been noised about, I cannot + understand. You may be, of course, assured of my own unquestioning + confidence and loyalty. However, I regret exceedingly to state not only + that the rumour of the charges referred to above is spreading in this + district, but that also they are made use of by the enemies of the League. + It is to be deplored that some of the Leaguers themselves—you know, + we number in our ranks many small farmers, ignorant Portuguese and + foreigners—have listened to these stories and have permitted a + feeling of uneasiness to develop among them. Even though it were admitted + that fraudulent means had been employed in the elections, which, of + course, I personally do not admit, I do not think it would make very much + difference in the confidence which the vast majority of the Leaguers + repose in their chiefs. Yet we have so insisted upon the probity of our + position as opposed to Railroad chicanery, that I believe it advisable to + quell this distant suspicion at once; to publish a denial of these + rumoured charges would only be to give them too much importance. However, + can you not write me a letter, stating exactly how the campaign was + conducted, and the commission nominated and elected? I could show this to + some of the more disaffected, and it would serve to allay all suspicion on + the instant. I think it would be well to write as though the initiative + came, not from me, but from yourself, ignoring this present letter. I + offer this only as a suggestion, and will confidently endorse any decision + you may arrive at.” + </p> + <p> + The letter closed with renewed protestations of confidence. + </p> + <p> + Magnus was alone when he read this. He put it carefully away in the filing + cabinet in his office, and wiped the sweat from his forehead and face. He + stood for one moment, his hands rigid at his sides, his fists clinched. + </p> + <p> + “This is piling up,” he muttered, looking blankly at the opposite wall. + “My God, this is piling up. What am I to do?” + </p> + <p> + Ah, the bitterness of unavailing regret, the anguish of compromise with + conscience, the remorse of a bad deed done in a moment of excitement. Ah, + the humiliation of detection, the degradation of being caught, caught like + a schoolboy pilfering his fellows' desks, and, worse than all, worse than + all, the consciousness of lost self-respect, the knowledge of a prestige + vanishing, a dignity impaired, knowledge that the grip which held a + multitude in check was trembling, that control was wavering, that command + was being weakened. Then the little tricks to deceive the crowd, the + little subterfuges, the little pretences that kept up appearances, the + lies, the bluster, the pose, the strut, the gasconade, where once was iron + authority; the turning of the head so as not to see that which could not + be prevented; the suspicion of suspicion, the haunting fear of the Man on + the Street, the uneasiness of the direct glance, the questioning as to + motives—why had this been said, what was meant by that word, that + gesture, that glance? + </p> + <p> + Wednesday passed, and Thursday. Magnus kept to himself, seeing no + visitors, avoiding even his family. How to break through the mesh of the + net, how to regain the old position, how to prevent discovery? If there + were only some way, some vast, superhuman effort by which he could rise in + his old strength once more, crushing Lyman with one hand, Genslinger with + the other, and for one more moment, the last, to stand supreme again, + indomitable, the leader; then go to his death, triumphant at the end, his + memory untarnished, his fame undimmed. But the plague-spot was in himself, + knitted forever into the fabric of his being. Though Genslinger should be + silenced, though Lyman should be crushed, though even the League should + overcome the Railroad, though he should be the acknowledged leader of a + resplendent victory, yet the plague-spot would remain. There was no + success for him now. However conspicuous the outward achievement, he, he + himself, Magnus Derrick, had failed, miserably and irredeemably. + </p> + <p> + Petty, material complications intruded, sordid considerations. Even if + Genslinger was to be paid, where was the money to come from? His legal + battles with the Railroad, extending now over a period of many years, had + cost him dear; his plan of sowing all of Los Muertos to wheat, discharging + the tenants, had proved expensive, the campaign resulting in Lyman's + election had drawn heavily upon his account. All along he had been relying + upon a “bonanza crop” to reimburse him. It was not believable that the + Railroad would “jump” Los Muertos, but if this should happen, he would be + left without resources. Ten thousand dollars! Could he raise the amount? + Possibly. But to pay it out to a blackmailer! To be held up thus in + road-agent fashion, without a single means of redress! Would it not + cripple him financially? Genslinger could do his worst. He, Magnus, would + brave it out. Was not his character above suspicion? + </p> + <p> + Was it? This letter of Gethings's. Already the murmur of uneasiness made + itself heard. Was this not the thin edge of the wedge? How the publication + of Genslinger's story would drive it home! How the spark of suspicion + would flare into the blaze of open accusation! There would be + investigations. Investigation! There was terror in the word. He could not + stand investigation. Magnus groaned aloud, covering his head with his + clasped hands. Briber, corrupter of government, ballot-box stuffer, + descending to the level of back-room politicians, of bar-room heelers, he, + Magnus Derrick, statesman of the old school, Roman in his iron integrity, + abandoning a career rather than enter the “new politics,” had, in one + moment of weakness, hazarding all, even honour, on a single stake, taking + great chances to achieve great results, swept away the work of a lifetime. + </p> + <p> + Gambler that he was, he had at last chanced his highest stake, his + personal honour, in the greatest game of his life, and had lost. + </p> + <p> + It was Presley's morbidly keen observation that first noticed the evidence + of a new trouble in the Governor's face and manner. Presley was sure that + Lyman's defection had not so upset him. The morning after the committee + meeting, Magnus had called Harran and Annie Derrick into the office, and, + after telling his wife of Lyman's betrayal, had forbidden either of them + to mention his name again. His attitude towards his prodigal son was that + of stern, unrelenting resentment. But now, Presley could not fail to + detect traces of a more deep-seated travail. Something was in the wind, + the times were troublous. What next was about to happen? What fresh + calamity impended? + </p> + <p> + One morning, toward the very end of the week, Presley woke early in his + small, white-painted iron bed. He hastened to get up and dress. There was + much to be done that day. Until late the night before, he had been at work + on a collection of some of his verses, gathered from the magazines in + which they had first appeared. Presley had received a liberal offer for + the publication of these verses in book form. “The Toilers” was to be + included in this book, and, indeed, was to give it its name—“The + Toilers and Other Poems.” Thus it was that, until the previous midnight, + he had been preparing the collection for publication, revising, + annotating, arranging. The book was to be sent off that morning. + </p> + <p> + But also Presley had received a typewritten note from Annixter, inviting + him to Quien Sabe that same day. Annixter explained that it was Hilma's + birthday, and that he had planned a picnic on the high ground of his + ranch, at the headwaters of Broderson Creek. They were to go in the + carry-all, Hilma, Presley, Mrs. Dyke, Sidney, and himself, and were to + make a day of it. They would leave Quien Sabe at ten in the morning. + Presley had at once resolved to go. He was immensely fond of Annixter—more + so than ever since his marriage with Hilma and the astonishing + transformation of his character. Hilma, as well, was delightful as Mrs. + Annixter; and Mrs. Dyke and the little tad had always been his friends. He + would have a good time. + </p> + <p> + But nobody was to go into Bonneville that morning with the mail, and if he + wished to send his manuscript, he would have to take it in himself. He had + resolved to do this, getting an early start, and going on horseback to + Quien Sabe, by way of Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + It was barely six o'clock when Presley sat down to his coffee and eggs in + the dining-room of Los Muertos. The day promised to be hot, and for the + first time, Presley had put on a new khaki riding suit, very + English-looking, though in place of the regulation top-boots, he wore his + laced knee-boots, with a great spur on the left heel. Harran joined him at + breakfast, in his working clothes of blue canvas. He was bound for the + irrigating ditch to see how the work was getting on there. + </p> + <p> + “How is the wheat looking?” asked Presley. + </p> + <p> + “Bully,” answered the other, stirring his coffee. “The Governor has had + his usual luck. Practically, every acre of the ranch was sown to wheat, + and everywhere the stand is good. I was over on Two, day before yesterday, + and if nothing happens, I believe it will go thirty sacks to the acre + there. Cutter reports that there are spots on Four where we will get + forty-two or three. Hooven, too, brought up some wonderful fine ears for + me to look at. The grains were just beginning to show. Some of the ears + carried twenty grains. That means nearly forty bushels of wheat to every + acre. I call it a bonanza year.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got any mail?” said Presley, rising. “I'm going into town.” + </p> + <p> + Harran shook his head, and took himself away, and Presley went down to the + stable-corral to get his pony. + </p> + <p> + As he rode out of the stable-yard and passed by the ranch house, on the + driveway, he was surprised to see Magnus on the lowest step of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Governor,” called Presley. “Aren't you up pretty early?” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Pres, my boy.” The Governor came forward and, putting his + hand on the pony's withers, walked along by his side. + </p> + <p> + “Going to town, Pres?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Can I do anything for you, Governor?” + </p> + <p> + Magnus drew a sealed envelope from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would drop in at the office of the Mercury for me,” he said, + “and see Mr. Genslinger personally, and give him this envelope. It is a + package of papers, but they involve a considerable sum of money, and you + must be careful of them. A few years ago, when our enmity was not so + strong, Mr. Genslinger and I had some business dealings with each other. I + thought it as well just now, considering that we are so openly opposed, to + terminate the whole affair, and break off relations. We came to a + settlement a few days ago. These are the final papers. They must be given + to him in person, Presley. You understand.” + </p> + <p> + Presley cantered on, turning into the county road and holding northward by + the mammoth watering tank and Broderson's popular windbreak. As he passed + Caraher's, he saw the saloon-keeper in the doorway of his place, and waved + him a salutation which the other returned. + </p> + <p> + By degrees, Presley had come to consider Caraher in a more favourable + light. He found, to his immense astonishment, that Caraher knew something + of Mill and Bakounin, not, however, from their books, but from extracts + and quotations from their writings, reprinted in the anarchistic journals + to which he subscribed. More than once, the two had held long + conversations, and from Caraher's own lips, Presley heard the terrible + story of the death of his wife, who had been accidentally killed by + Pinkertons during a “demonstration” of strikers. It invested the + saloon-keeper, in Presley's imagination, with all the dignity of the + tragedy. He could not blame Caraher for being a “red.” He even wondered + how it was the saloon-keeper had not put his theories into practice, and + adjusted his ancient wrong with his “six inches of plugged gas-pipe.” + Presley began to conceive of the man as a “character.” + </p> + <p> + “You wait, Mr. Presley,” the saloon-keeper had once said, when Presley had + protested against his radical ideas. “You don't know the Railroad yet. + Watch it and its doings long enough, and you'll come over to my way of + thinking, too.” + </p> + <p> + It was about half-past seven when Presley reached Bonneville. The business + part of the town was as yet hardly astir; he despatched his manuscript, + and then hurried to the office of the “Mercury.” Genslinger, as he feared, + had not yet put in appearance, but the janitor of the building gave + Presley the address of the editor's residence, and it was there he found + him in the act of sitting down to breakfast. Presley was hardly courteous + to the little man, and abruptly refused his offer of a drink. He delivered + Magnus's envelope to him and departed. + </p> + <p> + It had occurred to him that it would not do to present himself at Quien + Sabe on Hilma's birthday, empty-handed, and, on leaving Genslinger's + house, he turned his pony's head toward the business part of the town + again pulling up in front of the jeweller's, just as the clerk was taking + down the shutters. + </p> + <p> + At the jeweller's, he purchased a little brooch for Hilma and at the cigar + stand in the lobby of the Yosemite House, a box of superfine cigars, + which, when it was too late, he realised that the master of Quien Sabe + would never smoke, holding, as he did, with defiant inconsistency, to + miserable weeds, black, bitter, and flagrantly doctored, which he bought, + three for a nickel, at Guadalajara. + </p> + <p> + Presley arrived at Quien Sabe nearly half an hour behind the appointed + time; but, as he had expected, the party were in no way ready to start. + The carry-all, its horses covered with white fly-nets, stood under a tree + near the house, young Vacca dozing on the seat. Hilma and Sidney, the + latter exuberant with a gayety that all but brought the tears to Presley's + eyes, were making sandwiches on the back porch. Mrs. Dyke was nowhere to + be seen, and Annixter was shaving himself in his bedroom. + </p> + <p> + This latter put a half-lathered face out of the window as Presley cantered + through the gate, and waved his razor with a beckoning motion. + </p> + <p> + “Come on in, Pres,” he cried. “Nobody's ready yet. You're hours ahead of + time.” + </p> + <p> + Presley came into the bedroom, his huge spur clinking on the straw + matting. Annixter was without coat, vest or collar, his blue silk + suspenders hung in loops over either hip, his hair was disordered, the + crown lock stiffer than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you, old boy,” he announced, as Presley came in. “No, don't + shake hands, I'm all lather. Here, find a chair, will you? I won't be + long.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said ten o'clock,” observed Presley, sitting down on the + edge of the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did, but——” + </p> + <p> + “But, then again, in a way, you didn't, hey?” his friend interrupted. + </p> + <p> + Annixter grunted good-humouredly, and turned to strop his razor. Presley + looked with suspicious disfavour at his suspenders. + </p> + <p> + “Why is it,” he observed, “that as soon as a man is about to get married, + he buys himself pale blue suspenders, silk ones? Think of it. You, Buck + Annixter, with sky-blue, silk suspenders. It ought to be a strap and a + nail.” + </p> + <p> + “Old fool,” observed Annixter, whose repartee was the heaving of brick + bats. “Say,” he continued, holding the razor from his face, and jerking + his head over his shoulder, while he looked at Presley's reflection in his + mirror; “say, look around. Isn't this a nifty little room? We refitted the + whole house, you know. Notice she's all painted?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been looking around,” answered Presley, sweeping the room with a + series of glances. He forebore criticism. Annixter was so boyishly proud + of the effect that it would have been unkind to have undeceived him. + Presley looked at the marvellous, department-store bed of brass, with its + brave, gay canopy; the mill-made wash-stand, with its pitcher and bowl of + blinding red and green china, the straw-framed lithographs of symbolic + female figures against the multi-coloured, new wall-paper; the inadequate + spindle chairs of white and gold; the sphere of tissue paper hanging from + the gas fixture, and the plumes of pampas grass tacked to the wall at + artistic angles, and overhanging two astonishing oil paintings, in + dazzling golden frames. + </p> + <p> + “Say, how about those paintings, Pres?” inquired Annixter a little + uneasily. “I don't know whether they're good or not. They were painted by + a three-fingered Chinaman in Monterey, and I got the lot for thirty + dollars, frames thrown in. Why, I think the frames alone are worth thirty + dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so do I,” declared Presley. He hastened to change the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Buck,” he said, “I hear you've brought Mrs. Dyke and Sidney to live with + you. You know, I think that's rather white of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rot, Pres,” muttered Annixter, turning abruptly to his shaving. + </p> + <p> + “And you can't fool me, either, old man,” Presley continued. “You're + giving this picnic as much for Mrs. Dyke and the little tad as you are for + your wife, just to cheer them up a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pshaw, you make me sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's the right thing to do, Buck, and I'm as glad for your sake + as I am for theirs. There was a time when you would have let them all go + to grass, and never so much as thought of them. I don't want to seem to be + officious, but you've changed for the better, old man, and I guess I know + why. She—” Presley caught his friend's eye, and added gravely, + “She's a good woman, Buck.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter turned around abruptly, his face flushing under its lather. + </p> + <p> + “Pres,” he exclaimed, “she's made a man of me. I was a machine before, and + if another man, or woman, or child got in my way, I rode 'em down, and I + never DREAMED of anybody else but myself. But as soon as I woke up to the + fact that I really loved her, why, it was glory hallelujah all in a + minute, and, in a way, I kind of loved everybody then, and wanted to be + everybody's friend. And I began to see that a fellow can't live FOR + himself any more than he can live BY himself. He's got to think of others. + If he's got brains, he's got to think for the poor ducks that haven't 'em, + and not give 'em a boot in the backsides because they happen to be stupid; + and if he's got money, he's got to help those that are busted, and if he's + got a house, he's got to think of those that ain't got anywhere to go. + I've got a whole lot of ideas since I began to love Hilma, and just as + soon as I can, I'm going to get in and HELP people, and I'm going to keep + to that idea the rest of my natural life. That ain't much of a religion, + but it's the best I've got, and Henry Ward Beecher couldn't do any more + than that. And it's all come about because of Hilma, and because we cared + for each other.” + </p> + <p> + Presley jumped up, and caught Annixter about the shoulders with one arm, + gripping his hand hard. This absurd figure, with dangling silk suspenders, + lathered chin, and tearful eyes, seemed to be suddenly invested with true + nobility. Beside this blundering struggle to do right, to help his + fellows, Presley's own vague schemes, glittering systems of + reconstruction, collapsed to ruin, and he himself, with all his + refinement, with all his poetry, culture, and education, stood, a bungler + at the world's workbench. + </p> + <p> + “You're all RIGHT, old man,” he exclaimed, unable to think of anything + adequate. “You're all right. That's the way to talk, and here, by the way, + I brought you a box of cigars.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter stared as Presley laid the box on the edge of the washstand. + </p> + <p> + “Old fool,” he remarked, “what in hell did you do that for?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just for fun.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they're rotten stinkodoras, or you wouldn't give 'em away.” + </p> + <p> + “This cringing gratitude—” Presley began. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up,” shouted Annixter, and the incident was closed. + </p> + <p> + Annixter resumed his shaving, and Presley lit a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Any news from Washington?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that's any good,” grunted Annixter. “Hello,” he added, raising + his head, “there's somebody in a hurry for sure.” + </p> + <p> + The noise of a horse galloping so fast that the hoof-beats sounded in one + uninterrupted rattle, abruptly made itself heard. The noise was coming + from the direction of the road that led from the Mission to Quien Sabe. + With incredible swiftness, the hoof-beats drew nearer. There was that in + their sound which brought Presley to his feet. Annixter threw open the + window. + </p> + <p> + “Runaway,” exclaimed Presley. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, with thoughts of the Railroad, and the “Jumping” of the ranch, + flung his hand to his hip pocket. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Vacca?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Young Vacca, turning in his seat in the carryall, was looking up the road. + All at once, he jumped from his place, and dashed towards the window. + “Dyke,” he shouted. “Dyke, it's Dyke.” + </p> + <p> + While the words were yet in his mouth, the sound of the hoof-beats rose to + a roar, and a great, bell-toned voice shouted: + </p> + <p> + “Annixter, Annixter, Annixter!” + </p> + <p> + It was Dyke's voice, and the next instant he shot into view in the open + square in front of the house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God!” cried Presley. + </p> + <p> + The ex-engineer threw the horse on its haunches, springing from the + saddle; and, as he did so, the beast collapsed, shuddering, to the ground. + Annixter sprang from the window, and ran forward, Presley following. + </p> + <p> + There was Dyke, hatless, his pistol in his hand, a gaunt terrible figure + the beard immeasurably long, the cheeks fallen in, the eyes sunken. His + clothes ripped and torn by weeks of flight and hiding in the chaparral, + were ragged beyond words, the boots were shreds of leather, bloody to the + ankle with furious spurring. + </p> + <p> + “Annixter,” he shouted, and again, rolling his sunken eyes, “Annixter, + Annixter!” + </p> + <p> + “Here, here,” cried Annixter. + </p> + <p> + The other turned, levelling his pistol. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a horse, give me a horse, quick, do you hear? Give me a horse, or + I'll shoot.” + </p> + <p> + “Steady, steady. That won't do. You know me, Dyke. We're friends here.” + </p> + <p> + The other lowered his weapon. + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know,” he panted. “I'd forgotten. I'm unstrung, Mr. Annixter, + and I'm running for my life. They're not ten minutes behind me.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, come on,” shouted Annixter, dashing stablewards, his suspenders + flying. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a horse.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine?” exclaimed Presley. “He wouldn't carry you a mile.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter was already far ahead, trumpeting orders. + </p> + <p> + “The buckskin,” he yelled. “Get her out, Billy. Where's the stable-man? + Get out that buckskin. Get out that saddle.” + </p> + <p> + Then followed minutes of furious haste, Presley, Annixter, Billy the + stable-man, and Dyke himself, darting hither and thither about the yellow + mare, buckling, strapping, cinching, their lips pale, their fingers + trembling with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Want anything to eat?” Annixter's head was under the saddle flap as he + tore at the cinch. “Want anything to eat? Want any money? Want a gun?” + </p> + <p> + “Water,” returned Dyke. “They've watched every spring. I'm killed with + thirst.” + </p> + <p> + “There's the hydrant. Quick now.” + </p> + <p> + “I got as far as the Kern River, but they turned me back,” he said between + breaths as he drank. + </p> + <p> + “Don't stop to talk.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother, and the little tad——” + </p> + <p> + “I'm taking care of them. They're stopping with me.” + </p> + <p> + Here? + </p> + <p> + “You won't see 'em; by the Lord, you won't. You'll get away. Where's that + back cinch strap, BILLY? God damn it, are you going to let him be shot + before he can get away? Now, Dyke, up you go. She'll kill herself running + before they can catch you.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Annixter. Where's the little tad? Is she well, Annixter, + and the mother? Tell them——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, yes. All clear, Pres? Let her have her own gait, Dyke. You're + on the best horse in the county now. Let go her head, Billy. Now, Dyke,—shake + hands? You bet I will. That's all right. Yes, God bless you. Let her go. + You're OFF.” + </p> + <p> + Answering the goad of the spur, and already quivering with the excitement + of the men who surrounded her, the buckskin cleared the stable-corral in + two leaps; then, gathering her legs under her, her head low, her neck + stretched out, swung into the road from out the driveway disappearing in a + blur of dust. + </p> + <p> + With the agility of a monkey, young Vacca swung himself into the framework + of the artesian well, clambering aloft to its very top. He swept the + country with a glance. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” demanded Annixter from the ground. The others cocked their heads + to listen. + </p> + <p> + “I see him; I see him!” shouted Vacca. “He's going like the devil. He's + headed for Guadalajara.” + </p> + <p> + “Look back, up the road, toward the Mission. Anything there?” + </p> + <p> + The answer came down in a shout of apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “There's a party of men. Three or four—on horse-back. There's dogs + with 'em. They're coming this way. Oh, I can hear the dogs. And, say, oh, + say, there's another party coming down the Lower Road, going towards + Guadalajara, too. They got guns. I can see the shine of the barrels. And, + oh, Lord, say, there's three more men on horses coming down on the jump + from the hills on the Los Muertos stock range. They're making towards + Guadalajara. And I can hear the courthouse bell in Bonneville ringing. + Say, the whole county is up.” + </p> + <p> + As young Vacca slid down to the ground, two small black-and-tan hounds, + with flapping ears and lolling tongues, loped into view on the road in + front of the house. They were grey with dust, their noses were to the + ground. At the gate where Dyke had turned into the ranch house grounds, + they halted in confusion a moment. One started to follow the highwayman's + trail towards the stable corral, but the other, quartering over the road + with lightning swiftness, suddenly picked up the new scent leading on + towards Guadalajara. He tossed his head in the air, and Presley abruptly + shut his hands over his ears. + </p> + <p> + Ah, that terrible cry! deep-toned, reverberating like the bourdon of a + great bell. It was the trackers exulting on the trail of the pursued, the + prolonged, raucous howl, eager, ominous, vibrating with the alarm of the + tocsin, sullen with the heavy muffling note of death. But close upon the + bay of the hounds, came the gallop of horses. Five men, their eyes upon + the hounds, their rifles across their pommels, their horses reeking and + black with sweat, swept by in a storm of dust, glinting hoofs, and + streaming manes. + </p> + <p> + “That was Delaney's gang,” exclaimed Annixter. “I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “The other was that chap Christian,” said Vacca, “S. Behrman's cousin. He + had two deputies with him; and the chap in the white slouch hat was the + sheriff from Visalia.” + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord, they aren't far behind,” declared Annixter. + </p> + <p> + As the men turned towards the house again they saw Hilma and Mrs. Dyke in + the doorway of the little house where the latter lived. They were looking + out, bewildered, ignorant of what had happened. But on the porch of the + Ranch house itself, alone, forgotten in the excitement, Sidney—the + little tad—stood, with pale face and serious, wide-open eyes. She + had seen everything, and had understood. She said nothing. Her head + inclined towards the roadway, she listened to the faint and distant baying + of the dogs. + </p> + <p> + Dyke thundered across the railway tracks by the depot at Guadalajara not + five minutes ahead of his pursuers. Luck seemed to have deserted him. The + station, usually so quiet, was now occupied by the crew of a freight train + that lay on the down track; while on the up line, near at hand and headed + in the same direction, was a detached locomotive, whose engineer and + fireman recognized him, he was sure, as the buckskin leaped across the + rails. + </p> + <p> + He had had no time to formulate a plan since that morning, when, tortured + with thirst, he had ventured near the spring at the headwaters of + Broderson Creek, on Quien Sabe, and had all but fallen into the hands of + the posse that had been watching for that very move. It was useless now to + regret that he had tried to foil pursuit by turning back on his tracks to + regain the mountains east of Bonneville. Now Delaney was almost on him. To + distance that posse, was the only thing to be thought of now. It was no + longer a question of hiding till pursuit should flag; they had driven him + out from the shelter of the mountains, down into this populous + countryside, where an enemy might be met with at every turn of the road. + Now it was life or death. He would either escape or be killed. He knew + very well that he would never allow himself to be taken alive. But he had + no mind to be killed—to turn and fight—till escape was + blocked. His one thought was to leave pursuit behind. + </p> + <p> + Weeks of flight had sharpened Dyke's every sense. As he turned into the + Upper Road beyond Guadalajara, he saw the three men galloping down from + Derrick's stock range, making for the road ahead of him. They would cut + him off there. He swung the buckskin about. He must take the Lower Road + across Los Muertos from Guadalajara, and he must reach it before Delaney's + dogs and posse. Back he galloped, the buckskin measuring her length with + every leap. Once more the station came in sight. Rising in his stirrups, + he looked across the fields in the direction of the Lower Road. There was + a cloud of dust there. From a wagon? No, horses on the run, and their + riders were armed! He could catch the flash of gun barrels. They were all + closing in on him, converging on Guadalajara by every available road. The + Upper Road west of Guadalajara led straight to Bonneville. That way was + impossible. Was he in a trap? Had the time for fighting come at last? + </p> + <p> + But as Dyke neared the depot at Guadalajara, his eye fell upon the + detached locomotive that lay quietly steaming on the up line, and with a + thrill of exultation, he remembered that he was an engineer born and bred. + Delaney's dogs were already to be heard, and the roll of hoofs on the + Lower Road was dinning in his ears, as he leaped from the buckskin before + the depot. The train crew scattered like frightened sheep before him, but + Dyke ignored them. His pistol was in his hand as, once more on foot, he + sprang toward the lone engine. + </p> + <p> + “Out of the cab,” he shouted. “Both of you. Quick, or I'll kill you both.” + </p> + <p> + The two men tumbled from the iron apron of the tender as Dyke swung + himself up, dropping his pistol on the floor of the cab and reaching with + the old instinct for the familiar levers. The great compound hissed and + trembled as the steam was released, and the huge drivers stirred, turning + slowly on the tracks. But there was a shout. Delaney's posse, dogs and + men, swung into view at the turn of the road, their figures leaning over + as they took the curve at full speed. Dyke threw everything wide open and + caught up his revolver. From behind came the challenge of a Winchester. + The party on the Lower Road were even closer than Delaney. They had seen + his manoeuvre, and the first shot of the fight shivered the cab windows + above the engineer's head. + </p> + <p> + But spinning futilely at first, the drivers of the engine at last caught + the rails. The engine moved, advanced, travelled past the depot and the + freight train, and gathering speed, rolled out on the track beyond. Smoke, + black and boiling, shot skyward from the stack; not a joint that did not + shudder with the mighty strain of the steam; but the great iron brute—one + of Baldwin's newest and best—came to call, obedient and docile as + soon as ever the great pulsing heart of it felt a master hand upon its + levers. It gathered its speed, bracing its steel muscles, its thews of + iron, and roared out upon the open track, filling the air with the rasp of + its tempest-breath, blotting the sunshine with the belch of its hot, thick + smoke. Already it was lessening in the distance, when Delaney, Christian, + and the sheriff of Visalia dashed up to the station. + </p> + <p> + The posse had seen everything. + </p> + <p> + “Stuck. Curse the luck!” vociferated the cow-Puncher. + </p> + <p> + But the sheriff was already out of the saddle and into the telegraph + office. + </p> + <p> + “There's a derailing switch between here and Pixley, isn't there?” he + cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Wire ahead to open it. We'll derail him there. Come on;” he turned to + Delaney and the others. They sprang into the cab of the locomotive that + was attached to the freight train. + </p> + <p> + “Name of the State of California,” shouted the sheriff to the bewildered + engineer. “Cut off from your train.” + </p> + <p> + The sheriff was a man to be obeyed without hesitating. Time was not + allowed the crew of the freight train for debating as to the right or the + wrong of requisitioning the engine, and before anyone thought of the + safety or danger of the affair, the freight engine was already flying out + upon the down line, hot in pursuit of Dyke, now far ahead upon the up + track. + </p> + <p> + “I remember perfectly well there's a derailing switch between here and + Pixley,” shouted the sheriff above the roar of the locomotive. “They use + it in case they have to derail runaway engines. It runs right off into the + country. We'll pile him up there. Ready with your guns, boys.” + </p> + <p> + “If we should meet another train coming up on this track——” + protested the frightened engineer. + </p> + <p> + “Then we'd jump or be smashed. Hi! look! There he is.” As the freight + engine rounded a curve, Dyke's engine came into view, shooting on some + quarter of a mile ahead of them, wreathed in whirling smoke. + </p> + <p> + “The switch ain't much further on,” clamoured the engineer. “You can see + Pixley now.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke, his hand on the grip of the valve that controlled the steam, his + head out of the cab window, thundered on. He was back in his old place + again; once more he was the engineer; once more he felt the engine quiver + under him; the familiar noises were in his ears; the familiar buffeting of + the wind surged, roaring at his face; the familiar odours of hot steam and + smoke reeked in his nostrils, and on either side of him, parallel + panoramas, the two halves of the landscape sliced, as it were, in two by + the clashing wheels of his engine, streamed by in green and brown blurs. + </p> + <p> + He found himself settling to the old position on the cab seat, leaning on + his elbow from the window, one hand on the controller. All at once, the + instinct of the pursuit that of late had become so strong within him, + prompted him to shoot a glance behind. He saw the other engine on the down + line, plunging after him, rocking from side to side with the fury of its + gallop. Not yet had he shaken the trackers from his heels; not yet was he + out of the reach of danger. He set his teeth and, throwing open the + fire-door, stoked vigorously for a few moments. The indicator of the steam + gauge rose; his speed increased; a glance at the telegraph poles told him + he was doing his fifty miles an hour. The freight engine behind him was + never built for that pace. Barring the terrible risk of accident, his + chances were good. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly—the engineer dominating the highway-man—he shut + off his steam and threw back his brake to the extreme notch. Directly + ahead of him rose a semaphore, placed at a point where evidently a + derailing switch branched from the line. The semaphore's arm was dropped + over the track, setting the danger signal that showed the switch was open. + </p> + <p> + In an instant, Dyke saw the trick. They had meant to smash him here; had + been clever enough, quick-witted enough to open the switch, but had + forgotten the automatic semaphore that worked simultaneously with the + movement of the rails. To go forward was certain destruction. Dyke + reversed. There was nothing for it but to go back. With a wrench and a + spasm of all its metal fibres, the great compound braced itself, sliding + with rigid wheels along the rails. Then, as Dyke applied the reverse, it + drew back from the greater danger, returning towards the less. Inevitably + now the two engines, one on the up, the other on the down line, must meet + and pass each other. + </p> + <p> + Dyke released the levers, reaching for his revolver. The engineer once + more became the highwayman, in peril of his life. Now, beyond all doubt, + the time for fighting was at hand. + </p> + <p> + The party in the heavy freight engine, that lumbered after in pursuit, + their eyes fixed on the smudge of smoke on ahead that marked the path of + the fugitive, suddenly raised a shout. + </p> + <p> + “He's stopped. He's broke down. Watch, now, and see if he jumps off.” + </p> + <p> + “Broke NOTHING. HE'S COMING BACK. Ready, now, he's got to pass us.” + </p> + <p> + The engineer applied the brakes, but the heavy freight locomotive, far + less mobile than Dyke's flyer, was slow to obey. The smudge on the rails + ahead grew swiftly larger. + </p> + <p> + “He's coming. He's coming—look out, there's a shot. He's shooting + already.” + </p> + <p> + A bright, white sliver of wood leaped into the air from the sooty window + sill of the cab. + </p> + <p> + “Fire on him! Fire on him!” + </p> + <p> + While the engines were yet two hundred yards apart, the duel began, shot + answering shot, the sharp staccato reports punctuating the thunder of + wheels and the clamour of steam. + </p> + <p> + Then the ground trembled and rocked; a roar as of heavy ordnance developed + with the abruptness of an explosion. The two engines passed each other, + the men firing the while, emptying their revolvers, shattering wood, + shivering glass, the bullets clanging against the metal work as they + struck and struck and struck. The men leaned from the cabs towards each + other, frantic with excitement, shouting curses, the engines rocking, the + steam roaring; confusion whirling in the scene like the whirl of a witch's + dance, the white clouds of steam, the black eddies from the smokestack, + the blue wreaths from the hot mouths of revolvers, swirling together in a + blinding maze of vapour, spinning around them, dazing them, dizzying them, + while the head rang with hideous clamour and the body twitched and + trembled with the leap and jar of the tumult of machinery. + </p> + <p> + Roaring, clamouring, reeking with the smell of powder and hot oil, + spitting death, resistless, huge, furious, an abrupt vision of chaos, + faces, rage-distorted, peering through smoke, hands gripping outward from + sudden darkness, prehensile, malevolent; terrible as thunder, swift as + lightning, the two engines met and passed. + </p> + <p> + “He's hit,” cried Delaney. “I know I hit him. He can't go far now. After + him again. He won't dare go through Bonneville.” + </p> + <p> + It was true. Dyke had stood between cab and tender throughout all the + duel, exposed, reckless, thinking only of attack and not of defence, and a + bullet from one of the pistols had grazed his hip. How serious was the + wound he did not know, but he had no thought of giving up. He tore back + through the depot at Guadalajara in a storm of bullets, and, clinging to + the broken window ledge of his cab, was carried towards Bonneville, on + over the Long Trestle and Broderson Creek and through the open country + between the two ranches of Los Muertos and Quien Sabe. + </p> + <p> + But to go on to Bonneville meant certain death. Before, as well as behind + him, the roads were now blocked. Once more he thought of the mountains. He + resolved to abandon the engine and make another final attempt to get into + the shelter of the hills in the northernmost corner of Quien Sabe. He set + his teeth. He would not give in. There was one more fight left in him yet. + Now to try the final hope. + </p> + <p> + He slowed the engine down, and, reloading his revolver, jumped from the + platform to the road. He looked about him, listening. All around him + widened an ocean of wheat. There was no one in sight. + </p> + <p> + The released engine, alone, unattended, drew slowly away from him, jolting + ponderously over the rail joints. As he watched it go, a certain + indefinite sense of abandonment, even in that moment, came over Dyke. His + last friend, that also had been his first, was leaving him. He remembered + that day, long ago, when he had opened the throttle of his first machine. + To-day, it was leaving him alone, his last friend turning against him. + Slowly it was going back towards Bonneville, to the shops of the Railroad, + the camp of the enemy, that enemy that had ruined him and wrecked him. For + the last time in his life, he had been the engineer. Now, once more, he + became the highwayman, the outlaw against whom all hands were raised, the + fugitive skulking in the mountains, listening for the cry of dogs. + </p> + <p> + But he would not give in. They had not broken him yet. Never, while he + could fight, would he allow S. Behrman the triumph of his capture. + </p> + <p> + He found his wound was not bad. He plunged into the wheat on Quien Sabe, + making northward for a division house that rose with its surrounding trees + out of the wheat like an island. He reached it, the blood squelching in + his shoes. But the sight of two men, Portuguese farm-hands, staring at him + from an angle of the barn, abruptly roused him to action. He sprang + forward with peremptory commands, demanding a horse. + </p> + <p> + At Guadalajara, Delaney and the sheriff descended from the freight engine. + </p> + <p> + “Horses now,” declared the sheriff. “He won't go into Bonneville, that's + certain. He'll leave the engine between here and there, and strike off + into the country. We'll follow after him now in the saddle. Soon as he + leaves his engine, HE'S on foot. We've as good as got him now.” + </p> + <p> + Their horses, including even the buckskin mare that Dyke had ridden, were + still at the station. The party swung themselves up, Delaney exclaiming, + “Here's MY mount,” as he bestrode the buckskin. + </p> + <p> + At Guadalajara, the two bloodhounds were picked up again. Urging the jaded + horses to a gallop, the party set off along the Upper Road, keeping a + sharp lookout to right and left for traces of Dyke's abandonment of the + engine. + </p> + <p> + Three miles beyond the Long Trestle, they found S. Behrman holding his + saddle horse by the bridle, and looking attentively at a trail that had + been broken through the standing wheat on Quien Sabe. The party drew rein. + </p> + <p> + “The engine passed me on the tracks further up, and empty,” said S. + Behrman. “Boys, I think he left her here.” + </p> + <p> + But before anyone could answer, the bloodhounds gave tongue again, as they + picked up the scent. + </p> + <p> + “That's him,” cried S. Behrman. “Get on, boys.” + </p> + <p> + They dashed forward, following the hounds. S. Behrman laboriously climbed + to his saddle, panting, perspiring, mopping the roll of fat over his coat + collar, and turned in after them, trotting along far in the rear, his + great stomach and tremulous jowl shaking with the horse's gait. + </p> + <p> + “What a day,” he murmured. “What a day.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke's trail was fresh, and was followed as easily as if made on + new-fallen snow. In a short time, the posse swept into the open space + around the division house. The two Portuguese were still there, wide-eyed, + terribly excited. + </p> + <p> + Yes, yes, Dyke had been there not half an hour since, had held them up, + taken a horse and galloped to the northeast, towards the foothills at the + headwaters of Broderson Creek. + </p> + <p> + On again, at full gallop, through the young wheat, trampling it under the + flying hoofs; the hounds hot on the scent, baying continually; the men, on + fresh mounts, secured at the division house, bending forward in their + saddles, spurring relentlessly. S. Behrman jolted along far in the rear. + </p> + <p> + And even then, harried through an open country, where there was no place + to hide, it was a matter of amazement how long a chase the highwayman led + them. Fences were passed; fences whose barbed wire had been slashed apart + by the fugitive's knife. The ground rose under foot; the hills were at + hand; still the pursuit held on. The sun, long past the meridian, began to + turn earthward. Would night come on before they were up with him? + </p> + <p> + “Look! Look! There he is! Quick, there he goes!” + </p> + <p> + High on the bare slope of the nearest hill, all the posse, looking in the + direction of Delaney's gesture, saw the figure of a horseman emerge from + an arroyo, filled with chaparral, and struggle at a labouring gallop + straight up the slope. Suddenly, every member of the party shouted aloud. + The horse had fallen, pitching the rider from the saddle. The man rose to + his feet, caught at the bridle, missed it and the horse dashed on alone. + The man, pausing for a second looked around, saw the chase drawing nearer, + then, turning back, disappeared in the chaparral. Delaney raised a great + whoop. + </p> + <p> + “We've got you now.” Into the slopes and valleys of the hills dashed the + band of horsemen, the trail now so fresh that it could be easily discerned + by all. On and on it led them, a furious, wild scramble straight up the + slopes. The minutes went by. The dry bed of a rivulet was passed; then + another fence; then a tangle of manzanita; a meadow of wild oats, full of + agitated cattle; then an arroyo, thick with chaparral and scrub oaks, and + then, without warning, the pistol shots ripped out and ran from rider to + rider with the rapidity of a gatling discharge, and one of the deputies + bent forward in the saddle, both hands to his face, the blood jetting from + between his fingers. + </p> + <p> + Dyke was there, at bay at last, his back against a bank of rock, the roots + of a fallen tree serving him as a rampart, his revolver smoking in his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “You're under arrest, Dyke,” cried the sheriff. “It's not the least use to + fight. The whole country is up.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke fired again, the shot splintering the foreleg of the horse the + sheriff rode. + </p> + <p> + The posse, four men all told—the wounded deputy having crawled out + of the fight after Dyke's first shot—fell back after the preliminary + fusillade, dismounted, and took shelter behind rocks and trees. On that + rugged ground, fighting from the saddle was impracticable. Dyke, in the + meanwhile, held his fire, for he knew that, once his pistol was empty, he + would never be allowed time to reload. + </p> + <p> + “Dyke,” called the sheriff again, “for the last time, I summon you to + surrender.” + </p> + <p> + Dyke did not reply. The sheriff, Delaney, and the man named Christian + conferred together in a low voice. Then Delaney and Christian left the + others, making a wide detour up the sides of the arroyo, to gain a + position to the left and somewhat to the rear of Dyke. + </p> + <p> + But it was at this moment that S. Behrman arrived. It could not be said + whether it was courage or carelessness that brought the Railroad's agent + within reach of Dyke's revolver. Possibly he was really a brave man; + possibly occupied with keeping an uncertain seat upon the back of his + labouring, scrambling horse, he had not noticed that he was so close upon + that scene of battle. He certainly did not observe the posse lying upon + the ground behind sheltering rocks and trees, and before anyone could call + a warning, he had ridden out into the open, within thirty paces of Dyke's + intrenchment. + </p> + <p> + Dyke saw. There was the arch-enemy; the man of all men whom he most hated; + the man who had ruined him, who had exasperated him and driven him to + crime, and who had instigated tireless pursuit through all those past + terrible weeks. Suddenly, inviting death, he leaped up and forward; he had + forgotten all else, all other considerations, at the sight of this man. He + would die, gladly, so only that S. Behrman died before him. + </p> + <p> + “I've got YOU, anyway,” he shouted, as he ran forward. + </p> + <p> + The muzzle of the weapon was not ten feet from S. Behrman's huge stomach + as Dyke drew the trigger. Had the cartridge exploded, death, certain and + swift, would have followed, but at this, of all moments, the revolver + missed fire. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman, with an unexpected agility, leaped from the saddle, and, + keeping his horse between him and Dyke, ran, dodging and ducking, from + tree to tree. His first shot a failure, Dyke fired again and again at his + enemy, emptying his revolver, reckless of consequences. His every shot + went wild, and before he could draw his knife, the whole posse was upon + him. + </p> + <p> + Without concerted plans, obeying no signal but the promptings of the + impulse that snatched, unerring, at opportunity—the men, Delaney and + Christian from one side, the sheriff and the deputy from the other, rushed + in. They did not fire. It was Dyke alive they wanted. One of them had a + riata snatched from a saddle-pommel, and with this they tried to bind him. + </p> + <p> + The fight was four to one—four men with law on their side, to one + wounded freebooter, half-starved, exhausted by days and nights of pursuit, + worn down with loss of sleep, thirst, privation, and the grinding, + nerve-racking consciousness of an ever-present peril. + </p> + <p> + They swarmed upon him from all sides, gripping at his legs, at his arms, + his throat, his head, striking, clutching, kicking, falling to the ground, + rolling over and over, now under, now above, now staggering forward, now + toppling back. Still Dyke fought. Through that scrambling, struggling + group, through that maze of twisting bodies, twining arms, straining legs, + S. Behrman saw him from moment to moment, his face flaming, his eyes + bloodshot, his hair matted with sweat. Now he was down, pinned under, two + men across his legs, and now half-way up again, struggling to one knee. + Then upright again, with half his enemies hanging on his back. His + colossal strength seemed doubled; when his arms were held, he fought + bull-like with his head. A score of times, it seemed as if they were about + to secure him finally and irrevocably, and then he would free an arm, a + leg, a shoulder, and the group that, for the fraction of an instant, had + settled, locked and rigid, on its prey, would break up again as he flung a + man from him, reeling and bloody, and he himself twisting, squirming, + dodging, his great fists working like pistons, backed away, dragging and + carrying the others with him. + </p> + <p> + More than once, he loosened almost every grip, and for an instant stood + nearly free, panting, rolling his eyes, his clothes torn from his body, + bleeding, dripping with sweat, a terrible figure, nearly free. The + sheriff, under his breath, uttered an exclamation: + </p> + <p> + “By God, he'll get away yet.” + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman watched the fight complacently. + </p> + <p> + “That all may show obstinacy,” he commented, “but it don't show common + sense.” + </p> + <p> + Yet, however Dyke might throw off the clutches and fettering embraces that + encircled him, however he might disintegrate and scatter the band of foes + that heaped themselves upon him, however he might gain one instant of + comparative liberty, some one of his assailants always hung, doggedly, + blindly to an arm, a leg, or a foot, and the others, drawing a second's + breath, closed in again, implacable, unconquerable, ferocious, like hounds + upon a wolf. + </p> + <p> + At length, two of the men managed to bring Dyke's wrists close enough + together to allow the sheriff to snap the handcuffs on. Even then, Dyke, + clasping his hands, and using the handcuffs themselves as a weapon, + knocked down Delaney by the crushing impact of the steel bracelets upon + the cow-puncher's forehead. But he could no longer protect himself from + attacks from behind, and the riata was finally passed around his body, + pinioning his arms to his sides. After this it was useless to resist. + </p> + <p> + The wounded deputy sat with his back to a rock, holding his broken jaw in + both hands. The sheriff's horse, with its splintered foreleg, would have + to be shot. Delaney's head was cut from temple to cheekbone. The right + wrist of the sheriff was all but dislocated. The other deputy was so + exhausted he had to be helped to his horse. But Dyke was taken. + </p> + <p> + He himself had suddenly lapsed into semi-unconsciousness, unable to walk. + They sat him on the buckskin, S. Behrman supporting him, the sheriff, on + foot, leading the horse by the bridle. The little procession formed, and + descended from the hills, turning in the direction of Bonneville. A + special train, one car and an engine, would be made up there, and the + highwayman would sleep in the Visalia jail that night. + </p> + <p> + Delaney and S. Behrman found themselves in the rear of the cavalcade as it + moved off. The cow-puncher turned to his chief: + </p> + <p> + “Well, captain,” he said, still panting, as he bound up his forehead; + “well—we GOT him.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Osterman cut his wheat that summer before any of the other ranchers, and + as soon as his harvest was over organized a jack-rabbit drive. Like + Annixter's barn-dance, it was to be an event in which all the country-side + should take part. The drive was to begin on the most western division of + the Osterman ranch, whence it would proceed towards the southeast, + crossing into the northern part of Quien Sabe—on which Annixter had + sown no wheat—and ending in the hills at the headwaters of Broderson + Creek, where a barbecue was to be held. + </p> + <p> + Early on the morning of the day of the drive, as Harran and Presley were + saddling their horses before the stables on Los Muertos, the foreman, + Phelps, remarked: + </p> + <p> + “I was into town last night, and I hear that Christian has been after + Ruggles early and late to have him put him in possession here on Los + Muertos, and Delaney is doing the same for Quien Sabe.” + </p> + <p> + It was this man Christian, the real estate broker, and cousin of S. + Behrman, one of the main actors in the drama of Dyke's capture, who had + come forward as a purchaser of Los Muertos when the Railroad had regraded + its holdings on the ranches around Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + “He claims, of course,” Phelps went on, “that when he bought Los Muertos + of the Railroad he was guaranteed possession, and he wants the place in + time for the harvest.” + </p> + <p> + “That's almost as thin,” muttered Harran as he thrust the bit into his + horse's mouth, “as Delaney buying Annixter's Home ranch. That slice of + Quien Sabe, according to the Railroad's grading, is worth about ten + thousand dollars; yes, even fifteen, and I don't believe Delaney is worth + the price of a good horse. Why, those people don't even try to preserve + appearances. Where would Christian find the money to buy Los Muertos? + There's no one man in all Bonneville rich enough to do it. Damned rascals! + as if we didn't see that Christian and Delaney are S. Behrman's right and + left hands. Well, he'll get 'em cut off,” he cried with sudden fierceness, + “if he comes too near the machine.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it, Harran,” asked Presley as the two young men rode out of the + stable yard, “how is it the Railroad gang can do anything before the + Supreme Court hands down a decision?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know how they talk,” growled Harran. “They have claimed that + the cases taken up to the Supreme Court were not test cases as WE claim + they ARE, and that because neither Annixter nor the Governor appealed, + they've lost their cases by default. It's the rottenest kind of sharp + practice, but it won't do any good. The League is too strong. They won't + dare move on us yet awhile. Why, Pres, the moment they'd try to jump any + of these ranches around here, they would have six hundred rifles cracking + at them as quick as how-do-you-do. Why, it would take a regiment of U. S. + soldiers to put any one of us off our land. No, sir; they know the League + means business this time.” + </p> + <p> + As Presley and Harran trotted on along the county road they continually + passed or overtook other horsemen, or buggies, carry-alls, buck-boards or + even farm wagons, going in the same direction. These were full of the + farming people from all the country round about Bonneville, on their way + to the rabbit drive—the same people seen at the barn-dance—in + their Sunday finest, the girls in muslin frocks and garden hats, the men + with linen dusters over their black clothes; the older women in prints and + dotted calicoes. Many of these latter had already taken off their bonnets—the + day was very hot—and pinning them in newspapers, stowed them under + the seats. They tucked their handkerchiefs into the collars of their + dresses, or knotted them about their fat necks, to keep out the dust. From + the axle trees of the vehicles swung carefully covered buckets of + galvanised iron, in which the lunch was packed. The younger children, the + boys with great frilled collars, the girls with ill-fitting shoes cramping + their feet, leaned from the sides of buggy and carry-all, eating bananas + and “macaroons,” staring about with ox-like stolidity. Tied to the axles, + the dogs followed the horses' hoofs with lolling tongues coated with dust. + </p> + <p> + The California summer lay blanket-wise and smothering over all the land. + The hills, bone-dry, were browned and parched. The grasses and wild-oats, + sear and yellow, snapped like glass filaments under foot. The roads, the + bordering fences, even the lower leaves and branches of the trees, were + thick and grey with dust. All colour had been burned from the landscape, + except in the irrigated patches, that in the waste of brown and dull + yellow glowed like oases. + </p> + <p> + The wheat, now close to its maturity, had turned from pale yellow to + golden yellow, and from that to brown. Like a gigantic carpet, it spread + itself over all the land. There was nothing else to be seen but the + limitless sea of wheat as far as the eye could reach, dry, rustling, crisp + and harsh in the rare breaths of hot wind out of the southeast. As Harran + and Presley went along the county road, the number of vehicles and riders + increased. They overtook and passed Hooven and his family in the former's + farm wagon, a saddled horse tied to the back board. The little Dutchman, + wearing the old frock coat of Magnus Derrick, and a new broad-brimmed + straw hat, sat on the front seat with Mrs. Hooven. The little girl Hilda, + and the older daughter Minna, were behind them on a board laid across the + sides of the wagon. Presley and Harran stopped to shake hands. “Say,” + cried Hooven, exhibiting an old, but extremely well kept, rifle, “say, bei + Gott, me, I tek some schatz at dose rebbit, you bedt. Ven he hef shtop to + run und sit oop soh, bei der hind laigs on, I oop mit der guhn und—bing! + I cetch um.” + </p> + <p> + “The marshals won't allow you to shoot, Bismarck,” observed Presley, + looking at Minna. + </p> + <p> + Hooven doubled up with merriment. + </p> + <p> + “Ho! dot's hell of some fine joak. Me, I'M ONE OAF DOSE MAIRSCHELL + MINE-SELLUF,” he roared with delight, beating his knee. To his notion, the + joke was irresistible. All day long, he could be heard repeating it. “Und + Mist'r Praicelie, he say, 'Dose mairschell woand led you schoot, + Bismarck,' und ME, ach Gott, ME, aindt I mine-selluf one oaf dose + mairschell?” + </p> + <p> + As the two friends rode on, Presley had in his mind the image of Minna + Hooven, very pretty in a clean gown of pink gingham, a cheap straw sailor + hat from a Bonneville store on her blue black hair. He remembered her very + pale face, very red lips and eyes of greenish blue,—a pretty girl + certainly, always trailing a group of men behind her. Her love affairs + were the talk of all Los Muertos. + </p> + <p> + “I hope that Hooven girl won't go to the bad,” Presley said to Harran. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she's all right,” the other answered. “There's nothing vicious about + Minna, and I guess she'll marry that foreman on the ditch gang, right + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a matter of course, she's a good girl,” Presley hastened to + reply, “only she's too pretty for a poor girl, and too sure of her + prettiness besides. That's the kind,” he continued, “who would find it + pretty easy to go wrong if they lived in a city.” + </p> + <p> + Around Caraher's was a veritable throng. Saddle horses and buggies by the + score were clustered underneath the shed or hitched to the railings in + front of the watering trough. Three of Broderson's Portuguese tenants and + a couple of workmen from the railroad shops in Bonneville were on the + porch, already very drunk. + </p> + <p> + Continually, young men, singly or in groups, came from the door-way, + wiping their lips with sidelong gestures of the hand. The whole place + exhaled the febrile bustle of the saloon on a holiday morning. + </p> + <p> + The procession of teams streamed on through Bonneville, reenforced at + every street corner. Along the Upper Road from Quien Sabe and Guadalajara + came fresh auxiliaries, Spanish-Mexicans from the town itself,—swarthy + young men on capering horses, dark-eyed girls and matrons, in red and + black and yellow, more Portuguese in brand-new overalls, smoking long thin + cigars. Even Father Sarria appeared. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” said Presley, “there goes Annixter and Hilma. He's got his + buckskin back.” The master of Quien Sabe, in top laced boots and campaign + hat, a cigar in his teeth, followed along beside the carry-all. Hilma and + Mrs. Derrick were on the back seat, young Vacca driving. Harran and + Presley bowed, taking off their hats. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, hello, Pres,” cried Annixter, over the heads of the intervening + crowd, standing up in his stirrups and waving a hand, “Great day! What a + mob, hey? Say when this thing is over and everybody starts to walk into + the barbecue, come and have lunch with us. I'll look for you, you and + Harran. Hello, Harran, where's the Governor?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't come to-day,” Harran shouted back, as the crowd carried him + further away from Annixter. “Left him and old Broderson at Los Muertos.” + </p> + <p> + The throng emerged into the open country again, spreading out upon the + Osterman ranch. From all directions could be seen horses and buggies + driving across the stubble, converging upon the rendezvous. Osterman's + Ranch house was left to the eastward; the army of the guests hurrying + forward—for it began to be late—to where around a flag pole, + flying a red flag, a vast crowd of buggies and horses was already forming. + The marshals began to appear. Hooven, descending from the farm wagon, + pinned his white badge to his hat brim and mounted his horse. Osterman, in + marvellous riding clothes of English pattern, galloped up and down upon + his best thoroughbred, cracking jokes with everybody, chaffing, joshing, + his great mouth distended in a perpetual grin of amiability. + </p> + <p> + “Stop here, stop here,” he vociferated, dashing along in front of Presley + and Harran, waving his crop. The procession came to a halt, the horses' + heads pointing eastward. The line began to be formed. The marshals + perspiring, shouting, fretting, galloping about, urging this one forward, + ordering this one back, ranged the thousands of conveyances and cavaliers + in a long line, shaped like a wide open crescent. Its wings, under the + command of lieutenants, were slightly advanced. Far out before its centre + Osterman took his place, delighted beyond expression at his + conspicuousness, posing for the gallery, making his horse dance. + </p> + <p> + “Wail, aindt dey gowun to gommence den bretty soohn,” exclaimed Mrs. + Hooven, who had taken her husband's place on the forward seat of the + wagon. + </p> + <p> + “I never was so warm,” murmured Minna, fanning herself with her hat. All + seemed in readiness. For miles over the flat expanse of stubble, curved + the interminable lines of horses and vehicles. At a guess, nearly five + thousand people were present. The drive was one of the largest ever held. + But no start was made; immobilized, the vast crescent stuck motionless + under the blazing sun. Here and there could be heard voices uplifted in + jocular remonstrance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, get a move on, somebody.” + </p> + <p> + “ALL aboard.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, I'll take root here pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + Some took malicious pleasure in starting false alarms. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, HERE we go.” + </p> + <p> + “Off, at last.” + </p> + <p> + “We're off.” + </p> + <p> + Invariably these jokes fooled some one in the line. An old man, or some + old woman, nervous, hard of hearing, always gathered up the reins and + started off, only to be hustled and ordered back into the line by the + nearest marshal. This manoeuvre never failed to produce its effect of + hilarity upon those near at hand. Everybody laughed at the blunderer, the + joker jeering audibly. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, come back here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's easy.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be in a hurry, Grandpa.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, you want to drive all the rabbits yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Later on, a certain group of these fellows started a huge “josh.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, that's what we're waiting for, the 'do-funny.'” + </p> + <p> + “The do-funny?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, you can't drive rabbits without the 'do-funny.'” + </p> + <p> + “What's the do-funny?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, say, she don't know what the do-funny is. We can't start without it, + sure. Pete went back to get it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're joking me, there's no such thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, aren't we WAITING for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, look, look,” cried some women in a covered rig. “See, they are + starting already 'way over there.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, it did appear as if the far extremity of the line was in motion. + Dust rose in the air above it. + </p> + <p> + “They ARE starting. Why don't we start?” + </p> + <p> + “No, they've stopped. False alarm.” + </p> + <p> + “They've not, either. Why don't we move?” + </p> + <p> + But as one or two began to move off, the nearest marshal shouted + wrathfully: + </p> + <p> + “Get back there, get back there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they've started over there.” + </p> + <p> + “Get back, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's the 'do-funny?'” + </p> + <p> + “Say, we're going to miss it all. They've all started over there.” + </p> + <p> + A lieutenant came galloping along in front of the line, shouting: + </p> + <p> + “Here, what's the matter here? Why don't you start?” + </p> + <p> + There was a great shout. Everybody simultaneously uttered a prolonged + “Oh-h.” + </p> + <p> + “We're off.” + </p> + <p> + “Here we go for sure this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember to keep the alignment,” roared the lieutenant. “Don't go too + fast.” + </p> + <p> + And the marshals, rushing here and there on their sweating horses to + points where the line bulged forward, shouted, waving their arms: “Not too + fast, not too fast....Keep back here....Here, keep closer together here. + Do you want to let all the rabbits run back between you?” + </p> + <p> + A great confused sound rose into the air,—the creaking of axles, the + jolt of iron tires over the dry clods, the click of brittle stubble under + the horses' hoofs, the barking of dogs, the shouts of conversation and + laughter. + </p> + <p> + The entire line, horses, buggies, wagons, gigs, dogs, men and boys on + foot, and armed with clubs, moved slowly across the fields, sending up a + cloud of white dust, that hung above the scene like smoke. A brisk gaiety + was in the air. Everyone was in the best of humor, calling from team to + team, laughing, skylarking, joshing. Garnett, of the Ruby Rancho, and + Gethings, of the San Pablo, both on horseback, found themselves side by + side. Ignoring the drive and the spirit of the occasion, they kept up a + prolonged and serious conversation on an expected rise in the price of + wheat. Dabney, also on horseback, followed them, listening attentively to + every word, but hazarding no remark. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Derrick and Hilma sat in the back seat of the carry-all, behind young + Vacca. Mrs. Derrick, a little disturbed by such a great concourse of + people, frightened at the idea of the killing of so many rabbits, drew + back in her place, her young-girl eyes troubled and filled with a vague + distress. Hilma, very much excited, leaned from the carry-all, anxious to + see everything, watching for rabbits, asking innumerable questions of + Annixter, who rode at her side. + </p> + <p> + The change that had been progressing in Hilma, ever since the night of the + famous barn-dance, now seemed to be approaching its climax; first the + girl, then the woman, last of all the Mother. Conscious dignity, a new + element in her character, developed. The shrinking, the timidity of the + girl just awakening to the consciousness of sex, passed away from her. The + confusion, the troublous complexity of the woman, a mystery even to + herself, disappeared. Motherhood dawned, the old simplicity of her maiden + days came back to her. It was no longer a simplicity of ignorance, but of + supreme knowledge, the simplicity of the perfect, the simplicity of + greatness. She looked the world fearlessly in the eyes. At last, the + confusion of her ideas, like frightened birds, re-settling, adjusted + itself, and she emerged from the trouble calm, serene, entering into her + divine right, like a queen into the rule of a realm of perpetual peace. + </p> + <p> + And with this, with the knowledge that the crown hung poised above her + head, there came upon Hilma a gentleness infinitely beautiful, infinitely + pathetic; a sweetness that touched all who came near her with the softness + of a caress. She moved surrounded by an invisible atmosphere of Love. Love + was in her wide-opened brown eyes, Love—the dim reflection of that + descending crown poised over her head—radiated in a faint lustre + from her dark, thick hair. Around her beautiful neck, sloping to her + shoulders with full, graceful curves, Love lay encircled like a necklace—Love + that was beyond words, sweet, breathed from her parted lips. From her + white, large arms downward to her pink finger-tips—Love, an + invisible electric fluid, disengaged itself, subtle, alluring. In the + velvety huskiness of her voice, Love vibrated like a note of unknown + music. + </p> + <p> + Annixter, her uncouth, rugged husband, living in this influence of a wife, + who was also a mother, at all hours touched to the quick by this sense of + nobility, of gentleness and of love, the instincts of a father already + clutching and tugging at his heart, was trembling on the verge of a mighty + transformation. The hardness and inhumanity of the man was fast breaking + up. One night, returning late to the Ranch house, after a compulsory visit + to the city, he had come upon Hilma asleep. He had never forgotten that + night. A realization of his boundless happiness in this love he gave and + received, the thought that Hilma TRUSTED him, a knowledge of his own + unworthiness, a vast and humble thankfulness that his God had chosen him + of all men for this great joy, had brought him to his knees for the first + time in all his troubled, restless life of combat and aggression. He + prayed, he knew not what,—vague words, wordless thoughts, resolving + fiercely to do right, to make some return for God's gift thus placed + within his hands. + </p> + <p> + Where once Annixter had thought only of himself, he now thought only of + Hilma. The time when this thought of another should broaden and widen into + thought of OTHERS, was yet to come; but already it had expanded to include + the unborn child—already, as in the case of Mrs. Dyke, it had + broadened to enfold another child and another mother bound to him by no + ties other than those of humanity and pity. In time, starting from this + point it would reach out more and more till it should take in all men and + all women, and the intolerant selfish man, while retaining all of his + native strength, should become tolerant and generous, kind and forgiving. + </p> + <p> + For the moment, however, the two natures struggled within him. A fight was + to be fought, one more, the last, the fiercest, the attack of the enemy + who menaced his very home and hearth, was to be resisted. Then, peace + attained, arrested development would once more proceed. + </p> + <p> + Hilma looked from the carry-all, scanning the open plain in front of the + advancing line of the drive. + </p> + <p> + “Where are the rabbits?” she asked of Annixter. “I don't see any at all.” + </p> + <p> + “They are way ahead of us yet,” he said. “Here, take the glasses.” + </p> + <p> + He passed her his field glasses, and she adjusted them. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she cried, “I see. I can see five or six, but oh, so far off.” + </p> + <p> + “The beggars run 'way ahead, at first.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so. See them run,—little specks. Every now and then + they sit up, their ears straight up, in the air.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, look, Hilma, there goes one close by.” + </p> + <p> + From out of the ground apparently, some twenty yards distant, a great jack + sprang into view, bounding away with tremendous leaps, his black-tipped + ears erect. He disappeared, his grey body losing itself against the grey + of the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a big fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Hi, yonder's another.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, oh, look at him run.” From off the surface of the ground, at + first apparently empty of all life, and seemingly unable to afford hiding + place for so much as a field-mouse, jack-rabbits started up at every + moment as the line went forward. At first, they appeared singly and at + long intervals; then in twos and threes, as the drive continued to + advance. They leaped across the plain, and stopped in the distance, + sitting up with straight ears, then ran on again, were joined by others; + sank down flush to the soil—their ears flattened; started up again, + ran to the side, turned back once more, darted away with incredible + swiftness, and were lost to view only to be replaced by a score of others. + </p> + <p> + Gradually, the number of jacks to be seen over the expanse of stubble in + front of the line of teams increased. Their antics were infinite. No two + acted precisely alike. Some lay stubbornly close in a little depression + between two clods, till the horses' hoofs were all but upon them, then + sprang out from their hiding-place at the last second. Others ran forward + but a few yards at a time, refusing to take flight, scenting a greater + danger before them than behind. Still others, forced up at the last + moment, doubled with lightning alacrity in their tracks, turning back to + scuttle between the teams, taking desperate chances. As often as this + occurred, it was the signal for a great uproar. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let him get through; don t let him get through.” + </p> + <p> + “Look out for him, there he goes.” + </p> + <p> + Horns were blown, bells rung, tin pans clamorously beaten. Either the jack + escaped, or confused by the noise, darted back again, fleeing away as if + his life depended on the issue of the instant. Once even, a bewildered + rabbit jumped fair into Mrs. Derrick's lap as she sat in the carry-all, + and was out again like a flash. + </p> + <p> + “Poor frightened thing,” she exclaimed; and for a long time afterward, she + retained upon her knees the sensation of the four little paws quivering + with excitement, and the feel of the trembling furry body, with its wildly + beating heart, pressed against her own. + </p> + <p> + By noon the number of rabbits discernible by Annixter's field glasses on + ahead was far into the thousands. What seemed to be ground resolved + itself, when seen through the glasses, into a maze of small, moving + bodies, leaping, ducking, doubling, running back and forth—a + wilderness of agitated ears, white tails and twinkling legs. The outside + wings of the curved line of vehicles began to draw in a little; Osterman's + ranch was left behind, the drive continued on over Quien Sabe. + </p> + <p> + As the day advanced, the rabbits, singularly enough, became less wild. + When flushed, they no longer ran so far nor so fast, limping off instead a + few feet at a time, and crouching down, their ears close upon their backs. + Thus it was, that by degrees the teams began to close up on the main herd. + At every instant the numbers increased. It was no longer thousands, it was + tens of thousands. The earth was alive with rabbits. + </p> + <p> + Denser and denser grew the throng. In all directions nothing was to be + seen but the loose mass of the moving jacks. The horns of the crescent of + teams began to contract. Far off the corral came into sight. The + disintegrated mass of rabbits commenced, as it were, to solidify, to + coagulate. At first, each jack was some three feet distant from his + nearest neighbor, but this space diminished to two feet, then to one, then + to but a few inches. The rabbits began leaping over one another. + </p> + <p> + Then the strange scene defined itself. It was no longer a herd covering + the earth. It was a sea, whipped into confusion, tossing incessantly, + leaping, falling, agitated by unseen forces. At times the unexpected + tameness of the rabbits all at once vanished. Throughout certain portions + of the herd eddies of terror abruptly burst forth. A panic spread; then + there would ensue a blind, wild rushing together of thousands of crowded + bodies, and a furious scrambling over backs, till the scuffing thud of + innumerable feet over the earth rose to a reverberating murmur as of + distant thunder, here and there pierced by the strange, wild cry of the + rabbit in distress. + </p> + <p> + The line of vehicles was halted. To go forward now meant to trample the + rabbits under foot. The drive came to a standstill while the herd entered + the corral. This took time, for the rabbits were by now too crowded to + run. However, like an opened sluice-gate, the extending flanks of the + entrance of the corral slowly engulfed the herd. The mass, packed tight as + ever, by degrees diminished, precisely as a pool of water when a dam is + opened. The last stragglers went in with a rush, and the gate was dropped. + </p> + <p> + “Come, just have a lock in here,” called Annixter. + </p> + <p> + Hilma, descending from the carry-all and joined by Presley and Harran, + approached and looked over the high board fence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, did you ever see anything like that?” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The corral, a really large enclosure, had proved all too small for the + number of rabbits collected by the drive. Inside it was a living, moving, + leaping, breathing, twisting mass. The rabbits were packed two, three, and + four feet deep. They were in constant movement; those beneath struggling + to the top, those on top sinking and disappearing below their fellows. All + wildness, all fear of man, seemed to have entirely disappeared. Men and + boys reaching over the sides of the corral, picked up a jack in each hand, + holding them by the ears, while two reporters from San Francisco papers + took photographs of the scene. The noise made by the tens of thousands of + moving bodies was as the noise of wind in a forest, while from the hot and + sweating mass there rose a strange odor, penetrating, ammoniacal, + savouring of wild life. + </p> + <p> + On signal, the killing began. Dogs that had been brought there for that + purpose when let into the corral refused, as had been half expected, to do + the work. They snuffed curiously at the pile, then backed off, disturbed, + perplexed. But the men and boys—Portuguese for the most part—were + more eager. Annixter drew Hilma away, and, indeed, most of the people set + about the barbecue at once. + </p> + <p> + In the corral, however, the killing went forward. Armed with a club in + each hand, the young fellows from Guadalajara and Bonneville, and the farm + boys from the ranches, leaped over the rails of the corral. They walked + unsteadily upon the myriad of crowding bodies underfoot, or, as space was + cleared, sank almost waist deep into the mass that leaped and squirmed + about them. Blindly, furiously, they struck and struck. The Anglo-Saxon + spectators round about drew back in disgust, but the hot, degenerated + blood of Portuguese, Mexican, and mixed Spaniard boiled up in excitement + at this wholesale slaughter. + </p> + <p> + But only a few of the participants of the drive cared to look on. All the + guests betook themselves some quarter of a mile farther on into the hills. + </p> + <p> + The picnic and barbecue were to be held around the spring where Broderson + Creek took its rise. Already two entire beeves were roasting there; teams + were hitched, saddles removed, and men, women, and children, a great + throng, spread out under the shade of the live oaks. A vast confused + clamour rose in the air, a babel of talk, a clatter of tin plates, of + knives and forks. Bottles were uncorked, napkins and oil-cloths spread + over the ground. The men lit pipes and cigars, the women seized the + occasion to nurse their babies. + </p> + <p> + Osterman, ubiquitous as ever, resplendent in his boots and English riding + breeches, moved about between the groups, keeping up an endless flow of + talk, cracking jokes, winking, nudging, gesturing, putting his tongue in + his cheek, never at a loss for a reply, playing the goat. + </p> + <p> + “That josher, Osterman, always at his monkey-shines, but a good fellow for + all that; brainy too. Nothing stuck up about him either, like Magnus + Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything all right, Buck?” inquired Osterman, coming up to where + Annixter, Hilma and Mrs. Derrick were sitting down to their lunch. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, everything right. But we've no cork-screw.” + </p> + <p> + “No screw-cork—no scare-crow? Here you are,” and he drew from his + pocket a silver-plated jack-knife with a cork-screw attachment. Harran and + Presley came up, bearing between them a great smoking, roasted portion of + beef just off the fire. Hilma hastened to put forward a huge china + platter. + </p> + <p> + Osterman had a joke to crack with the two boys, a joke that was rather + broad, but as he turned about, the words almost on his lips, his glance + fell upon Hilma herself, whom he had not seen for more than two months. + </p> + <p> + She had handed Presley the platter, and was now sitting with her back + against the tree, between two boles of the roots. The position was a + little elevated and the supporting roots on either side of her were like + the arms of a great chair—a chair of state. She sat thus, as on a + throne, raised above the rest, the radiance of the unseen crown of + motherhood glowing from her forehead, the beauty of the perfect woman + surrounding her like a glory. + </p> + <p> + And the josh died away on Osterman's lips, and unconsciously and swiftly + he bared his head. Something was passing there in the air about him that + he did not understand, something, however, that imposed reverence and + profound respect. For the first time in his life, embarrassment seized + upon him, upon this joker, this wearer of clothes, this teller of funny + stories, with his large, red ears, bald head and comic actor's face. He + stammered confusedly and took himself away, for the moment abstracted, + serious, lost in thought. + </p> + <p> + By now everyone was eating. It was the feeding of the People, elemental, + gross, a great appeasing of appetite, an enormous quenching of thirst. + Quarters of beef, roasts, ribs, shoulders, haunches were consumed, loaves + of bread by the thousands disappeared, whole barrels of wine went down the + dry and dusty throats of the multitude. Conversation lagged while the + People ate, while hunger was appeased. Everybody had their fill. One ate + for the sake of eating, resolved that there should be nothing left, + considering it a matter of pride to exhibit a clean plate. + </p> + <p> + After dinner, preparations were made for games. On a flat plateau at the + top of one of the hills the contestants were to strive. There was to be a + footrace of young girls under seventeen, a fat men's race, the younger + fellows were to put the shot, to compete in the running broad jump, and + the standing high jump, in the hop, skip, and step and in wrestling. + </p> + <p> + Presley was delighted with it all. It was Homeric, this feasting, this + vast consuming of meat and bread and wine, followed now by games of + strength. An epic simplicity and directness, an honest Anglo-Saxon mirth + and innocence, commended it. Crude it was; coarse it was, but no taint of + viciousness was here. These people were good people, kindly, benignant + even, always readier to give than to receive, always more willing to help + than to be helped. They were good stock. Of such was the backbone of the + nation—sturdy Americans everyone of them. Where else in the world + round were such strong, honest men, such strong, beautiful women? + </p> + <p> + Annixter, Harran, and Presley climbed to the level plateau where the games + were to be held, to lay out the courses, and mark the distances. It was + the very place where once Presley had loved to lounge entire afternoons, + reading his books of poems, smoking and dozing. From this high point one + dominated the entire valley to the south and west. The view was superb. + The three men paused for a moment on the crest of the hill to consider it. + </p> + <p> + Young Vacca came running and panting up the hill after them, calling for + Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Osterman's looking for you, sir, you and Mr. Harran. Vanamee, that + cow-boy over at Derrick's, has just come from the Governor with a message. + I guess it's important.” + </p> + <p> + “Hello, what's up now?” muttered Annixter, as they turned back. + </p> + <p> + They found Osterman saddling his horse in furious haste. Near-by him was + Vanamee holding by the bridle an animal that was one lather of sweat. A + few of the picnickers were turning their heads curiously in that + direction. Evidently something of moment was in the wind. + </p> + <p> + “What's all up?” demanded Annixter, as he and Harran, followed by Presley, + drew near. + </p> + <p> + “There's hell to pay,” exclaimed Osterman under his breath. “Read that. + Vanamee just brought it.” + </p> + <p> + He handed Annixter a sheet of note paper, and turned again to the cinching + of his saddle. + </p> + <p> + “We've got to be quick,” he cried. “They've stolen a march on us.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter read the note, Harran and Presley looking over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it's them, is it,” exclaimed Annixter. + </p> + <p> + Harran set his teeth. “Now for it,” he exclaimed. “They've been to your + place already, Mr. Annixter,” said Vanamee. “I passed by it on my way up. + They have put Delaney in possession, and have set all your furniture out + in the road.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter turned about, his lips white. Already Presley and Harran had run + to their horses. + </p> + <p> + “Vacca,” cried Annixter, “where's Vacca? Put the saddle on the buckskin, + QUICK. Osterman, get as many of the League as are here together at THIS + spot, understand. I'll be back in a minute. I must tell Hilma this.” + </p> + <p> + Hooven ran up as Annixter disappeared. His little eyes were blazing, he + was dragging his horse with him. + </p> + <p> + “Say, dose fellers come, hey? Me, I'm alretty, see I hev der guhn.” + </p> + <p> + “They've jumped the ranch, little girl,” said Annixter, putting one arm + around Hilma. “They're in our house now. I'm off. Go to Derrick's and wait + for me there.” + </p> + <p> + She put her arms around his neck. + </p> + <p> + “You're going?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I must. Don't be frightened. It will be all right. Go to Derrick's and—good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + She said never a word. She looked once long into his eyes, then kissed him + on the mouth. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, the news had spread. The multitude rose to its feet. Women and + men, with pale faces, looked at each other speechless, or broke forth into + inarticulate exclamations. A strange, unfamiliar murmur took the place of + the tumultuous gaiety of the previous moments. A sense of dread, of + confusion, of impending terror weighed heavily in the air. What was now to + happen? + </p> + <p> + When Annixter got back to Osterman, he found a number of the Leaguers + already assembled. They were all mounted. Hooven was there and Harran, and + besides these, Garnett of the Ruby ranch and Gethings of the San Pablo, + Phelps the foreman of Los Muertos, and, last of all, Dabney, silent as + ever, speaking to no one. Presley came riding up. + </p> + <p> + “Best keep out of this, Pres,” cried Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “Are we ready?” exclaimed Gethings. + </p> + <p> + “Ready, ready, we're all here.” + </p> + <p> + “ALL. Is this all of us?” cried Annixter. “Where are the six hundred men + who were going to rise when this happened?” + </p> + <p> + They had wavered, these other Leaguers. Now, when the actual crisis + impended, they were smitten with confusion. Ah, no, they were not going to + stand up and be shot at just to save Derrick's land. They were not armed. + What did Annixter and Osterman take them for? No, sir; the Railroad had + stolen a march on them. After all his big talk Derrick had allowed them to + be taken by surprise. The only thing to do was to call a meeting of the + Executive Committee. That was the only thing. As for going down there with + no weapons in their hands, NO, sir. That was asking a little TOO much. + “Come on, then, boys,” shouted Osterman, turning his back on the others. + “The Governor says to meet him at Hooven's. We'll make for the Long + Trestle and strike the trail to Hooven's there.” + </p> + <p> + They set off. It was a terrible ride. Twice during the scrambling descent + from the hills, Presley's pony fell beneath him. Annixter, on his + buckskin, and Osterman, on his thoroughbred, good horsemen both, led the + others, setting a terrific pace. The hills were left behind. Broderson + Creek was crossed and on the levels of Quien Sabe, straight through the + standing wheat, the nine horses, flogged and spurred, stretched out to + their utmost. Their passage through the wheat sounded like the rip and + tear of a gigantic web of cloth. The landscape on either hand resolved + itself into a long blur. Tears came to the eyes, flying pebbles, clods of + earth, grains of wheat flung up in the flight, stung the face like shot. + Osterman's thoroughbred took the second crossing of Broderson's Creek in a + single leap. Down under the Long Trestle tore the cavalcade in a shower of + mud and gravel; up again on the further bank, the horses blowing like + steam engines; on into the trail to Hooven's, single file now, Presley's + pony lagging, Hooven's horse bleeding at the eyes, the buckskin, game as a + fighting cock, catching her second wind, far in the lead now, distancing + even the English thoroughbred that Osterman rode. + </p> + <p> + At last Hooven's unpainted house, beneath the enormous live oak tree, came + in sight. Across the Lower Road, breaking through fences and into the yard + around the house, thundered the Leaguers. Magnus was waiting for them. + </p> + <p> + The riders dismounted, hardly less exhausted than their horses. + </p> + <p> + “Why, where's all the men?” Annixter demanded of Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “Broderson is here and Cutter,” replied the Governor, “no one else. I + thought YOU would bring more men with you.” + </p> + <p> + “There are only nine of us.” + </p> + <p> + “And the six hundred Leaguers who were going to rise when this happened!” + exclaimed Garnett, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Rot the League,” cried Annixter. “It's gone to pot—went to pieces + at the first touch.” + </p> + <p> + “We have been taken by surprise, gentlemen, after all,” said Magnus. + “Totally off our guard. But there are eleven of us. It is enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what's the game? Has the marshal come? How many men are with him?” + </p> + <p> + “The United States marshal from San Francisco,” explained Magnus, “came + down early this morning and stopped at Guadalajara. We learned it all + through our friends in Bonneville about an hour ago. They telephoned me + and Mr. Broderson. S. Behrman met him and provided about a dozen deputies. + Delaney, Ruggles, and Christian joined them at Guadalajara. They left + Guadalajara, going towards Mr. Annixter's ranch house on Quien Sabe. They + are serving the writs in ejectment and putting the dummy buyers in + possession. They are armed. S. Behrman is with them.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are they now?” + </p> + <p> + “Cutter is watching them from the Long Trestle. They returned to + Guadalajara. They are there now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” observed Gethings, “From Guadalajara they can only go to two + places. Either they will take the Upper Road and go on to Osterman's next, + or they will take the Lower Road to Mr. Derrick's.” + </p> + <p> + “That is as I supposed,” said Magnus. “That is why I wanted you to come + here. From Hooven's, here, we can watch both roads simultaneously.” + </p> + <p> + “Is anybody on the lookout on the Upper Road?” + </p> + <p> + “Cutter. He is on the Long Trestle.” + </p> + <p> + “Say,” observed Hooven, the instincts of the old-time soldier stirring + him, “say, dose feller pretty demn schmart, I tink. We got to put some + picket way oudt bei der Lower Roadt alzoh, und he tek dose glassus Mist'r + Ennixt'r got bei um. Say, look at dose irregation ditsch. Dot ditsch he + run righd across BOTH dose road, hey? Dat's some fine entrenchment, you + bedt. We fighd um from dose ditsch.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, the dry irrigating ditch was a natural trench, admirably suited + to the purpose, crossing both roads as Hooven pointed out and barring + approach from Guadalajara to all the ranches save Annixter's—which + had already been seized. + </p> + <p> + Gethings departed to join Cutter on the Long Trestle, while Phelps and + Harran, taking Annixter's field glasses with them, and mounting their + horses, went out towards Guadalajara on the Lower Road to watch for the + marshal's approach from that direction. + </p> + <p> + After the outposts had left them, the party in Hooven's cottage looked to + their weapons. Long since, every member of the League had been in the + habit of carrying his revolver with him. They were all armed and, in + addition, Hooven had his rifle. Presley alone carried no weapon. + </p> + <p> + The main room of Hooven's house, in which the Leaguers were now assembled, + was barren, poverty-stricken, but tolerably clean. An old clock ticked + vociferously on a shelf. In one corner was a bed, with a patched, faded + quilt. In the centre of the room, straddling over the bare floor, stood a + pine table. Around this the men gathered, two or three occupying chairs, + Annixter sitting sideways on the table, the rest standing. + </p> + <p> + “I believe, gentlemen,” said Magnus, “that we can go through this day + without bloodshed. I believe not one shot need be fired. The Railroad will + not force the issue, will not bring about actual fighting. When the + marshal realises that we are thoroughly in earnest, thoroughly determined, + I am convinced that he will withdraw.” + </p> + <p> + There were murmurs of assent. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Annixter, “if this thing can by any means be settled + peaceably, I say let's do it, so long as we don't give in.” + </p> + <p> + The others stared. Was this Annixter who spoke—the Hotspur of the + League, the quarrelsome, irascible fellow who loved and sought a quarrel? + Was it Annixter, who now had been the first and only one of them all to + suffer, whose ranch had been seized, whose household possessions had been + flung out into the road? + </p> + <p> + “When you come right down to it,” he continued, “killing a man, no matter + what he's done to you, is a serious business. I propose we make one more + attempt to stave this thing off. Let's see if we can't get to talk with + the marshal himself; at any rate, warn him of the danger of going any + further. Boys, let's not fire the first shot. What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + The others agreed unanimously and promptly; and old Broderson, tugging + uneasily at his long beard, added: + </p> + <p> + “No—no—no violence, no UNNECESSARY violence, that is. I should + hate to have innocent blood on my hands—that is, if it IS innocent. + I don't know, that S. Behrman—ah, he is a—a—surely he + had innocent blood on HIS head. That Dyke affair, terrible, terrible; but + then Dyke WAS in the wrong—driven to it, though; the Railroad did + drive him to it. I want to be fair and just to everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a team coming up the road from Los Muertos,” announced Presley + from the door. + </p> + <p> + “Fair and just to everybody,” murmured old Broderson, wagging his head, + frowning perplexedly. “I don't want to—to—to harm anybody + unless they harm me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the team going towards Guadalajara?” enquired Garnett, getting up and + coming to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's a Portuguese, one of the garden truck men.” + </p> + <p> + “We must turn him back,” declared Osterman. “He can't go through here. We + don't want him to take any news on to the marshal and S. Behrman.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll turn him back,” said Presley. + </p> + <p> + He rode out towards the market cart, and the others, watching from the + road in front of Hooven's, saw him halt it. An excited interview followed. + They could hear the Portuguese expostulating volubly, but in the end he + turned back. + </p> + <p> + “Martial law on Los Muertos, isn't it?” observed Osterman. “Steady all,” + he exclaimed as he turned about, “here comes Harran.” + </p> + <p> + Harran rode up at a gallop. The others surrounded him. + </p> + <p> + “I saw them,” he cried. “They are coming this way. S. Behrman and Ruggles + are in a two-horse buggy. All the others are on horseback. There are + eleven of them. Christian and Delaney are with them. Those two have + rifles. I left Hooven watching them.” + </p> + <p> + “Better call in Gethings and Cutter right away,” said Annixter. “We'll + need all our men.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll call them in,” Presley volunteered at once. “Can I have the + buckskin? My pony is about done up.” + </p> + <p> + He departed at a brisk gallop, but on the way met Gethings and Cutter + returning. They, too, from their elevated position, had observed the + marshal's party leaving Guadalajara by the Lower Road. Presley told them + of the decision of the Leaguers not to fire until fired upon. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Gethings. “But if it comes to a gun-fight, that means + it's all up with at least one of us. Delaney never misses his man.” + </p> + <p> + When they reached Hooven's again, they found that the Leaguers had already + taken their position in the ditch. The plank bridge across it had been + torn up. Magnus, two long revolvers lying on the embankment in front of + him, was in the middle, Harran at his side. On either side, some five feet + intervening between each man, stood the other Leaguers, their revolvers + ready. Dabney, the silent old man, had taken off his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Take your places between Mr. Osterman and Mr. Broderson,” said Magnus, as + the three men rode up. “Presley,” he added, “I forbid you to take any part + in this affair.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, keep him out of it,” cried Annixter from his position at the extreme + end of the line. “Go back to Hooven's house, Pres, and look after the + horses,” he added. “This is no business of yours. And keep the road behind + us clear. Don't let ANY ONE come near, not ANY ONE, understand?” + </p> + <p> + Presley withdrew, leading the buckskin and the horses that Gethings and + Cutter had ridden. He fastened them under the great live oak and then came + out and stood in the road in front of the house to watch what was going + on. + </p> + <p> + In the ditch, shoulder deep, the Leaguers, ready, watchful, waited in + silence, their eyes fixed on the white shimmer of the road leading to + Guadalajara. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Hooven?” enquired Cutter. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” Osterman replied. “He was out watching the Lower Road with + Harran Derrick. Oh, Harran,” he called, “isn't Hooven coming in?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what he is waiting for,” answered Harran. “He was to have + come in just after me. He thought maybe the marshal's party might make a + feint in this direction, then go around by the Upper Road, after all. He + wanted to watch them a little longer. But he ought to be here now.” + </p> + <p> + “Think he'll take a shot at them on his own account?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, he wouldn't do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe they took him prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's to be thought of, too.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a cry. Around the bend of the road in front of them + came a cloud of dust. From it emerged a horse's head. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, hello, there's something.” + </p> + <p> + “Remember, we are not to fire first.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that's Hooven; I can't see. Is it? There only seems to be one + horse.” + </p> + <p> + “Too much dust for one horse.” + </p> + <p> + Annixter, who had taken his field glasses from Harran, adjusted them to + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That's not them,” he announced presently, “nor Hooven either. That's a + cart.” Then after another moment, he added, “The butcher's cart from + Guadalajara.” + </p> + <p> + The tension was relaxed. The men drew long breaths, settling back in their + places. + </p> + <p> + “Do we let him go on, Governor?” + </p> + <p> + “The bridge is down. He can't go by and we must not let him go back. We + shall have to detain him and question him. I wonder the marshal let him + pass.” + </p> + <p> + The cart approached at a lively trot. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody else in that cart, Mr. Annixter?” asked Magnus. “Look carefully. + It may be a ruse. It is strange the marshal should have let him pass.” + </p> + <p> + The Leaguers roused themselves again. Osterman laid his hand on his + revolver. + </p> + <p> + “No,” called Annixter, in another instant, “no, there's only one man in + it.” + </p> + <p> + The cart came up, and Cutter and Phelps, clambering from the ditch, + stopped it as it arrived in front of the party. + </p> + <p> + “Hey—what—what?” exclaimed the young butcher, pulling up. “Is + that bridge broke?” + </p> + <p> + But at the idea of being held, the boy protested at top voice, badly + frightened, bewildered, not knowing what was to happen next. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I got my meat to deliver. Say, you let me go. Say, I ain't got + nothing to do with you.” + </p> + <p> + He tugged at the reins, trying to turn the cart about. Cutter, with his + jack-knife, parted the reins just back of the bit. + </p> + <p> + “You'll stay where you are, m' son, for a while. We're not going to hurt + you. But you are not going back to town till we say so. Did you pass + anybody on the road out of town?” + </p> + <p> + In reply to the Leaguers' questions, the young butcher at last told them + he had passed a two-horse buggy and a lot of men on horseback just beyond + the railroad tracks. They were headed for Los Muertos. + </p> + <p> + “That's them, all right,” muttered Annixter. “They're coming by this road, + sure.” + </p> + <p> + The butcher's horse and cart were led to one side of the road, and the + horse tied to the fence with one of the severed lines. The butcher, + himself, was passed over to Presley, who locked him in Hooven's barn. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what the devil,” demanded Osterman, “has become of Bismarck?” + </p> + <p> + In fact, the butcher had seen nothing of Hooven. The minutes were passing, + and still he failed to appear. + </p> + <p> + “What's he up to, anyways?” + </p> + <p> + “Bet you what you like, they caught him. Just like that crazy Dutchman to + get excited and go too near. You can always depend on Hooven to lose his + head.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes passed, then ten. The road towards Guadalajara lay empty, + baking and white under the sun. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the marshal and S. Behrman don't seem to be in any hurry, either.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I go forward and reconnoitre, Governor?” asked Harran. + </p> + <p> + But Dabney, who stood next to Annixter, touched him on the shoulder and, + without speaking, pointed down the road. Annixter looked, then suddenly + cried out: + </p> + <p> + “Here comes Hooven.” + </p> + <p> + The German galloped into sight, around the turn of the road, his rifle + laid across his saddle. He came on rapidly, pulled up, and dismounted at + the ditch. + </p> + <p> + “Dey're commen,” he cried, trembling with excitement. “I watch um long + dime bei der side oaf der roadt in der busches. Dey shtop bei der gate + oder side der relroadt trecks and talk long dime mit one n'udder. Den dey + gome on. Dey're gowun sure do zum monkey-doodle pizeness. Me, I see + Gritschun put der kertridges in his guhn. I tink dey gowun to gome MY + blace first. Dey gowun to try put me off, tek my home, bei Gott.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, get down in here and keep quiet, Hooven. Don't fire unless——” + </p> + <p> + “Here they are.” + </p> + <p> + A half-dozen voices uttered the cry at once. + </p> + <p> + There could be no mistake this time. A buggy, drawn by two horses, came + into view around the curve of the road. Three riders accompanied it, and + behind these, seen at intervals in a cloud of dust were two—three—five—six + others. + </p> + <p> + This, then, was S. Behrman with the United States marshal and his posse. + The event that had been so long in preparation, the event which it had + been said would never come to pass, the last trial of strength, the last + fight between the Trust and the People, the direct, brutal grapple of + armed men, the law defied, the Government ignored, behold, here it was + close at hand. + </p> + <p> + Osterman cocked his revolver, and in the profound silence that had fallen + upon the scene, the click was plainly audible from end to end of the line. + </p> + <p> + “Remember our agreement, gentlemen,” cried Magnus, in a warning voice. + “Mr. Osterman, I must ask you to let down the hammer of your weapon.” + </p> + <p> + No one answered. In absolute quiet, standing motionless in their places, + the Leaguers watched the approach of the marshal. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes passed. The riders came on steadily. They drew nearer. The + grind of the buggy wheels in the grit and dust of the road, and the + prolonged clatter of the horses' feet began to make itself heard. The + Leaguers could distinguish the faces of their enemies. + </p> + <p> + In the buggy were S. Behrman and Cyrus Ruggles, the latter driving. A tall + man in a frock coat and slouched hat—the marshal, beyond question—rode + at the left of the buggy; Delaney, carrying a Winchester, at the right. + Christian, the real estate broker, S. Behrman's cousin, also with a rifle, + could be made out just behind the marshal. Back of these, riding well up, + was a group of horsemen, indistinguishable in the dust raised by the + buggy's wheels. + </p> + <p> + Steadily the distance between the Leaguers and the posse diminished. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let them get too close, Governor,” whispered Harran. + </p> + <p> + When S. Behrman's buggy was about one hundred yards distant from the + irrigating ditch, Magnus sprang out upon the road, leaving his revolvers + behind him. He beckoned Garnett and Gethings to follow, and the three + ranchers, who, with the exception of Broderson, were the oldest men + present, advanced, without arms, to meet the marshal. + </p> + <p> + Magnus cried aloud: + </p> + <p> + “Halt where you are.” + </p> + <p> + From their places in the ditch, Annixter, Osterman, Dabney, Harran, + Hooven, Broderson, Cutter, and Phelps, their hands laid upon their + revolvers, watched silently, alert, keen, ready for anything. + </p> + <p> + At the Governor's words, they saw Ruggles pull sharply on the reins. The + buggy came to a standstill, the riders doing likewise. Magnus approached + the marshal, still followed by Garnett and Gethings, and began to speak. + His voice was audible to the men in the ditch, but his words could not be + made out. They heard the marshal reply quietly enough and the two shook + hands. Delaney came around from the side of the buggy, his horse standing + before the team across the road. He leaned from the saddle, listening to + what was being said, but made no remark. From time to time, S. Behrman and + Ruggles, from their seats in the buggy, interposed a sentence or two into + the conversation, but at first, so far as the Leaguers could discern, + neither Magnus nor the marshal paid them any attention. They saw, however, + that the latter repeatedly shook his head and once they heard him exclaim + in a loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “I only know my duty, Mr. Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + Then Gethings turned about, and seeing Delaney close at hand, addressed an + unheard remark to him. The cow-puncher replied curtly and the words seemed + to anger Gethings. He made a gesture, pointing back to the ditch, showing + the intrenched Leaguers to the posse. Delaney appeared to communicate the + news that the Leaguers were on hand and prepared to resist, to the other + members of the party. They all looked toward the ditch and plainly saw the + ranchers there, standing to their arms. + </p> + <p> + But meanwhile Ruggles had addressed himself more directly to Magnus, and + between the two an angry discussion was going forward. Once even Harran + heard his father exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “The statement is a lie and no one knows it better than yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Here,” growled Annixter to Dabney, who stood next him in the ditch, + “those fellows are getting too close. Look at them edging up. Don't Magnus + see that?” + </p> + <p> + The other members of the marshal's force had come forward from their + places behind the buggy and were spread out across the road. Some of them + were gathered about Magnus, Garnett, and Gethings; and some were talking + together, looking and pointing towards the ditch. Whether acting upon + signal or not, the Leaguers in the ditch could not tell, but it was + certain that one or two of the posse had moved considerably forward. + Besides this, Delaney had now placed his horse between Magnus and the + ditch, and two others riding up from the rear had followed his example. + The posse surrounded the three ranchers, and by now, everybody was talking + at once. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” Harran called to Annixter, “this won't do. I don't like the + looks of this thing. They all seem to be edging up, and before we know it + they may take the Governor and the other men prisoners.” + </p> + <p> + “They ought to come back,” declared Annixter. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody ought to tell them that those fellows are creeping up.” + </p> + <p> + By now, the angry argument between the Governor and Ruggles had become + more heated than ever. Their voices were raised; now and then they made + furious gestures. + </p> + <p> + “They ought to come back,” cried Osterman. “We couldn't shoot now if + anything should happen, for fear of hitting them.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it sounds as though something were going to happen pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + They could hear Gethings and Delaney wrangling furiously; another deputy + joined in. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to call the Governor back,” exclaimed Annixter, suddenly + clambering out of the ditch. “No, no,” cried Osterman, “keep in the ditch. + They can't drive us out if we keep here.” + </p> + <p> + Hooven and Harran, who had instinctively followed Annixter, hesitated at + Osterman's words and the three halted irresolutely on the road before the + ditch, their weapons in their hands. + </p> + <p> + “Governor,” shouted Harran, “come on back. You can't do anything.” + </p> + <p> + Still the wrangle continued, and one of the deputies, advancing a little + from out the group, cried out: + </p> + <p> + “Keep back there! Keep back there, you!” + </p> + <p> + “Go to hell, will you?” shouted Harran on the instant. “You're on my + land.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come back here, Harran,” called Osterman. “That ain't going to do any + good.” + </p> + <p> + “There—listen,” suddenly exclaimed Harran. “The Governor is calling + us. Come on; I'm going.” + </p> + <p> + Osterman got out of the ditch and came forward, catching Harran by the arm + and pulling him back. + </p> + <p> + “He didn't call. Don't get excited. You'll ruin everything. Get back into + the ditch again.” + </p> + <p> + But Cutter, Phelps, and the old man Dabney, misunderstanding what was + happening, and seeing Osterman leave the ditch, had followed his example. + All the Leaguers were now out of the ditch, and a little way down the + road, Hooven, Osterman, Annixter, and Harran in front, Dabney, Phelps, and + Cutter coming up from behind. + </p> + <p> + “Keep back, you,” cried the deputy again. + </p> + <p> + In the group around S. Behrman's buggy, Gethings and Delaney were yet + quarrelling, and the angry debate between Magnus, Garnett, and the marshal + still continued. + </p> + <p> + Till this moment, the real estate broker, Christian, had taken no part in + the argument, but had kept himself in the rear of the buggy. Now, however, + he pushed forward. There was but little room for him to pass, and, as he + rode by the buggy, his horse scraped his flank against the hub of the + wheel. The animal recoiled sharply, and, striking against Garnett, threw + him to the ground. Delaney's horse stood between the buggy and the + Leaguers gathered on the road in front of the ditch; the incident, + indistinctly seen by them, was misinterpreted. + </p> + <p> + Garnett had not yet risen when Hooven raised a great shout: + </p> + <p> + “HOCH, DER KAISER! HOCH, DER VATERLAND!” + </p> + <p> + With the words, he dropped to one knee, and sighting his rifle carefully, + fired into the group of men around the buggy. + </p> + <p> + Instantly the revolvers and rifles seemed to go off of themselves. Both + sides, deputies and Leaguers, opened fire simultaneously. At first, it was + nothing but a confused roar of explosions; then the roar lapsed to an + irregular, quick succession of reports, shot leaping after shot; then a + moment's silence, and, last of all, regular as clock-ticks, three shots at + exact intervals. Then stillness. + </p> + <p> + Delaney, shot through the stomach, slid down from his horse, and, on his + hands and knees, crawled from the road into the standing wheat. Christian + fell backward from the saddle toward the buggy, and hung suspended in that + position, his head and shoulders on the wheel, one stiff leg still across + his saddle. Hooven, in attempting to rise from his kneeling position, + received a rifle ball squarely in the throat, and rolled forward upon his + face. Old Broderson, crying out, “Oh, they've shot me, boys,” staggered + sideways, his head bent, his hands rigid at his sides, and fell into the + ditch. Osterman, blood running from his mouth and nose, turned about and + walked back. Presley helped him across the irrigating ditch and Osterman + laid himself down, his head on his folded arms. Harran Derrick dropped + where he stood, turning over on his face, and lay motionless, groaning + terribly, a pool of blood forming under his stomach. The old man Dabney, + silent as ever, received his death, speechless. He fell to his knees, got + up again, fell once more, and died without a word. Annixter, instantly + killed, fell his length to the ground, and lay without movement, just as + he had fallen, one arm across his face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + On their way to Derrick's ranch house, Hilma and Mrs. Derrick heard the + sounds of distant firing. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” cried Hilma, laying her hand upon young Vacca's arm. “Stop the + horses. Listen, what was that?” + </p> + <p> + The carry-all came to a halt and from far away across the rustling wheat + came the faint rattle of rifles and revolvers. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” cried Vacca, rolling his eyes, “oh, say, they're fighting over + there.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Derrick put her hands over her face. + </p> + <p> + “Fighting,” she cried, “oh, oh, it's terrible. Magnus is there—and + Harran.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you think it is?” demanded Hilma. “That's over toward Hooven's.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going. Turn back. Drive to Hooven's, quick.” + </p> + <p> + “Better not, Mrs. Annixter,” protested the young man. “Mr. Annixter said + we were to go to Derrick's. Better keep away from Hooven's if there's + trouble there. We wouldn't get there till it's all over, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, let's go home,” cried Mrs. Derrick, “I'm afraid. Oh, Hilma, I'm + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Come with me to Hooven's then.” + </p> + <p> + “There, where they are fighting? Oh, I couldn't. I—I can't. It would + be all over before we got there as Vacca says.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” repeated young Vacca. + </p> + <p> + “Drive to Hooven's,” commanded Hilma. “If you won't, I'll walk there.” She + threw off the lap-robes, preparing to descend. “And you,” she exclaimed, + turning to Mrs. Derrick, “how CAN you—when Harran and your husband + may be—may—are in danger.” + </p> + <p> + Grumbling, Vacca turned the carry-all about and drove across the open + fields till he reached the road to Guadalajara, just below the Mission. + </p> + <p> + “Hurry!” cried Hilma. + </p> + <p> + The horses started forward under the touch of the whip. The ranch houses + of Quien Sabe came in sight. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to stop at the house?” inquired Vacca over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “No, no; oh, go faster—make the horses run.” + </p> + <p> + They dashed through the houses of the Home ranch. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh,” cried Hilma suddenly, “look, look there. Look what they have + done.” + </p> + <p> + Vacca pulled the horses up, for the road in front of Annixter's house was + blocked. + </p> + <p> + A vast, confused heap of household effects was there—chairs, sofas, + pictures, fixtures, lamps. Hilma's little home had been gutted; everything + had been taken from it and ruthlessly flung out upon the road, everything + that she and her husband had bought during that wonderful week after their + marriage. Here was the white enamelled “set” of the bedroom furniture, the + three chairs, wash-stand and bureau,—the bureau drawers falling out, + spilling their contents into the dust; there were the white wool rugs of + the sitting-room, the flower stand, with its pots all broken, its flowers + wilting; the cracked goldfish globe, the fishes already dead; the rocking + chair, the sewing machine, the great round table of yellow oak, the lamp + with its deep shade of crinkly red tissue paper, the pretty tinted + photographs that had hung on the wall—the choir boys with beautiful + eyes, the pensive young girls in pink gowns—the pieces of wood + carving that represented quails and ducks, and, last of all, its curtains + of crisp, clean muslin, cruelly torn and crushed—the bed, the + wonderful canopied bed so brave and gay, of which Hilma had been so proud, + thrust out there into the common road, torn from its place, from the + discreet intimacy of her bridal chamber, violated, profaned, flung out + into the dust and garish sunshine for all men to stare at, a mockery and a + shame. + </p> + <p> + To Hilma it was as though something of herself, of her person, had been + thus exposed and degraded; all that she held sacred pilloried, gibbeted, + and exhibited to the world's derision. Tears of anguish sprang to her + eyes, a red flame of outraged modesty overspread her face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she cried, a sob catching her throat, “oh, how could they do it?” + But other fears intruded; other greater terrors impended. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” she cried to Vacca, “go on quickly.” + </p> + <p> + But Vacca would go no further. He had seen what had escaped Hilma's + attention, two men, deputies, no doubt, on the porch of the ranch house. + They held possession there, and the evidence of the presence of the enemy + in this raid upon Quien Sabe had daunted him. + </p> + <p> + “No, SIR,” he declared, getting out of the carry-all, “I ain't going to + take you anywhere where you're liable to get hurt. Besides, the road's + blocked by all this stuff. You can't get the team by.” + </p> + <p> + Hilma sprang from the carry-all. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” she said to Mrs. Derrick. + </p> + <p> + The older woman, trembling, hesitating, faint with dread, obeyed, and + Hilma, picking her way through and around the wreck of her home, set off + by the trail towards the Long Trestle and Hooven's. + </p> + <p> + When she arrived, she found the road in front of the German's house, and, + indeed, all the surrounding yard, crowded with people. An overturned buggy + lay on the side of the road in the distance, its horses in a tangle of + harness, held by two or three men. She saw Caraher's buckboard under the + live oak and near it a second buggy which she recognised as belonging to a + doctor in Guadalajara. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what has happened; oh, what has happened?” moaned Mrs. Derrick. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” repeated Hilma. The young girl took her by the hand and together + they pushed their way through the crowd of men and women and entered the + yard. + </p> + <p> + The throng gave way before the two women, parting to right and left + without a word. + </p> + <p> + “Presley,” cried Mrs. Derrick, as she caught sight of him in the doorway + of the house, “oh, Presley, what has happened? Is Harran safe? Is Magnus + safe? Where are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't go in, Mrs. Derrick,” said Presley, coming forward, “don't go in.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is my husband?” demanded Hilma. + </p> + <p> + Presley turned away and steadied himself against the jamb of the door. + </p> + <p> + Hilma, leaving Mrs. Derrick, entered the house. The front room was full of + men. She was dimly conscious of Cyrus Ruggles and S. Behrman, both deadly + pale, talking earnestly and in whispers to Cutter and Phelps. There was a + strange, acrid odour of an unfamiliar drug in the air. On the table before + her was a satchel, surgical instruments, rolls of bandages, and a blue, + oblong paper box full of cotton. But above the hushed noises of voices and + footsteps, one terrible sound made itself heard—the prolonged, + rasping sound of breathing, half choked, laboured, agonised. + </p> + <p> + “Where is my husband?” she cried. She pushed the men aside. She saw + Magnus, bareheaded, three or four men lying on the floor, one half naked, + his body swathed in white bandages; the doctor in shirt sleeves, on one + knee beside a figure of a man stretched out beside him. + </p> + <p> + Garnett turned a white face to her. + </p> + <p> + “Where is my husband?” + </p> + <p> + The other did not reply, but stepped aside and Hilma saw the dead body of + her husband lying upon the bed. She did not cry out. She said no word. She + went to the bed, and sitting upon it, took Annixter's head in her lap, + holding it gently between her hands. Thereafter she did not move, but sat + holding her dead husband's head in her lap, looking vaguely about from + face to face of those in the room, while, without a sob, without a cry, + the great tears filled her wide-opened eyes and rolled slowly down upon + her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + On hearing that his wife was outside, Magnus came quickly forward. She + threw herself into his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, tell me,” she cried, “is Harran—is——” + </p> + <p> + “We don't know yet,” he answered. “Oh, Annie——” + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly the Governor checked himself. He, the indomitable, could not + break down now. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor is with him,” he said; “we are doing all we can. Try and be + brave, Annie. There is always hope. This is a terrible day's work. God + forgive us all.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed forward, but he held her back. + </p> + <p> + “No, don't see him now. Go into the next room. Garnett, take care of her.” + </p> + <p> + But she would not be denied. She pushed by Magnus, and, breaking through + the group that surrounded her son, sank on her knees beside him, moaning, + in compassion and terror. + </p> + <p> + Harran lay straight and rigid upon the floor, his head propped by a + pillow, his coat that had been taken off spread over his chest. One leg of + his trousers was soaked through and through with blood. His eyes were + half-closed, and with the regularity of a machine, the eyeballs twitched + and twitched. His face was so white that it made his yellow hair look + brown, while from his opened mouth, there issued that loud and terrible + sound of guttering, rasping, laboured breathing that gagged and choked and + gurgled with every inhalation. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Harrie, Harrie,” called Mrs. Derrick, catching at one of his hands. + </p> + <p> + The doctor shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “He is unconscious, Mrs. Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was he—where is—the—the——” + </p> + <p> + “Through the lungs.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he get well? Tell me the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Mrs. Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + She had all but fainted, and the old rancher, Garnett, half-carrying, + half-leading her, took her to the one adjoining room—Minna Hooven's + bedchamber. Dazed, numb with fear, she sat down on the edge of the bed, + rocking herself back and forth, murmuring: + </p> + <p> + “Harrie, Harrie, oh, my son, my little boy.” + </p> + <p> + In the outside room, Presley came and went, doing what he could to be of + service, sick with horror, trembling from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + The surviving members of both Leaguers and deputies—the warring + factions of the Railroad and the People—mingled together now with no + thought of hostility. Presley helped the doctor to cover Christian's body. + S. Behrman and Ruggles held bowls of water while Osterman was attended to. + The horror of that dreadful business had driven all other considerations + from the mind. The sworn foes of the last hour had no thought of anything + but to care for those whom, in their fury, they had shot down. The + marshal, abandoning for that day the attempt to serve the writs, departed + for San Francisco. + </p> + <p> + The bodies had been brought in from the road where they fell. Annixter's + corpse had been laid upon the bed; those of Dabney and Hooven, whose + wounds had all been in the face and head, were covered with a tablecloth. + Upon the floor, places were made for the others. Cutter and Ruggles rode + into Guadalajara to bring out the doctor there, and to telephone to + Bonneville for others. + </p> + <p> + Osterman had not at any time since the shooting, lost consciousness. He + lay upon the floor of Hooven's house, bare to the waist, bandages of + adhesive tape reeved about his abdomen and shoulder. His eyes were + half-closed. Presley, who looked after him, pending the arrival of a hack + from Bonneville that was to take him home, knew that he was in agony. + </p> + <p> + But this poser, this silly fellow, this cracker of jokes, whom no one had + ever taken very seriously, at the last redeemed himself. When at length, + the doctor had arrived, he had, for the first time, opened his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I can wait,” he said. “Take Harran first.” And when at length, his turn + had come, and while the sweat rolled from his forehead as the doctor began + probing for the bullet, he had reached out his free arm and taken + Presley's hand in his, gripping it harder and harder, as the probe entered + the wound. His breath came short through his nostrils; his face, the face + of a comic actor, with its high cheek bones, bald forehead, and salient + ears, grew paler and paler, his great slit of a mouth shut tight, but he + uttered no groan. + </p> + <p> + When the worst anguish was over and he could find breath to speak, his + first words had been: + </p> + <p> + “Were any of the others badly hurt?” + </p> + <p> + As Presley stood by the door of the house after bringing in a pail of + water for the doctor, he was aware of a party of men who had struck off + from the road on the other side of the irrigating ditch and were advancing + cautiously into the field of wheat. He wondered what it meant and Cutter, + coming up at that moment, Presley asked him if he knew. + </p> + <p> + “It's Delaney,” said Cutter. “It seems that when he was shot he crawled + off into the wheat. They are looking for him there.” + </p> + <p> + Presley had forgotten all about the buster and had only a vague + recollection of seeing him slide from his horse at the beginning of the + fight. Anxious to know what had become of him, he hurried up and joined + the party of searchers. + </p> + <p> + “We better look out,” said one of the young men, “how we go fooling around + in here. If he's alive yet he's just as liable as not to think we're after + him and take a shot at us.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess there ain't much fight left in him,” another answered. “Look at + the wheat here.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord! He's bled like a stuck pig.” + </p> + <p> + “Here's his hat,” abruptly exclaimed the leader of the party. “He can't be + far off. Let's call him.” + </p> + <p> + They called repeatedly without getting any answer, then proceeded + cautiously. All at once the men in advance stopped so suddenly that those + following carromed against them. There was an outburst of exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is!” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! Sure, that's him.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellow, poor fellow.” + </p> + <p> + The cow-puncher lay on his back, deep in the wheat, his knees drawn up, + his eyes wide open, his lips brown. Rigidly gripped in one hand was his + empty revolver. + </p> + <p> + The men, farm hands from the neighbouring ranches, young fellows from + Guadalajara, drew back in instinctive repulsion. One at length ventured + near, peering down into the face. + </p> + <p> + “Is he dead?” inquired those in the rear. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, put your hand on his heart.” “No! I—I don't want to.” + </p> + <p> + “What you afraid of?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I just don't want to touch him, that's all. It's bad luck. YOU feel + his heart.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't always tell by that.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell, then? Pshaw, you fellows make me sick. Here, let me get + there. I'll do it.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause, as the other bent down and laid his hand on the + cow-puncher's breast. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell. Sometimes I think I feel it beat and sometimes I don't. I + never saw a dead man before.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you can't tell by the heart.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of talking so blame much. Dead or not, let's carry him + back to the house.” + </p> + <p> + Two or three ran back to the road for planks from the broken bridge. When + they returned with these a litter was improvised, and throwing their coats + over the body, the party carried it back to the road. The doctor was + summoned and declared the cow-puncher to have been dead over half an hour. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you?” exclaimed one of the group. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never said he wasn't dead,” protested the other. “I only said you + couldn't always tell by whether his heart beat or not.” + </p> + <p> + But all at once there was a commotion. The wagon containing Mrs. Hooven, + Minna, and little Hilda drove up. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, den, my men,” cried Mrs. Hooven, wildly interrogating the faces of + the crowd. “Whadt has happun? Sey, den, dose vellers, hev dey hurdt my + men, eh, whadt?” + </p> + <p> + She sprang from the wagon, followed by Minna with Hilda in her arms. The + crowd bore back as they advanced, staring at them in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, whadt has happun, whadt has happun?” wailed Mrs. Hooven, as she + hurried on, her two hands out before her, the fingers spread wide. “Eh, + Hooven, eh, my men, are you alle righdt?” + </p> + <p> + She burst into the house. Hooven's body had been removed to an adjoining + room, the bedroom of the house, and to this room Mrs. Hooven—Minna + still at her heels—proceeded, guided by an instinct born of the + occasion. Those in the outside room, saying no word, made way for them. + They entered, closing the door behind them, and through all the rest of + that terrible day, no sound nor sight of them was had by those who crowded + into and about that house of death. Of all the main actors of the tragedy + of the fight in the ditch, they remained the least noted, obtruded + themselves the least upon the world's observation. They were, for the + moment, forgotten. + </p> + <p> + But by now Hooven's house was the centre of an enormous crowd. A vast + concourse of people from Bonneville, from Guadalajara, from the ranches, + swelled by the thousands who had that morning participated in the rabbit + drive, surged about the place; men and women, young boys, young girls, + farm hands, villagers, townspeople, ranchers, railroad employees, + Mexicans, Spaniards, Portuguese. Presley, returning from the search for + Delaney's body, had to fight his way to the house again. + </p> + <p> + And from all this multitude there rose an indefinable murmur. As yet, + there was no menace in it, no anger. It was confusion merely, + bewilderment, the first long-drawn “oh!” that greets the news of some + great tragedy. The people had taken no thought as yet. Curiosity was their + dominant impulse. Every one wanted to see what had been done; failing + that, to hear of it, and failing that, to be near the scene of the affair. + The crowd of people packed the road in front of the house for nearly a + quarter of a mile in either direction. They balanced themselves upon the + lower strands of the barbed wire fence in their effort to see over each + others' shoulders; they stood on the seats of their carts, buggies, and + farm wagons, a few even upon the saddles of their riding horses. They + crowded, pushed, struggled, surged forward and back without knowing why, + converging incessantly upon Hooven's house. + </p> + <p> + When, at length, Presley got to the gate, he found a carry-all drawn up + before it. Between the gate and the door of the house a lane had been + formed, and as he paused there a moment, a group of Leaguers, among whom + were Garnett and Gethings, came slowly from the door carrying old + Broderson in their arms. The doctor, bareheaded and in his shirt sleeves, + squinting in the sunlight, attended them, repeating at every step: + </p> + <p> + “Slow, slow, take it easy, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + Old Broderson was unconscious. His face was not pale, no bandages could be + seen. With infinite precautions, the men bore him to the carry-all and + deposited him on the back seat; the rain flaps were let down on one side + to shut off the gaze of the multitude. + </p> + <p> + But at this point a moment of confusion ensued. Presley, because of half a + dozen people who stood in his way, could not see what was going on. There + were exclamations, hurried movements. The doctor uttered a sharp command + and a man ran back to the house returning on the instant with the doctor's + satchel. By this time, Presley was close to the wheels of the carry-all + and could see the doctor inside the vehicle bending over old Broderson. + </p> + <p> + “Here it is, here it is,” exclaimed the man who had been sent to the + house. + </p> + <p> + “I won't need it,” answered the doctor, “he's dying now.” + </p> + <p> + At the words a great hush widened throughout the throng near at hand. Some + men took off their hats. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back,” protested the doctor quietly, “stand back, good people, + please.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd bore back a little. In the silence, a woman began to sob. The + seconds passed, then a minute. The horses of the carry-all shifted their + feet and whisked their tails, driving off the flies. At length, the doctor + got down from the carry-all, letting down the rain-flaps on that side as + well. + </p> + <p> + “Will somebody go home with the body?” he asked. Gethings stepped forward + and took his place by the driver. The carry-all drove away. + </p> + <p> + Presley reentered the house. During his absence it had been cleared of all + but one or two of the Leaguers, who had taken part in the fight. Hilma + still sat on the bed with Annixter's head in her lap. S. Behrman, Ruggles, + and all the railroad party had gone. Osterman had been taken away in a + hack and the tablecloth over Dabney's body replaced with a sheet. But + still unabated, agonised, raucous, came the sounds of Harran's breathing. + Everything possible had already been done. For the moment it was out of + the question to attempt to move him. His mother and father were at his + side, Magnus, with a face of stone, his look fixed on those persistently + twitching eyes, Annie Derrick crouching at her son's side, one of his + hands in hers, fanning his face continually with the crumpled sheet of an + old newspaper. + </p> + <p> + Presley on tip-toes joined the group, looking on attentively. One of the + surgeons who had been called from Bonneville stood close by, watching + Harran's face, his arms folded. + </p> + <p> + “How is he?” Presley whispered. + </p> + <p> + “He won't live,” the other responded. + </p> + <p> + By degrees the choke and gurgle of the breathing became more irregular and + the lids closed over the twitching eyes. All at once the breath ceased. + Magnus shot an inquiring glance at the surgeon. + </p> + <p> + “He is dead, Mr. Derrick,” the surgeon replied. + </p> + <p> + Annie Derrick, with a cry that rang through all the house, stretched + herself over the body of her son, her head upon his breast, and the + Governor's great shoulders bowed never to rise again. + </p> + <p> + “God help me and forgive me,” he groaned. + </p> + <p> + Presley rushed from the house, beside himself with grief, with horror, + with pity, and with mad, insensate rage. On the porch outside Caraher met + him. + </p> + <p> + “Is he—is he—” began the saloon-keeper. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he's dead,” cried Presley. “They're all dead, murdered, shot down, + dead, dead, all of them. Whose turn is next?” + </p> + <p> + “That's the way they killed my wife, Presley.” + </p> + <p> + “Caraher,” cried Presley, “give me your hand. I've been wrong all the + time. The League is wrong. All the world is wrong. You are the only one of + us all who is right. I'm with you from now on. BY GOD, I TOO, I'M A RED!” + </p> + <p> + In course of time, a farm wagon from Bonneville arrived at Hooven's. The + bodies of Annixter and Harran were placed in it, and it drove down the + Lower Road towards the Los Muertos ranch houses. + </p> + <p> + The bodies of Delaney and Christian had already been carried to + Guadalajara and thence taken by train to Bonneville. + </p> + <p> + Hilma followed the farm wagon in the Derricks' carry-all, with Magnus and + his wife. During all that ride none of them spoke a word. It had been + arranged that, since Quien Sabe was in the hands of the Railroad, Hilma + should come to Los Muertos. To that place also Annixter's body was + carried. + </p> + <p> + Later on in the day, when it was almost evening, the undertaker's black + wagon passed the Derricks' Home ranch on its way from Hooven's and turned + into the county road towards Bonneville. The initial excitement of the + affair of the irrigating ditch had died down; the crowd long since had + dispersed. By the time the wagon passed Caraher's saloon, the sun had set. + Night was coming on. + </p> + <p> + And the black wagon went on through the darkness, unattended, ignored, + solitary, carrying the dead body of Dabney, the silent old man of whom + nothing was known but his name, who made no friends, whom nobody knew or + spoke to, who had come from no one knew whence and who went no one knew + whither. + </p> + <p> + Towards midnight of that same day, Mrs. Dyke was awakened by the sounds of + groaning in the room next to hers. Magnus Derrick was not so occupied by + Harran's death that he could not think of others who were in distress, and + when he had heard that Mrs. Dyke and Sidney, like Hilma, had been turned + out of Quien Sabe, he had thrown open Los Muertos to them. + </p> + <p> + “Though,” he warned them, “it is precarious hospitality at the best.” + </p> + <p> + Until late, Mrs. Dyke had sat up with Hilma, comforting her as best she + could, rocking her to and fro in her arms, crying with her, trying to + quiet her, for once having given way to her grief, Hilma wept with a + terrible anguish and a violence that racked her from head to foot, and at + last, worn out, a little child again, had sobbed herself to sleep in the + older woman's arms, and as a little child, Mrs. Dyke had put her to bed + and had retired herself. + </p> + <p> + Aroused a few hours later by the sounds of a distress that was physical, + as well as mental, Mrs. Dyke hurried into Hilma's room, carrying the lamp + with her. Mrs. Dyke needed no enlightenment. She woke Presley and besought + him to telephone to Bonneville at once, summoning a doctor. That night + Hilma in great pain suffered a miscarriage. + </p> + <p> + Presley did not close his eyes once during the night; he did not even + remove his clothes. Long after the doctor had departed and that house of + tragedy had quieted down, he still remained in his place by the open + window of his little room, looking off across the leagues of growing + wheat, watching the slow kindling of the dawn. Horror weighed intolerably + upon him. Monstrous things, huge, terrible, whose names he knew only too + well, whirled at a gallop through his imagination, or rose spectral and + grisly before the eyes of his mind. Harran dead, Annixter dead, Broderson + dead, Osterman, perhaps, even at that moment dying. Why, these men had + made up his world. Annixter had been his best friend, Harran, his almost + daily companion; Broderson and Osterman were familiar to him as brothers. + They were all his associates, his good friends, the group was his + environment, belonging to his daily life. And he, standing there in the + dust of the road by the irrigating ditch, had seen them shot. He found + himself suddenly at his table, the candle burning at his elbow, his + journal before him, writing swiftly, the desire for expression, the + craving for outlet to the thoughts that clamoured tumultuous at his brain, + never more insistent, more imperious. Thus he wrote: + </p> + <p> + “Dabney dead, Hooven dead, Harran dead, Annixter dead, Broderson dead, + Osterman dying, S. Behrman alive, successful; the Railroad in possession + of Quien Sabe. I saw them shot. Not twelve hours since I stood there at + the irrigating ditch. Ah, that terrible moment of horror and confusion! + powder smoke—flashing pistol barrels—blood stains—rearing + horses—men staggering to their death—Christian in a horrible + posture, one rigid leg high in the air across his saddle—Broderson + falling sideways into the ditch—Osterman laying himself down, his + head on his arms, as if tired, tired out. These things, I have seen them. + The picture of this day's work is from henceforth part of my mind, part of + ME. They have done it, S. Behrman and the owners of the railroad have done + it, while all the world looked on, while the people of these United States + looked on. Oh, come now and try your theories upon us, us of the ranchos, + us, who have suffered, us, who KNOW. Oh, talk to US now of the 'rights of + Capital,' talk to US of the Trust, talk to US of the 'equilibrium between + the classes.' Try your ingenious ideas upon us. WE KNOW. I cannot tell + whether or not your theories are excellent. I do not know if your ideas + are plausible. I do not know how practical is your scheme of society. I do + not know if the Railroad has a right to our lands, but I DO know that + Harran is dead, that Annixter is dead, that Broderson is dead, that Hooven + is dead, that Osterman is dying, and that S. Behrman is alive, successful, + triumphant; that he has ridden into possession of a principality over the + dead bodies of five men shot down by his hired associates. + </p> + <p> + “I can see the outcome. The Railroad will prevail. The Trust will + overpower us. Here in this corner of a great nation, here, on the edge of + the continent, here, in this valley of the West, far from the great + centres, isolated, remote, lost, the great iron hand crushes life from us, + crushes liberty and the pursuit of happiness from us, and our little + struggles, our moment's convulsion of death agony causes not one jar in + the vast, clashing machinery of the nation's life; a fleck of grit in the + wheels, perhaps, a grain of sand in the cogs—the momentary creak of + the axle is the mother's wail of bereavement, the wife's cry of anguish—and + the great wheel turns, spinning smooth again, even again, and the tiny + impediment of a second, scarce noticed, is forgotten. Make the people + believe that the faint tremour in their great engine is a menace to its + function? What a folly to think of it. Tell them of the danger and they + will laugh at you. Tell them, five years from now, the story of the fight + between the League of the San Joaquin and the Railroad and it will not be + believed. What! a pitched battle between Farmer and Railroad, a battle + that cost the lives of seven men? Impossible, it could not have happened. + Your story is fiction—is exaggerated. + </p> + <p> + “Yet it is Lexington—God help us, God enlighten us, God rouse us + from our lethargy—it is Lexington; farmers with guns in their hands + fighting for Liberty. Is our State of California the only one that has its + ancient and hereditary foe? Are there no other Trusts between the oceans + than this of the Pacific and Southwestern Railroad? Ask yourselves, you of + the Middle West, ask yourselves, you of the North, ask yourselves, you of + the East, ask yourselves, you of the South—ask yourselves, every + citizen of every State from Maine to Mexico, from the Dakotas to the + Carolinas, have you not the monster in your boundaries? If it is not a + Trust of transportation, it is only another head of the same Hydra. Is not + our death struggle typical? Is it not one of many, is it not symbolical of + the great and terrible conflict that is going on everywhere in these + United States? Ah, you people, blind, bound, tricked, betrayed, can you + not see it? Can you not see how the monsters have plundered your treasures + and holding them in the grip of their iron claws, dole them out to you + only at the price of your blood, at the price of the lives of your wives + and your little children? You give your babies to Moloch for the loaf of + bread you have kneaded yourselves. You offer your starved wives to + Juggernaut for the iron nail you have yourselves compounded.” + </p> + <p> + He spent the night over his journal, writing down such thoughts as these + or walking the floor from wall to wall, or, seized at times with + unreasoning horror and blind rage, flinging himself face downward upon his + bed, vowing with inarticulate cries that neither S. Behrman nor Shelgrim + should ever live to consummate their triumph. + </p> + <p> + Morning came and with it the daily papers and news. Presley did not even + glance at the “Mercury.” Bonneville published two other daily journals + that professed to voice the will and reflect the temper of the people and + these he read eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Osterman was yet alive and there were chances of his recovery. The League—some + three hundred of its members had gathered at Bonneville over night and + were patrolling the streets and, still resolved to keep the peace, were + even guarding the railroad shops and buildings. Furthermore, the Leaguers + had issued manifestoes, urging all citizens to preserve law and order, yet + summoning an indignation meeting to be convened that afternoon at the City + Opera House. + </p> + <p> + It appeared from the newspapers that those who obstructed the marshal in + the discharge of his duty could be proceeded against by the District + Attorney on information or by bringing the matter before the Grand Jury. + But the Grand Jury was not at that time in session, and it was known that + there were no funds in the marshal's office to pay expenses for the + summoning of jurors or the serving of processes. S. Behrman and Ruggles in + interviews stated that the Railroad withdrew entirely from the fight; the + matter now, according to them, was between the Leaguers and the United + States Government; they washed their hands of the whole business. The + ranchers could settle with Washington. But it seemed that Congress had + recently forbade the use of troops for civil purposes; the whole matter of + the League-Railroad contest was evidently for the moment to be left in + status quo. + </p> + <p> + But to Presley's mind the most important piece of news that morning was + the report of the action of the Railroad upon hearing of the battle. + </p> + <p> + Instantly Bonneville had been isolated. Not a single local train was + running, not one of the through trains made any halt at the station. The + mails were not moved. Further than this, by some arrangement difficult to + understand, the telegraph operators at Bonneville and Guadalajara, acting + under orders, refused to receive any telegrams except those emanating from + railway officials. The story of the fight, the story creating the first + impression, was to be told to San Francisco and the outside world by S. + Behrman, Ruggles, and the local P. and S. W. agents. + </p> + <p> + An hour before breakfast, the undertakers arrived and took charge of the + bodies of Harran and Annixter. Presley saw neither Hilma, Magnus, nor Mrs. + Derrick. The doctor came to look after Hilma. He breakfasted with Mrs. + Dyke and Presley, and from him Presley learned that Hilma would recover + both from the shock of her husband's death and from her miscarriage of the + previous night. + </p> + <p> + “She ought to have her mother with her,” said the physician. “She does + nothing but call for her or beg to be allowed to go to her. I have tried + to get a wire through to Mrs. Tree, but the company will not take it, and + even if I could get word to her, how could she get down here? There are no + trains.” + </p> + <p> + But Presley found that it was impossible for him to stay at Los Muertos + that day. Gloom and the shadow of tragedy brooded heavy over the place. A + great silence pervaded everything, a silence broken only by the subdued + coming and going of the undertaker and his assistants. When Presley, + having resolved to go into Bonneville, came out through the doorway of the + house, he found the undertaker tying a long strip of crape to the + bell-handle. + </p> + <p> + Presley saddled his pony and rode into town. By this time, after long + hours of continued reflection upon one subject, a sombre brooding + malevolence, a deep-seated desire of revenge, had grown big within his + mind. The first numbness had passed off; familiarity with what had been + done had blunted the edge of horror, and now the impulse of retaliation + prevailed. At first, the sullen anger of defeat, the sense of outrage, had + only smouldered, but the more he brooded, the fiercer flamed his rage. + Sudden paroxysms of wrath gripped him by the throat; abrupt outbursts of + fury injected his eyes with blood. He ground his teeth, his mouth filled + with curses, his hands clenched till they grew white and bloodless. Was + the Railroad to triumph then in the end? After all those months of + preparation, after all those grandiloquent resolutions, after all the + arrogant presumption of the League! The League! what a farce; what had it + amounted to when the crisis came? Was the Trust to crush them all so + easily? Was S. Behrman to swallow Los Muertos? S. Behrman! Presley saw him + plainly, huge, rotund, white; saw his jowl tremulous and obese, the roll + of fat over his collar sprinkled with sparse hairs, the great stomach with + its brown linen vest and heavy watch chain of hollow links, clinking + against the buttons of imitation pearl. And this man was to crush Magnus + Derrick—had already stamped the life from such men as Harran and + Annixter. This man, in the name of the Trust, was to grab Los Muertos as + he had grabbed Quien Sabe, and after Los Muertos, Broderson's ranch, then + Osterman's, then others, and still others, the whole valley, the whole + State. + </p> + <p> + Presley beat his forehead with his clenched fist as he rode on. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he cried, “no, kill him, kill him, kill him with my hands.” + </p> + <p> + The idea of it put him beside himself. Oh, to sink his fingers deep into + the white, fat throat of the man, to clutch like iron into the great + puffed jowl of him, to wrench out the life, to batter it out, strangle it + out, to pay him back for the long years of extortion and oppression, to + square accounts for bribed jurors, bought judges, corrupted legislatures, + to have justice for the trick of the Ranchers' Railroad Commission, the + charlatanism of the “ten per cent. cut,” the ruin of Dyke, the seizure of + Quien Sabe, the murder of Harran, the assassination of Annixter! + </p> + <p> + It was in such mood that he reached Caraher's. The saloon-keeper had just + opened his place and was standing in his doorway, smoking his pipe. + Presley dismounted and went in and the two had a long talk. + </p> + <p> + When, three hours later, Presley came out of the saloon and rode on + towards Bonneville, his face was very pale, his lips shut tight, resolute, + determined. His manner was that of a man whose mind is made up. The hour + for the mass meeting at the Opera House had been set for one o'clock, but + long before noon the street in front of the building and, in fact, all the + streets in its vicinity, were packed from side to side with a shifting, + struggling, surging, and excited multitude. There were few women in the + throng, but hardly a single male inhabitant of either Bonneville or + Guadalajara was absent. Men had even come from Visalia and Pixley. It was + no longer the crowd of curiosity seekers that had thronged around Hooven's + place by the irrigating ditch; the People were no longer confused, + bewildered. A full realisation of just what had been done the day before + was clear now in the minds of all. Business was suspended; nearly all the + stores were closed. Since early morning the members of the League had put + in an appearance and rode from point to point, their rifles across their + saddle pommels. Then, by ten o'clock, the streets had begun to fill up, + the groups on the corners grew and merged into one another; pedestrians, + unable to find room on the sidewalks, took to the streets. Hourly the + crowd increased till shoulders touched and elbows, till free circulation + became impeded, then congested, then impossible. The crowd, a solid mass, + was wedged tight from store front to store front. And from all this + throng, this single unit, this living, breathing organism—the People—there + rose a droning, terrible note. It was not yet the wild, fierce clamour of + riot and insurrection, shrill, high pitched; but it was a beginning, the + growl of the awakened brute, feeling the iron in its flank, heaving up its + head with bared teeth, the throat vibrating to the long, indrawn snarl of + wrath. + </p> + <p> + Thus the forenoon passed, while the people, their bulk growing hourly + vaster, kept to the streets, moving slowly backward and forward, + oscillating in the grooves of the thoroughfares, the steady, low-pitched + growl rising continually into the hot, still air. + </p> + <p> + Then, at length, about twelve o'clock, the movement of the throng assumed + definite direction. It set towards the Opera House. Presley, who had left + his pony at the City livery stable, found himself caught in the current + and carried slowly forward in its direction. His arms were pinioned to his + sides by the press, the crush against his body was all but rib-cracking, + he could hardly draw his breath. All around him rose and fell wave after + wave of faces, hundreds upon hundreds, thousands upon thousands, red, + lowering, sullen. All were set in one direction and slowly, slowly they + advanced, crowding closer, till they almost touched one another. For + reasons that were inexplicable, great, tumultuous heavings, like + ground-swells of an incoming tide, surged over and through the multitude. + At times, Presley, lifted from his feet, was swept back, back, back, with + the crowd, till the entrance of the Opera House was half a block away; + then, the returning billow beat back again and swung him along, gasping, + staggering, clutching, till he was landed once more in the vortex of + frantic action in front of the foyer. Here the waves were shorter, + quicker, the crushing pressure on all sides of his body left him without + strength to utter the cry that rose to his lips; then, suddenly the whole + mass of struggling, stamping, fighting, writhing men about him seemed, as + it were, to rise, to lift, multitudinous, swelling, gigantic. A mighty + rush dashed Presley forward in its leap. There was a moment's whirl of + confused sights, congested faces, opened mouths, bloodshot eyes, clutching + hands; a moment's outburst of furious sound, shouts, cheers, oaths; a + moment's jam wherein Presley veritably believed his ribs must snap like + pipestems and he was carried, dazed, breathless, helpless, an atom on the + crest of a storm-driven wave, up the steps of the Opera House, on into the + vestibule, through the doors, and at last into the auditorium of the house + itself. + </p> + <p> + There was a mad rush for places; men disdaining the aisle, stepped from + one orchestra chair to another, striding over the backs of seats, leaving + the print of dusty feet upon the red plush cushions. In a twinkling the + house was filled from stage to topmost gallery. The aisles were packed + solid, even on the edge of the stage itself men were sitting, a black + fringe on either side of the footlights. + </p> + <p> + The curtain was up, disclosing a half-set scene,—the flats, leaning + at perilous angles,—that represented some sort of terrace, the + pavement, alternate squares of black and white marble, while red, white, + and yellow flowers were represented as growing from urns and vases. A + long, double row of chairs stretched across the scene from wing to wing, + flanking a table covered with a red cloth, on which was set a pitcher of + water and a speaker's gavel. + </p> + <p> + Promptly these chairs were filled up with members of the League, the + audience cheering as certain well-known figures made their appearance—Garnett + of the Ruby ranch, Gethings of the San Pablo, Keast of the ranch of the + same name, Chattern of the Bonanza, elderly men, bearded, slow of speech, + deliberate. + </p> + <p> + Garnett opened the meeting; his speech was plain, straightforward, + matter-of-fact. He simply told what had happened. He announced that + certain resolutions were to be drawn up. He introduced the next speaker. + </p> + <p> + This one pleaded for moderation. He was conservative. All along he had + opposed the idea of armed resistance except as the very last resort. He + “deplored” the terrible affair of yesterday. He begged the people to wait + in patience, to attempt no more violence. He informed them that armed + guards of the League were, at that moment, patrolling Los Muertos, + Broderson's, and Osterman's. It was well known that the United States + marshal confessed himself powerless to serve the writs. There would be no + more bloodshed. + </p> + <p> + “We have had,” he continued, “bloodshed enough, and I want to say right + here that I am not so sure but what yesterday's terrible affair might have + been avoided. A gentleman whom we all esteem, who from the first has been + our recognised leader, is, at this moment, mourning the loss of a young + son, killed before his eyes. God knows that I sympathise, as do we all, in + the affliction of our President. I am sorry for him. My heart goes out to + him in this hour of distress, but, at the same time, the position of the + League must be defined. We owe it to ourselves, we owe it to the people of + this county. The League armed for the very purpose of preserving the + peace, not of breaking it. We believed that with six hundred armed and + drilled men at our disposal, ready to muster at a moment's call, we could + so overawe any attempt to expel us from our lands that such an attempt + would not be made until the cases pending before the Supreme Court had + been decided. If when the enemy appeared in our midst yesterday they had + been met by six hundred rifles, it is not conceivable that the issue would + have been forced. No fight would have ensued, and to-day we would not have + to mourn the deaths of four of our fellow-citizens. A mistake has been + made and we of the League must not be held responsible.” + </p> + <p> + The speaker sat down amidst loud applause from the Leaguers and less + pronounced demonstrations on the part of the audience. + </p> + <p> + A second Leaguer took his place, a tall, clumsy man, half-rancher, + half-politician. + </p> + <p> + “I want to second what my colleague has just said,” he began. “This matter + of resisting the marshal when he tried to put the Railroad dummies in + possession on the ranches around here, was all talked over in the + committee meetings of the League long ago. It never was our intention to + fire a single shot. No such absolute authority as was assumed yesterday + was delegated to anybody. Our esteemed President is all right, but we all + know that he is a man who loves authority and who likes to go his own gait + without accounting to anybody. We—the rest of us Leaguers—never + were informed as to what was going on. We supposed, of course, that watch + was being kept on the Railroad so as we wouldn't be taken by surprise as + we were yesterday. And it seems no watch was kept at all, or if there was, + it was mighty ineffective. Our idea was to forestall any movement on the + part of the Railroad and then when we knew the marshal was coming down, to + call a meeting of our Executive Committee and decide as to what should be + done. We ought to have had time to call out the whole League. Instead of + that, what happens? While we're all off chasing rabbits, the Railroad is + allowed to steal a march on us and when it is too late, a handful of + Leaguers is got together and a fight is precipitated and our men killed. + I'M sorry for our President, too. No one is more so, but I want to put + myself on record as believing he did a hasty and inconsiderate thing. If + he had managed right, he could have had six hundred men to oppose the + Railroad and there would not have been any gun fight or any killing. He + DIDN'T manage right and there WAS a killing and I don't see as how the + League ought to be held responsible. The idea of the League, the whole + reason why it was organised, was to protect ALL the ranches of this valley + from the Railroad, and it looks to me as if the lives of our + fellow-citizens had been sacrificed, not in defending ALL of our ranches, + but just in defence of one of them—Los Muertos—the one that + Mr. Derrick owns.” + </p> + <p> + The speaker had no more than regained his seat when a man was seen pushing + his way from the back of the stage towards Garnett. He handed the rancher + a note, at the same time whispering in his ear. Garnett read the note, + then came forward to the edge of the stage, holding up his hand. When the + audience had fallen silent he said: + </p> + <p> + “I have just received sad news. Our friend and fellow-citizen, Mr. + Osterman, died this morning between eleven and twelve o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly there was a roar. Every man in the building rose to his feet, + shouting, gesticulating. The roar increased, the Opera House trembled to + it, the gas jets in the lighted chandeliers vibrated to it. It was a + raucous howl of execration, a bellow of rage, inarticulate, deafening. + </p> + <p> + A tornado of confusion swept whirling from wall to wall and the madness of + the moment seized irresistibly upon Presley. He forgot himself; he no + longer was master of his emotions or his impulses. All at once he found + himself upon the stage, facing the audience, flaming with excitement, his + imagination on fire, his arms uplifted in fierce, wild gestures, words + leaping to his mind in a torrent that could not be withheld. + </p> + <p> + “One more dead,” he cried, “one more. Harran dead, Annixter dead, + Broderson dead, Dabney dead, Osterman dead, Hooven dead; shot down, + killed, killed in the defence of their homes, killed in the defence of + their rights, killed for the sake of liberty. How long must it go on? How + long must we suffer? Where is the end; what is the end? How long must the + iron-hearted monster feed on our life's blood? How long must this terror + of steam and steel ride upon our necks? Will you never be satisfied, will + you never relent, you, our masters, you, our lords, you, our kings, you, + our task-masters, you, our Pharoahs. Will you never listen to that command + 'LET MY PEOPLE GO'? Oh, that cry ringing down the ages. Hear it, hear it. + It is the voice of the Lord God speaking in his prophets. Hear it, hear it—'Let + My people go!' Rameses heard it in his pylons at Thebes, Caesar heard it + on the Palatine, the Bourbon Louis heard it at Versailles, Charles Stuart + heard it at Whitehall, the white Czar heard it in the Kremlin,—'LET + MY PEOPLE GO.' It is the cry of the nations, the great voice of the + centuries; everywhere it is raised. The voice of God is the voice of the + People. The people cry out 'Let us, the People, God's people, go.' You, + our masters, you, our kings, you, our tyrants, don't you hear us? Don't + you hear God speaking in us? Will you never let us go? How long at length + will you abuse our patience? How long will you drive us? How long will you + harass us? Will nothing daunt you? Does nothing check you? Do you not know + that to ignore our cry too long is to wake the Red Terror? Rameses refused + to listen to it and perished miserably. Caesar refused to listen and was + stabbed in the Senate House. The Bourbon Louis refused to listen and died + on the guillotine; Charles Stuart refused to listen and died on the block; + the white Czar refused to listen and was blown up in his own capital. Will + you let it come to that? Will you drive us to it? We who boast of our land + of freedom, we who live in the country of liberty? Go on as you have begun + and it WILL come to that. Turn a deaf ear to that cry of 'Let My people + go' too long and another cry will be raised, that you cannot choose but + hear, a cry that you cannot shut out. It will be the cry of the man on the + street, the 'a la Bastille' that wakes the Red Terror and unleashes + Revolution. Harassed, plundered, exasperated, desperate, the people will + turn at last as they have turned so many, many times before. You, our + lords, you, our task-masters, you, our kings; you have caught your Samson, + you have made his strength your own. You have shorn his head; you have put + out his eyes; you have set him to turn your millstones, to grind the grist + for your mills; you have made him a shame and a mock. Take care, oh, as + you love your lives, take care, lest some day calling upon the Lord his + God he reach not out his arms for the pillars of your temples.” + </p> + <p> + The audience, at first bewildered, confused by this unexpected invective, + suddenly took fire at his last words. There was a roar of applause; then, + more significant than mere vociferation, Presley's listeners, as he began + to speak again, grew suddenly silent. His next sentences were uttered in + the midst of a profound stillness. + </p> + <p> + “They own us, these task-masters of ours; they own our homes, they own our + legislatures. We cannot escape from them. There is no redress. We are told + we can defeat them by the ballot-box. They own the ballot-box. We are told + that we must look to the courts for redress; they own the courts. We know + them for what they are,—ruffians in politics, ruffians in finance, + ruffians in law, ruffians in trade, bribers, swindlers, and tricksters. No + outrage too great to daunt them, no petty larceny too small to shame them; + despoiling a government treasury of a million dollars, yet picking the + pockets of a farm hand of the price of a loaf of bread. + </p> + <p> + “They swindle a nation of a hundred million and call it Financiering; they + levy a blackmail and call it Commerce; they corrupt a legislature and call + it Politics; they bribe a judge and call it Law; they hire blacklegs to + carry out their plans and call it Organisation; they prostitute the honour + of a State and call it Competition. + </p> + <p> + “And this is America. We fought Lexington to free ourselves; we fought + Gettysburg to free others. Yet the yoke remains; we have only shifted it + to the other shoulder. We talk of liberty—oh, the farce of it, oh, + the folly of it! We tell ourselves and teach our children that we have + achieved liberty, that we no longer need fight for it. Why, the fight is + just beginning and so long as our conception of liberty remains as it is + to-day, it will continue. + </p> + <p> + “For we conceive of Liberty in the statues we raise to her as a beautiful + woman, crowned, victorious, in bright armour and white robes, a light in + her uplifted hand—a serene, calm, conquering goddess. Oh, the farce + of it, oh, the folly of it! Liberty is NOT a crowned goddess, beautiful, + in spotless garments, victorious, supreme. Liberty is the Man In the + Street, a terrible figure, rushing through powder smoke, fouled with the + mud and ordure of the gutter, bloody, rampant, brutal, yelling curses, in + one hand a smoking rifle, in the other, a blazing torch. + </p> + <p> + “Freedom is NOT given free to any who ask; Liberty is not born of the + gods. She is a child of the People, born in the very height and heat of + battle, born from death, stained with blood, grimed with powder. And she + grows to be not a goddess, but a Fury, a fearful figure, slaying friend + and foe alike, raging, insatiable, merciless, the Red Terror.” + </p> + <p> + Presley ceased speaking. Weak, shaking, scarcely knowing what he was + about, he descended from the stage. A prolonged explosion of applause + followed, the Opera House roaring to the roof, men cheering, stamping, + waving their hats. But it was not intelligent applause. Instinctively as + he made his way out, Presley knew that, after all, he had not once held + the hearts of his audience. He had talked as he would have written; for + all his scorn of literature, he had been literary. The men who listened to + him, ranchers, country people, store-keepers, attentive though they were, + were not once sympathetic. Vaguely they had felt that here was something + which other men—more educated—would possibly consider + eloquent. They applauded vociferously but perfunctorily, in order to + appear to understand. + </p> + <p> + Presley, for all his love of the people, saw clearly for one moment that + he was an outsider to their minds. He had not helped them nor their cause + in the least; he never would. + </p> + <p> + Disappointed, bewildered, ashamed, he made his way slowly from the Opera + House and stood on the steps outside, thoughtful, his head bent. + </p> + <p> + He had failed, thus he told himself. In that moment of crisis, that at the + time he believed had been an inspiration, he had failed. The people would + not consider him, would not believe that he could do them service. Then + suddenly he seemed to remember. The resolute set of his lips returned once + more. Pushing his way through the crowded streets, he went on towards the + stable where he had left his pony. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, in the Opera House, a great commotion had occurred. Magnus + Derrick had appeared. + </p> + <p> + Only a sense of enormous responsibility, of gravest duty could have + prevailed upon Magnus to have left his house and the dead body of his son + that day. But he was the President of the League, and never since its + organisation had a meeting of such importance as this one been held. He + had been in command at the irrigating ditch the day before. It was he who + had gathered the handful of Leaguers together. It was he who must bear the + responsibility of the fight. + </p> + <p> + When he had entered the Opera House, making his way down the central aisle + towards the stage, a loud disturbance had broken out, partly applause, + partly a meaningless uproar. Many had pressed forward to shake his hand, + but others were not found wanting who, formerly his staunch supporters, + now scenting opposition in the air, held back, hesitating, afraid to + compromise themselves by adhering to the fortunes of a man whose actions + might be discredited by the very organisation of which he was the head. + </p> + <p> + Declining to take the chair of presiding officer which Garnett offered + him, the Governor withdrew to an angle of the stage, where he was joined + by Keast. + </p> + <p> + This one, still unalterably devoted to Magnus, acquainted him briefly with + the tenor of the speeches that had been made. + </p> + <p> + “I am ashamed of them, Governor,” he protested indignantly, “to lose their + nerve now! To fail you now! it makes my blood boil. If you had succeeded + yesterday, if all had gone well, do you think we would have heard of any + talk of 'assumption of authority,' or 'acting without advice and consent'? + As if there was any time to call a meeting of the Executive Committee. If + you hadn't acted as you did, the whole county would have been grabbed by + the Railroad. Get up, Governor, and bring 'em all up standing. Just tear + 'em all to pieces, show 'em that you are the head, the boss. That's what + they need. That killing yesterday has shaken the nerve clean out of them.” + </p> + <p> + For the instant the Governor was taken all aback. What, his lieutenants + were failing him? What, he was to be questioned, interpolated upon + yesterday's “irrepressible conflict”? Had disaffection appeared in the + ranks of the League—at this, of all moments? He put from him his + terrible grief. The cause was in danger. At the instant he was the + President of the League only, the chief, the master. A royal anger surged + within him, a wide, towering scorn of opposition. He would crush this + disaffection in its incipiency, would vindicate himself and strengthen the + cause at one and the same time. He stepped forward and stood in the + speaker's place, turning partly toward the audience, partly toward the + assembled Leaguers. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen of the League,” he began, “citizens of Bonneville” + </p> + <p> + But at once the silence in which the Governor had begun to speak was + broken by a shout. It was as though his words had furnished a signal. In a + certain quarter of the gallery, directly opposite, a man arose, and in a + voice partly of derision, partly of defiance, cried out: + </p> + <p> + “How about the bribery of those two delegates at Sacramento? Tell us about + that. That's what we want to hear about.” + </p> + <p> + A great confusion broke out. The first cry was repeated not only by the + original speaker, but by a whole group of which he was but a part. Others + in the audience, however, seeing in the disturbance only the clamour of a + few Railroad supporters, attempted to howl them down, hissing vigorously + and exclaiming: + </p> + <p> + “Put 'em out, put 'em out.” + </p> + <p> + “Order, order,” called Garnett, pounding with his gavel. The whole Opera + House was in an uproar. + </p> + <p> + But the interruption of the Governor's speech was evidently not + unpremeditated. It began to look like a deliberate and planned attack. + Persistently, doggedly, the group in the gallery vociferated: “Tell us how + you bribed the delegates at Sacramento. Before you throw mud at the + Railroad, let's see if you are clean yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Put 'em out, put 'em out.” + </p> + <p> + “Briber, briber—Magnus Derrick, unconvicted briber! Put him out.” + </p> + <p> + Keast, beside himself with anger, pushed down the aisle underneath where + the recalcitrant group had its place and, shaking his fist, called up at + them: + </p> + <p> + “You were paid to break up this meeting. If you have anything to say; you + will be afforded the opportunity, but if you do not let the gentleman + proceed, the police will be called upon to put you out.” + </p> + <p> + But at this, the man who had raised the first shout leaned over the + balcony rail, and, his face flaming with wrath, shouted: + </p> + <p> + “YAH! talk to me of your police. Look out we don't call on them first to + arrest your President for bribery. You and your howl about law and justice + and corruption! Here”—he turned to the audience—“read about + him, read the story of how the Sacramento convention was bought by Magnus + Derrick, President of the San Joaquin League. Here's the facts printed and + proved.” + </p> + <p> + With the words, he stooped down and from under his seat dragged forth a + great package of extra editions of the “Bonneville Mercury,” not an hour + off the presses. Other equally large bundles of the paper appeared in the + hands of the surrounding group. The strings were cut and in handfuls and + armfuls the papers were flung out over the heads of the audience + underneath. The air was full of the flutter of the newly printed sheets. + They swarmed over the rim of the gallery like clouds of monstrous, winged + insects, settled upon the heads and into the hands of the audience, were + passed swiftly from man to man, and within five minutes of the first + outbreak every one in the Opera House had read Genslinger's detailed and + substantiated account of Magnus Derrick's “deal” with the political bosses + of the Sacramento convention. + </p> + <p> + Genslinger, after pocketing the Governor's hush money, had “sold him out.” + </p> + <p> + Keast, one quiver of indignation, made his way back upon the stage. The + Leaguers were in wild confusion. Half the assembly of them were on their + feet, bewildered, shouting vaguely. From proscenium wall to foyer, the + Opera House was a tumult of noise. The gleam of the thousands of the + “Mercury” extras was like the flash of white caps on a troubled sea. + </p> + <p> + Keast faced the audience. + </p> + <p> + “Liars,” he shouted, striving with all the power of his voice to dominate + the clamour, “liars and slanderers. Your paper is the paid organ of the + corporation. You have not one shadow of proof to back you up. Do you + choose this, of all times, to heap your calumny upon the head of an + honourable gentleman, already prostrated by your murder of his son? Proofs—we + demand your proofs!” + </p> + <p> + “We've got the very assemblymen themselves,” came back the answering + shout. “Let Derrick speak. Where is he hiding? If this is a lie, let him + deny it. Let HIM DISPROVE the charge.” “Derrick, Derrick,” thundered the + Opera House. + </p> + <p> + Keast wheeled about. Where was Magnus? He was not in sight upon the stage. + He had disappeared. Crowding through the throng of Leaguers, Keast got + from off the stage into the wings. Here the crowd was no less dense. + Nearly every one had a copy of the “Mercury.” It was being read aloud to + groups here and there, and once Keast overheard the words, “Say, I wonder + if this is true, after all?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and even if it was,” cried Keast, turning upon the speaker, “we + should be the last ones to kick. In any case, it was done for our benefit. + It elected the Ranchers' Commission.” + </p> + <p> + “A lot of benefit we got out of the Ranchers' Commission,” retorted the + other. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” protested a third speaker, “that ain't the way to do—if + he DID do it—bribing legislatures. Why, we were bucking against + corrupt politics. We couldn't afford to be corrupt.” + </p> + <p> + Keast turned away with a gesture of impatience. He pushed his way farther + on. At last, opening a small door in a hallway back of the stage, he came + upon Magnus. + </p> + <p> + The room was tiny. It was a dressing-room. Only two nights before it had + been used by the leading actress of a comic opera troupe which had played + for three nights at Bonneville. A tattered sofa and limping toilet table + occupied a third of the space. The air was heavy with the smell of stale + grease paint, ointments, and sachet. Faded photographs of young women in + tights and gauzes ornamented the mirror and the walls. Underneath the sofa + was an old pair of corsets. The spangled skirt of a pink dress, turned + inside out, hung against the wall. + </p> + <p> + And in the midst of such environment, surrounded by an excited group of + men who gesticulated and shouted in his very face, pale, alert, agitated, + his thin lips pressed tightly together, stood Magnus Derrick. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” cried Keast, as he entered, closing the door behind him, “where's + the Governor? Here, Magnus, I've been looking for you. The crowd has gone + wild out there. You've got to talk 'em down. Come out there and give those + blacklegs the lie. They are saying you are hiding.” + </p> + <p> + But before Magnus could reply, Garnett turned to Keast. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's what we want him to do, and he won't do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” cried the half-dozen men who crowded around Magnus, “yes, + that's what we want him to do.” + </p> + <p> + Keast turned to Magnus. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's all this, Governor?” he exclaimed. “You've got to answer + that. Hey? why don't you give 'em the lie?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I,” Magnus loosened the collar about his throat “it is a lie. I + will not stoop—I would not—would be—it would be beneath + my—my—it would be beneath me.” + </p> + <p> + Keast stared in amazement. Was this the Great Man the Leader, indomitable, + of Roman integrity, of Roman valour, before whose voice whole conventions + had quailed? Was it possible he was AFRAID to face those hired villifiers? + </p> + <p> + “Well, how about this?” demanded Garnett suddenly. “It is a lie, isn't it? + That Commission was elected honestly, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “How dare you, sir!” Magnus burst out. “How dare you question me—call + me to account! Please understand, sir, that I tolerate——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, quit it!” cried a voice from the group. “You can't scare us, Derrick. + That sort of talk was well enough once, but it don't go any more. We want + a yes or no answer.” + </p> + <p> + It was gone—that old-time power of mastery, that faculty of command. + The ground crumbled beneath his feet. Long since it had been, by his own + hand, undermined. Authority was gone. Why keep up this miserable sham any + longer? Could they not read the lie in his face, in his voice? What a + folly to maintain the wretched pretence! He had failed. He was ruined. + Harran was gone. His ranch would soon go; his money was gone. Lyman was + worse than dead. His own honour had been prostituted. Gone, gone, + everything he held dear, gone, lost, and swept away in that fierce + struggle. And suddenly and all in a moment the last remaining shells of + the fabric of his being, the sham that had stood already wonderfully long, + cracked and collapsed. + </p> + <p> + “Was the Commission honestly elected?” insisted Garnett. “Were the + delegates—did you bribe the delegates?” + </p> + <p> + “We were obliged to shut our eyes to means,” faltered Magnus. “There was + no other way to—” Then suddenly and with the last dregs of his + resolution, he concluded with: “Yes, I gave them two thousand dollars + each.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hell! Oh, my God!” exclaimed Keast, sitting swiftly down upon the + ragged sofa. + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence. A sense of poignant embarrassment descended upon + those present. No one knew what to say or where to look. Garnett, with a + laboured attempt at nonchalance, murmured: + </p> + <p> + “I see. Well, that's what I was trying to get at. Yes, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Gethings at length, bestirring himself, “I guess I'LL go + home.” + </p> + <p> + There was a movement. The group broke up, the men making for the door. One + by one they went out. The last to go was Keast. He came up to Magnus and + shook the Governor's limp hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Governor,” he said. “I'll see you again pretty soon. Don't let + this discourage you. They'll come around all right after a while. So + long.” + </p> + <p> + He went out, shutting the door. + </p> + <p> + And seated in the one chair of the room, Magnus Derrick remained a long + time, looking at his face in the cracked mirror that for so many years had + reflected the painted faces of soubrettes, in this atmosphere of stale + perfume and mouldy rice powder. + </p> + <p> + It had come—his fall, his ruin. After so many years of integrity and + honest battle, his life had ended here—in an actress's + dressing-room, deserted by his friends, his son murdered, his dishonesty + known, an old man, broken, discarded, discredited, and abandoned. Before + nightfall of that day, Bonneville was further excited by an astonishing + bit of news. S. Behrman lived in a detached house at some distance from + the town, surrounded by a grove of live oak and eucalyptus trees. At a + little after half-past six, as he was sitting down to his supper, a bomb + was thrown through the window of his dining-room, exploding near the + doorway leading into the hall. The room was wrecked and nearly every + window of the house shattered. By a miracle, S. Behrman, himself, remained + untouched. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + On a certain afternoon in the early part of July, about a month after the + fight at the irrigating ditch and the mass meeting at Bonneville, + Cedarquist, at the moment opening his mail in his office in San Francisco, + was genuinely surprised to receive a visit from Presley. + </p> + <p> + “Well, upon my word, Pres,” exclaimed the manufacturer, as the young man + came in through the door that the office boy held open for him, “upon my + word, have you been sick? Sit down, my boy. Have a glass of sherry. I + always keep a bottle here.” + </p> + <p> + Presley accepted the wine and sank into the depths of a great leather + chair near by. + </p> + <p> + “Sick?” he answered. “Yes, I have been sick. I'm sick now. I'm gone to + pieces, sir.” + </p> + <p> + His manner was the extreme of listlessness—the listlessness of great + fatigue. “Well, well,” observed the other. “I'm right sorry to hear that. + What's the trouble, Pres?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nerves mostly, I suppose, and my head, and insomnia, and weakness, a + general collapse all along the line, the doctor tells me. + 'Over-cerebration,' he says; 'over-excitement.' I fancy I rather narrowly + missed brain fever.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can easily suppose it,” answered Cedarquist gravely, “after all + you have been through.” + </p> + <p> + Presley closed his eyes—they were sunken in circles of dark brown + flesh—and pressed a thin hand to the back of his head. + </p> + <p> + “It is a nightmare,” he murmured. “A frightful nightmare, and it's not + over yet. You have heard of it all only through the newspaper reports. But + down there, at Bonneville, at Los Muertos—oh, you can have no idea + of it, of the misery caused by the defeat of the ranchers and by this + decision of the Supreme Court that dispossesses them all. We had gone on + hoping to the last that we would win there. We had thought that in the + Supreme Court of the United States, at least, we could find justice. And + the news of its decision was the worst, last blow of all. For Magnus it + was the last—positively the very last.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor, poor Derrick,” murmured Cedarquist. “Tell me about him, Pres. How + does he take it? What is he going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “It beggars him, sir. He sunk a great deal more than any of us believed in + his ranch, when he resolved to turn off most of the tenants and farm the + ranch himself. Then the fight he made against the Railroad in the Courts + and the political campaign he went into, to get Lyman on the Railroad + Commission, took more of it. The money that Genslinger blackmailed him of, + it seems, was about all he had left. He had been gambling—you know + the Governor—on another bonanza crop this year to recoup him. Well, + the bonanza came right enough—just in time for S. Behrman and the + Railroad to grab it. Magnus is ruined.” + </p> + <p> + “What a tragedy! what a tragedy!” murmured the other. “Lyman turning + rascal, Harran killed, and now this; and all within so short a time—all + at the SAME time, you might almost say.” + </p> + <p> + “If it had only killed him,” continued Presley; “but that is the worst of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “How the worst?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid, honestly, I'm afraid it is going to turn his wits, sir. It's + broken him; oh, you should see him, you should see him. A shambling, + stooping, trembling old man, in his dotage already. He sits all day in the + dining-room, turning over papers, sorting them, tying them up, opening + them again, forgetting them—all fumbling and mumbling and confused. + And at table sometimes he forgets to eat. And, listen, you know, from the + house we can hear the trains whistling for the Long Trestle. As often as + that happens the Governor seems to be—oh, I don't know, frightened. + He will sink his head between his shoulders, as though he were dodging + something, and he won't fetch a long breath again till the train is out of + hearing. He seems to have conceived an abject, unreasoned terror of the + Railroad.” + </p> + <p> + “But he will have to leave Los Muertos now, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they will all have to leave. They have a fortnight more. The few + tenants that were still on Los Muertos are leaving. That is one thing that + brings me to the city. The family of one of the men who was killed—Hooven + was his name—have come to the city to find work. I think they are + liable to be in great distress, unless they have been wonderfully lucky, + and I am trying to find them in order to look after them.” + </p> + <p> + “You need looking after yourself, Pres.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, once away from Bonneville and the sight of the ruin there, I'm + better. But I intend to go away. And that makes me think, I came to ask + you if you could help me. If you would let me take passage on one of your + wheat ships. The Doctor says an ocean voyage would set me up.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly, Pres,” declared Cedarquist. “But I'm sorry you'll have to + go. We expected to have you down in the country with us this winter.” + </p> + <p> + Presley shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I must go. Even if I had all + my health, I could not bring myself to stay in California just now. If you + can introduce me to one of your captains—” + </p> + <p> + “With pleasure. When do you want to go? You may have to wait a few weeks. + Our first ship won't clear till the end of the month.” + </p> + <p> + “That would do very well. Thank you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + But Cedarquist was still interested in the land troubles of the Bonneville + farmers, and took the first occasion to ask: + </p> + <p> + “So, the Railroad are in possession on most of the ranches?” “On all of + them,” returned Presley. “The League went all to pieces, so soon as Magnus + was forced to resign. The old story—they got quarrelling among + themselves. Somebody started a compromise party, and upon that issue a new + president was elected. Then there were defections. The Railroad offered to + lease the lands in question to the ranchers—the ranchers who owned + them,” he exclaimed bitterly, “and because the terms were nominal—almost + nothing—plenty of the men took the chance of saving themselves. And, + of course, once signing the lease, they acknowledged the Railroad's title. + But the road would not lease to Magnus. S. Behrman takes over Los Muertos + in a few weeks now.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, the road made over their title in the property to him,” + observed Cedarquist, “as a reward of his services.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt,” murmured Presley wearily. He rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Cedarquist, “what have you on hand for, let us say, + Friday evening? Won't you dine with us then? The girls are going to the + country Monday of next week, and you probably won't see them again for + some time if you take that ocean voyage of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I shall be very poor company, sir,” hazarded Presley. “There's + no 'go,' no life in me at all these days. I am like a clock with a broken + spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Not broken, Pres, my boy;” urged the other, “only run down. Try and see + if we can't wind you up a bit. Say that we can expect you. We dine at + seven.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir. Till Friday at seven, then.” + </p> + <p> + Regaining the street, Presley sent his valise to his club (where he had + engaged a room) by a messenger boy, and boarded a Castro Street car. + Before leaving Bonneville, he had ascertained, by strenuous enquiry, Mrs. + Hooven's address in the city, and thitherward he now directed his steps. + </p> + <p> + When Presley had told Cedarquist that he was ill, that he was jaded, worn + out, he had only told half the truth. Exhausted he was, nerveless, weak, + but this apathy was still invaded from time to time with fierce incursions + of a spirit of unrest and revolt, reactions, momentary returns of the + blind, undirected energy that at one time had prompted him to a vast + desire to acquit himself of some terrible deed of readjustment, just what, + he could not say, some terrifying martyrdom, some awe-inspiring + immolation, consummate, incisive, conclusive. He fancied himself to be + fired with the purblind, mistaken heroism of the anarchist, hurling his + victim to destruction with full knowledge that the catastrophe shall sweep + him also into the vortex it creates. + </p> + <p> + But his constitutional irresoluteness obstructed his path continually; + brain-sick, weak of will, emotional, timid even, he temporised, + procrastinated, brooded; came to decisions in the dark hours of the night, + only to abandon them in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Once only he had ACTED. And at this moment, as he was carried through the + windy, squalid streets, he trembled at the remembrance of it. The horror + of “what might have been” incompatible with the vengeance whose minister + he fancied he was, oppressed him. The scene perpetually reconstructed + itself in his imagination. He saw himself under the shade of the + encompassing trees and shrubbery, creeping on his belly toward the house, + in the suburbs of Bonneville, watching his chances, seizing opportunities, + spying upon the lighted windows where the raised curtains afforded a view + of the interior. Then had come the appearance in the glare of the gas of + the figure of the man for whom he waited. He saw himself rise and run + forward. He remembered the feel and weight in his hand of Caraher's bomb—the + six inches of plugged gas pipe. His upraised arm shot forward. There was a + shiver of smashed window-panes, then—a void—a red whirl of + confusion, the air rent, the ground rocking, himself flung headlong, flung + off the spinning circumference of things out into a place of terror and + vacancy and darkness. And then after a long time the return of reason, the + consciousness that his feet were set upon the road to Los Muertos, and + that he was fleeing terror-stricken, gasping, all but insane with + hysteria. Then the never-to-be-forgotten night that ensued, when he + descended into the pit, horrified at what he supposed he had done, at one + moment ridden with remorse, at another raging against his own feebleness, + his lack of courage, his wretched, vacillating spirit. But morning had + come, and with it the knowledge that he had failed, and the baser + assurance that he was not even remotely suspected. His own escape had been + no less miraculous than that of his enemy, and he had fallen on his knees + in inarticulate prayer, weeping, pouring out his thanks to God for the + deliverance from the gulf to the very brink of which his feet had been + drawn. + </p> + <p> + After this, however, there had come to Presley a deep-rooted suspicion + that he was—of all human beings, the most wretched—a failure. + Everything to which he had set his mind failed—his great epic, his + efforts to help the people who surrounded him, even his attempted + destruction of the enemy, all these had come to nothing. Girding his + shattered strength together, he resolved upon one last attempt to live up + to the best that was in him, and to that end had set himself to lift out + of the despair into which they had been thrust, the bereaved family of the + German, Hooven. + </p> + <p> + After all was over, and Hooven, together with the seven others who had + fallen at the irrigating ditch, was buried in the Bonneville cemetery, + Mrs. Hooven, asking no one's aid or advice, and taking with her Minna and + little Hilda, had gone to San Francisco—had gone to find work, + abandoning Los Muertos and her home forever. Presley only learned of the + departure of the family after fifteen days had elapsed. + </p> + <p> + At once, however, the suspicion forced itself upon him that Mrs. Hooven—and + Minna, too for the matter of that—country-bred, ignorant of city + ways, might easily come to grief in the hard, huge struggle of city life. + This suspicion had swiftly hardened to a conviction, acting at last upon + which Presley had followed them to San Francisco, bent upon finding and + assisting them. + </p> + <p> + The house to which Presley was led by the address in his memorandum book + was a cheap but fairly decent hotel near the power house of the Castro + Street cable. He inquired for Mrs. Hooven. + </p> + <p> + The landlady recollected the Hoovens perfectly. + </p> + <p> + “German woman, with a little girl-baby, and an older daughter, sure. The + older daughter was main pretty. Sure I remember them, but they ain't here + no more. They left a week ago. I had to ask them for their room. As it + was, they owed a week's room-rent. Mister, I can't afford——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you know where they went? Did you hear what address they had + their trunk expressed to?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, their trunk,” vociferated the woman, clapping her hands to her + hips, her face purpling. “Their trunk, ah, sure. I got their trunk, and + what are you going to do about it? I'm holding it till I get my money. + What have you got to say about it? Let's hear it.” + </p> + <p> + Presley turned away with a gesture of discouragement, his heart sinking. + On the street corner he stood for a long time, frowning in trouble and + perplexity. His suspicions had been only too well founded. So long ago as + a week, the Hoovens had exhausted all their little store of money. For + seven days now they had been without resources, unless, indeed, work had + been found; “and what,” he asked himself, “what work in God's name could + they find to do here in the city?” + </p> + <p> + Seven days! He quailed at the thought of it. Seven days without money, + knowing not a soul in all that swarming city. Ignorant of city life as + both Minna and her mother were, would they even realise that there were + institutions built and generously endowed for just such as they? He knew + them to have their share of pride, the dogged sullen pride of the peasant; + even if they knew of charitable organisations, would they, could they + bring themselves to apply there? A poignant anxiety thrust itself sharply + into Presley's heart. Where were they now? Where had they slept last + night? Where breakfasted this morning? Had there even been any breakfast + this morning? Had there even been any bed last night? Lost, and forgotten + in the plexus of the city's life, what had befallen them? Towards what + fate was the ebb tide of the streets drifting them? + </p> + <p> + Was this to be still another theme wrought out by iron hands upon the old, + the world-old, world-wide keynote? How far were the consequences of that + dreadful day's work at the irrigating ditch to reach? To what length was + the tentacle of the monster to extend? + </p> + <p> + Presley returned toward the central, the business quarter of the city, + alternately formulating and dismissing from his mind plan after plan for + the finding and aiding of Mrs. Hooven and her daughters. He reached + Montgomery Street, and turned toward his club, his imagination once more + reviewing all the causes and circumstances of the great battle of which + for the last eighteen months he had been witness. + </p> + <p> + All at once he paused, his eye caught by a sign affixed to the wall just + inside the street entrance of a huge office building, and smitten with an + idea, stood for an instant motionless, upon the sidewalk, his eyes wide, + his fists shut tight. + </p> + <p> + The building contained the General Office of the Pacific and Southwestern + Railroad. Large though it was, it nevertheless, was not pretentious, and + during his visits to the city, Presley must have passed it, unheeding, + many times. + </p> + <p> + But for all that it was the stronghold of the enemy—the centre of + all that vast ramifying system of arteries that drained the life-blood of + the State; the nucleus of the web in which so many lives, so many + fortunes, so many destinies had been enmeshed. From this place—so he + told himself—had emanated that policy of extortion, oppression and + injustice that little by little had shouldered the ranchers from their + rights, till, their backs to the wall, exasperated and despairing they had + turned and fought and died. From here had come the orders to S. Behrman, + to Cyrus Ruggles and to Genslinger, the orders that had brought Dyke to a + prison, that had killed Annixter, that had ruined Magnus, that had + corrupted Lyman. Here was the keep of the castle, and here, behind one of + those many windows, in one of those many offices, his hand upon the levers + of his mighty engine, sat the master, Shelgrim himself. + </p> + <p> + Instantly, upon the realisation of this fact an ungovernable desire seized + upon Presley, an inordinate curiosity. Why not see, face to face, the man + whose power was so vast, whose will was so resistless, whose potency for + evil so limitless, the man who for so long and so hopelessly they had all + been fighting. By reputation he knew him to be approachable; why should he + not then approach him? Presley took his resolution in both hands. If he + failed to act upon this impulse, he knew he would never act at all. His + heart beating, his breath coming short, he entered the building, and in a + few moments found himself seated in an ante-room, his eyes fixed with + hypnotic intensity upon the frosted pane of an adjoining door, whereon in + gold letters was inscribed the word, “PRESIDENT.” + </p> + <p> + In the end, Presley had been surprised to find that Shelgrim was still in. + It was already very late, after six o'clock, and the other offices in the + building were in the act of closing. Many of them were already deserted. + At every instant, through the open door of the ante-room, he caught a + glimpse of clerks, office boys, book-keepers, and other employees hurrying + towards the stairs and elevators, quitting business for the day. Shelgrim, + it seemed, still remained at his desk, knowing no fatigue, requiring no + leisure. + </p> + <p> + “What time does Mr. Shelgrim usually go home?” inquired Presley of the + young man who sat ruling forms at the table in the ante-room. + </p> + <p> + “Anywhere between half-past six and seven,” the other answered, adding, + “Very often he comes back in the evening.” + </p> + <p> + And the man was seventy years old. Presley could not repress a murmur of + astonishment. Not only mentally, then, was the President of the P. and S. + W. a giant. Seventy years of age and still at his post, holding there with + the energy, with a concentration of purpose that would have wrecked the + health and impaired the mind of many men in the prime of their manhood. + </p> + <p> + But the next instant Presley set his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “It is an ogre's vitality,” he said to himself. “Just so is the man-eating + tiger strong. The man should have energy who has sucked the life-blood + from an entire People.” + </p> + <p> + A little electric bell on the wall near at hand trilled a warning. The + young man who was ruling forms laid down his pen, and opening the door of + the President's office, thrust in his head, then after a word exchanged + with the unseen occupant of the room, he swung the door wide, saying to + Presley: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Shelgrim will see you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Presley entered a large, well lighted, but singularly barren office. A + well-worn carpet was on the floor, two steel engravings hung against the + wall, an extra chair or two stood near a large, plain, littered table. + That was absolutely all, unless he excepted the corner wash-stand, on + which was set a pitcher of ice water, covered with a clean, stiff napkin. + A man, evidently some sort of manager's assistant, stood at the end of the + table, leaning on the back of one of the chairs. Shelgrim himself sat at + the table. + </p> + <p> + He was large, almost to massiveness. An iron-grey beard and a mustache + that completely hid the mouth covered the lower part of his face. His eyes + were a pale blue, and a little watery; here and there upon his face were + moth spots. But the enormous breadth of the shoulders was what, at first, + most vividly forced itself upon Presley's notice. Never had he seen a + broader man; the neck, however, seemed in a manner to have settled into + the shoulders, and furthermore they were humped and rounded, as if to bear + great responsibilities, and great abuse. + </p> + <p> + At the moment he was wearing a silk skull-cap, pushed to one side and a + little awry, a frock coat of broadcloth, with long sleeves, and a + waistcoat from the lower buttons of which the cloth was worn and, upon the + edges, rubbed away, showing the metal underneath. At the top this + waistcoat was unbuttoned and in the shirt front disclosed were two pearl + studs. + </p> + <p> + Presley, uninvited, unnoticed apparently, sat down. The assistant manager + was in the act of making a report. His voice was not lowered, and Presley + heard every word that was spoken. + </p> + <p> + The report proved interesting. It concerned a book-keeper in the office of + the auditor of disbursements. It seems he was at most times thoroughly + reliable, hard-working, industrious, ambitious. But at long intervals the + vice of drunkenness seized upon the man and for three days rode him like a + hag. Not only during the period of this intemperance, but for the few days + immediately following, the man was useless, his work untrustworthy. He was + a family man and earnestly strove to rid himself of his habit; he was, + when sober, valuable. In consideration of these facts, he had been + pardoned again and again. + </p> + <p> + “You remember, Mr. Shelgrim,” observed the manager, “that you have more + than once interfered in his behalf, when we were disposed to let him go. I + don't think we can do anything with him, sir. He promises to reform + continually, but it is the same old story. This last time we saw nothing + of him for four days. Honestly, Mr. Shelgrim, I think we ought to let + Tentell out. We can't afford to keep him. He is really losing us too much + money. Here's the order ready now, if you care to let it go.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Presley all attention, listened breathlessly. The + assistant manager laid before his President the typewritten order in + question. The silence lengthened; in the hall outside, the wrought-iron + door of the elevator cage slid to with a clash. Shelgrim did not look at + the order. He turned his swivel chair about and faced the windows behind + him, looking out with unseeing eyes. At last he spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Tentell has a family, wife and three children. How much do we pay him?” + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and thirty.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's double that, or say two hundred and fifty. Let's see how that will + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—of course—if you say so, but really, Mr. Shelgrim” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll try that, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + Presley had not time to readjust his perspective to this new point of view + of the President of the P. and S. W. before the assistant manager had + withdrawn. Shelgrim wrote a few memoranda on his calendar pad, and signed + a couple of letters before turning his attention to Presley. At last, he + looked up and fixed the young man with a direct, grave glance. He did not + smile. It was some time before he spoke. At last, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Presley advanced and took a chair nearer at hand. Shelgrim turned and from + his desk picked up and consulted Presley's card. Presley observed that he + read without the use of glasses. + </p> + <p> + “You,” he said, again facing about, “you are the young man who wrote the + poem called 'The Toilers.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to have made a great deal of talk. I've read it, and I've seen + the picture in Cedarquist's house, the picture you took the idea from.” + </p> + <p> + Presley, his senses never more alive, observed that, curiously enough, + Shelgrim did not move his body. His arms moved, and his head, but the + great bulk of the man remained immobile in its place, and as the interview + proceeded and this peculiarity emphasised itself, Presley began to + conceive the odd idea that Shelgrim had, as it were, placed his body in + the chair to rest, while his head and brain and hands went on working + independently. A saucer of shelled filberts stood near his elbow, and from + time to time he picked up one of these in a great thumb and forefinger and + put it between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “I've seen the picture called 'The Toilers,'” continued Shelgrim, “and of + the two, I like the picture better than the poem.” + </p> + <p> + “The picture is by a master,” Presley hastened to interpose. + </p> + <p> + “And for that reason,” said Shelgrim, “it leaves nothing more to be said. + You might just as well have kept quiet. There's only one best way to say + anything. And what has made the picture of 'The Toilers' great is that the + artist said in it the BEST that could be said on the subject.” + </p> + <p> + “I had never looked at it in just that light,” observed Presley. He was + confused, all at sea, embarrassed. What he had expected to find in + Shelgrim, he could not have exactly said. But he had been prepared to come + upon an ogre, a brute, a terrible man of blood and iron, and instead had + discovered a sentimentalist and an art critic. No standards of measurement + in his mental equipment would apply to the actual man, and it began to + dawn upon him that possibly it was not because these standards were + different in kind, but that they were lamentably deficient in size. He + began to see that here was the man not only great, but large; many-sided, + of vast sympathies, who understood with equal intelligence, the human + nature in an habitual drunkard, the ethics of a masterpiece of painting, + and the financiering and operation of ten thousand miles of railroad. + </p> + <p> + “I had never looked at it in just that light,” repeated Presley. “There is + a great deal in what you say.” + </p> + <p> + “If I am to listen,” continued Shelgrim, “to that kind of talk, I prefer + to listen to it first hand. I would rather listen to what the great French + painter has to say, than to what YOU have to say about what he has already + said.” + </p> + <p> + His speech, loud and emphatic at first, when the idea of what he had to + say was fresh in his mind, lapsed and lowered itself at the end of his + sentences as though he had already abandoned and lost interest in that + thought, so that the concluding words were indistinct, beneath the grey + beard and mustache. Also at times there was the faintest suggestion of a + lisp. + </p> + <p> + “I wrote that poem,” hazarded Presley, “at a time when I was terribly + upset. I live,” he concluded, “or did live on the Los Muertos ranch in + Tulare County—Magnus Derrick's ranch.” + </p> + <p> + “The Railroad's ranch LEASED to Mr. Derrick,” observed Shelgrim. + </p> + <p> + Presley spread out his hands with a helpless, resigned gesture. + </p> + <p> + “And,” continued the President of the P. and S. W. with grave intensity, + looking at Presley keenly, “I suppose you believe I am a grand old + rascal.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” answered Presley, “I am persuaded——” He + hesitated, searching for his words. + </p> + <p> + “Believe this, young man,” exclaimed Shelgrim, laying a thick powerful + forefinger on the table to emphasise his words, “try to believe this—to + begin with—THAT RAILROADS BUILD THEMSELVES. Where there is a demand + sooner or later there will be a supply. Mr. Derrick, does he grow his + wheat? The Wheat grows itself. What does he count for? Does he supply the + force? What do I count for? Do I build the Railroad? You are dealing with + forces, young man, when you speak of Wheat and the Railroads, not with + men. There is the Wheat, the supply. It must be carried to feed the + People. There is the demand. The Wheat is one force, the Railroad, + another, and there is the law that governs them—supply and demand. + Men have only little to do in the whole business. Complications may arise, + conditions that bear hard on the individual—crush him maybe—BUT + THE WHEAT WILL BE CARRIED TO FEED THE PEOPLE as inevitably as it will + grow. If you want to fasten the blame of the affair at Los Muertos on any + one person, you will make a mistake. Blame conditions, not men.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but,” faltered Presley, “you are the head, you control the + road.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a very young man. Control the road! Can I stop it? I can go into + bankruptcy if you like. But otherwise if I run my road, as a business + proposition, I can do nothing. I can not control it. It is a force born + out of certain conditions, and I—no man—can stop it or control + it. Can your Mr. Derrick stop the Wheat growing? He can burn his crop, or + he can give it away, or sell it for a cent a bushel—just as I could + go into bankruptcy—but otherwise his Wheat must grow. Can any one + stop the Wheat? Well, then no more can I stop the Road.” + </p> + <p> + Presley regained the street stupefied, his brain in a whirl. This new + idea, this new conception dumfounded him. Somehow, he could not deny it. + It rang with the clear reverberation of truth. Was no one, then, to blame + for the horror at the irrigating ditch? Forces, conditions, laws of supply + and demand—were these then the enemies, after all? Not enemies; + there was no malevolence in Nature. Colossal indifference only, a vast + trend toward appointed goals. Nature was, then, a gigantic engine, a vast + cyclopean power, huge, terrible, a leviathan with a heart of steel, + knowing no compunction, no forgiveness, no tolerance; crushing out the + human atom standing in its way, with nirvanic calm, the agony of + destruction sending never a jar, never the faintest tremour through all + that prodigious mechanism of wheels and cogs. He went to his club and ate + his supper alone, in gloomy agitation. He was sombre, brooding, lost in a + dark maze of gloomy reflections. However, just as he was rising from the + table an incident occurred that for the moment roused him and sharply + diverted his mind. + </p> + <p> + His table had been placed near a window and as he was sipping his + after-dinner coffee, he happened to glance across the street. His eye was + at once caught by the sight of a familiar figure. Was it Minna Hooven? The + figure turned the street corner and was lost to sight; but it had been + strangely like. On the moment, Presley had risen from the table and, + clapping on his hat, had hurried into the streets, where the lamps were + already beginning to shine. + </p> + <p> + But search though he would, Presley could not again come upon the young + woman, in whom he fancied he had seen the daughter of the unfortunate + German. At last, he gave up the hunt, and returning to his club—at + this hour almost deserted—smoked a few cigarettes, vainly attempted + to read from a volume of essays in the library, and at last, nervous, + distraught, exhausted, retired to his bed. + </p> + <p> + But none the less, Presley had not been mistaken. The girl whom he had + tried to follow had been indeed Minna Hooven. + </p> + <p> + When Minna, a week before this time, had returned to the lodging house on + Castro Street, after a day's unsuccessful effort to find employment, and + was told that her mother and Hilda had gone, she was struck speechless + with surprise and dismay. She had never before been in any town larger + than Bonneville, and now knew not which way to turn nor how to account for + the disappearance of her mother and little Hilda. That the landlady was on + the point of turning them out, she understood, but it had been agreed that + the family should be allowed to stay yet one more day, in the hope that + Minna would find work. Of this she reminded the land-lady. But this latter + at once launched upon her such a torrent of vituperation, that the girl + was frightened to speechless submission. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh,” she faltered, “I know. I am sorry. I know we owe you money, but + where did my mother go? I only want to find her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I ain't going to be bothered,” shrilled the other. “How do I know?” + </p> + <p> + The truth of the matter was that Mrs. Hooven, afraid to stay in the + vicinity of the house, after her eviction, and threatened with arrest by + the landlady if she persisted in hanging around, had left with the woman a + note scrawled on an old blotter, to be given to Minna when she returned. + This the landlady had lost. To cover her confusion, she affected a vast + indignation, and a turbulent, irascible demeanour. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't going to be bothered with such cattle as you,” she vociferated in + Minna's face. “I don't know where your folks is. Me, I only have dealings + with honest people. I ain't got a word to say so long as the rent is paid. + But when I'm soldiered out of a week's lodging, then I'm done. You get + right along now. I don't know you. I ain't going to have my place get a + bad name by having any South of Market Street chippies hanging around. You + get along, or I'll call an officer.” + </p> + <p> + Minna sought the street, her head in a whirl. It was about five o'clock. + In her pocket was thirty-five cents, all she had in the world. What now? + </p> + <p> + All at once, the Terror of the City, that blind, unreasoned fear that only + the outcast knows, swooped upon her, and clutched her vulture-wise, by the + throat. + </p> + <p> + Her first few days' experience in the matter of finding employment, had + taught her just what she might expect from this new world upon which she + had been thrown. What was to become of her? What was she to do, where was + she to go? Unanswerable, grim questions, and now she no longer had herself + to fear for. Her mother and the baby, little Hilda, both of them equally + unable to look after themselves, what was to become of them, where were + they gone? Lost, lost, all of them, herself as well. But she rallied + herself, as she walked along. The idea of her starving, of her mother and + Hilda starving, was out of all reason. Of course, it would not come to + that, of course not. It was not thus that starvation came. Something would + happen, of course, it would—in time. But meanwhile, meanwhile, how + to get through this approaching night, and the next few days. That was the + thing to think of just now. + </p> + <p> + The suddenness of it all was what most unnerved her. During all the + nineteen years of her life, she had never known what it meant to shift for + herself. Her father had always sufficed for the family; he had taken care + of her, then, all of a sudden, her father had been killed, her mother + snatched from her. Then all of a sudden there was no help anywhere. Then + all of a sudden a terrible voice demanded of her, “Now just what can you + do to keep yourself alive?” Life faced her; she looked the huge stone + image squarely in the lustreless eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly twilight. Minna, for the sake of avoiding observation—for + it seemed to her that now a thousand prying glances followed her—assumed + a matter-of-fact demeanour, and began to walk briskly toward the business + quarter of the town. + </p> + <p> + She was dressed neatly enough, in a blue cloth skirt with a blue plush + belt, fairly decent shoes, once her mother's, a pink shirt waist, and + jacket and a straw sailor. She was, in an unusual fashion, pretty. Even + her troubles had not dimmed the bright light of her pale, greenish-blue + eyes, nor faded the astonishing redness of her lips, nor hollowed her + strangely white face. Her blue-black hair was trim. She carried her + well-shaped, well-rounded figure erectly. Even in her distress, she + observed that men looked keenly at her, and sometimes after her as she + went along. But this she noted with a dim sub-conscious faculty. The real + Minna, harassed, terrified, lashed with a thousand anxieties, kept + murmuring under her breath: + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do, what shall I do, oh, what shall I do, now?” + </p> + <p> + After an interminable walk, she gained Kearney Street, and held it till + the well-lighted, well-kept neighbourhood of the shopping district gave + place to the vice-crowded saloons and concert halls of the Barbary Coast. + She turned aside in avoidance of this, only to plunge into the purlieus of + Chinatown, whence only she emerged, panic-stricken and out of breath, + after a half hour of never-to-be-forgotten terrors, and at a time when it + had grown quite dark. + </p> + <p> + On the corner of California and Dupont streets, she stood a long moment, + pondering. + </p> + <p> + “I MUST do something,” she said to herself. “I must do SOMETHING.” She was + tired out by now, and the idea occurred to her to enter the Catholic + church in whose shadow she stood, and sit down and rest. This she did. The + evening service was just being concluded. But long after the priests and + altar boys had departed from the chancel, Minna still sat in the dim, + echoing interior, confronting her desperate situation as best she might. + </p> + <p> + Two or three hours later, the sexton woke her. The church was being + closed; she must leave. Once more, chilled with the sharp night air, numb + with long sitting in the same attitude, still oppressed with drowsiness, + confused, frightened, Minna found herself on the pavement. She began to be + hungry, and, at length, yielding to the demand that every moment grew more + imperious, bought and eagerly devoured a five-cent bag of fruit. Then, + once more she took up the round of walking. + </p> + <p> + At length, in an obscure street that branched from Kearney Street, near + the corner of the Plaza, she came upon an illuminated sign, bearing the + inscription, “Beds for the Night, 15 and 25 cents.” + </p> + <p> + Fifteen cents! Could she afford it? It would leave her with only that much + more, that much between herself and a state of privation of which she + dared not think; and, besides, the forbidding look of the building + frightened her. It was dark, gloomy, dirty, a place suggestive of obscure + crimes and hidden terrors. For twenty minutes or half an hour, she + hesitated, walking twice and three times around the block. At last, she + made up her mind. Exhaustion such as she had never known, weighed like + lead upon her shoulders and dragged at her heels. She must sleep. She + could not walk the streets all night. She entered the door-way under the + sign, and found her way up a filthy flight of stairs. At the top, a man in + a blue checked “jumper” was filling a lamp behind a high desk. To him + Minna applied. + </p> + <p> + “I should like,” she faltered, “to have a room—a bed for the night. + One of those for fifteen cents will be good enough, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this place is only for men,” said the man, looking up from the + lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Minna, “oh—I—I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him stupidly, and he, with equal stupidity, returned the + gaze. Thus, for a long moment, they held each other's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I—I didn't know,” repeated Minna. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's for men,” repeated the other. She slowly descended the stairs, + and once more came out upon the streets. + </p> + <p> + And upon those streets that, as the hours advanced, grew more and more + deserted, more and more silent, more and more oppressive with the sense of + the bitter hardness of life towards those who have no means of living, + Minna Hooven spent the first night of her struggle to keep her head above + the ebb-tide of the city's sea, into which she had been plunged. + </p> + <p> + Morning came, and with it renewed hunger. At this time, she had found her + way uptown again, and towards ten o'clock was sitting upon a bench in a + little park full of nurse-maids and children. A group of the maids drew + their baby-buggies to Minna's bench, and sat down, continuing a + conversation they had already begun. Minna listened. A friend of one of + the maids had suddenly thrown up her position, leaving her “madame” in + what would appear to have been deserved embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Minna, breaking in, and lying with sudden unwonted fluency, “I + am a nurse-girl. I am out of a place. Do you think I could get that one?” + </p> + <p> + The group turned and fixed her—so evidently a country girl—with + a supercilious indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you might try,” said one of them. “Got good references?” + </p> + <p> + “References?” repeated Minna blankly. She did not know what this meant. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Field ain't the kind to stick about references,” spoke up the + other, “she's that soft. Why, anybody could work her.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go there,” said Minna. “Have you the address?” It was told to her. + </p> + <p> + “Lorin,” she murmured. “Is that out of town?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's across the Bay.” + </p> + <p> + “Across the Bay.” + </p> + <p> + “Um. You're from the country, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How—how do I get there? Is it far?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you take the ferry at the foot of Market Street, and then the train + on the other side. No, it ain't very far. Just ask any one down there. + They'll tell you.” + </p> + <p> + It was a chance; but Minna, after walking down to the ferry slips, found + that the round trip would cost her twenty cents. If the journey proved + fruitless, only a dime would stand between her and the end of everything. + But it was a chance; the only one that had, as yet, presented itself. She + made the trip. + </p> + <p> + And upon the street-railway cars, upon the ferryboats, on the locomotives + and way-coaches of the local trains, she was reminded of her father's + death, and of the giant power that had reduced her to her present straits, + by the letters, P. and S. W. R. R. To her mind, they occurred everywhere. + She seemed to see them in every direction. She fancied herself surrounded + upon every hand by the long arms of the monster. + </p> + <p> + Minute after minute, her hunger gnawed at her. She could not keep her mind + from it. As she sat on the boat, she found herself curiously scanning the + faces of the passengers, wondering how long since such a one had + breakfasted, how long before this other should sit down to lunch. + </p> + <p> + When Minna descended from the train, at Lorin on the other side of the + Bay, she found that the place was one of those suburban towns, not yet + become fashionable, such as may be seen beyond the outskirts of any large + American city. All along the line of the railroad thereabouts, houses, + small villas—contractors' ventures—were scattered, the + advantages of suburban lots and sites for homes being proclaimed in + seven-foot letters upon mammoth bill-boards close to the right of way. + Without much trouble, Minna found the house to which she had been + directed, a pretty little cottage, set back from the street and shaded by + palms, live oaks, and the inevitable eucalyptus. Her heart warmed at the + sight of it. Oh, to find a little niche for herself here, a home, a refuge + from those horrible city streets, from the rat of famine, with its + relentless tooth. How she would work, how strenuously she would endeavour + to please, how patient of rebuke she would be, how faithful, how + conscientious. Nor were her pretensions altogether false; upon her, while + at home, had devolved almost continually the care of the baby Hilda, her + little sister. She knew the wants and needs of children. + </p> + <p> + Her heart beating, her breath failing, she rang the bell set squarely in + the middle of the front door. + </p> + <p> + The lady of the house herself, an elderly lady, with pleasant, kindly + face, opened the door. Minna stated her errand. + </p> + <p> + “But I have already engaged a girl,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” murmured Minna, striving with all her might to maintain appearances. + “Oh—I thought perhaps—” She turned away. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said the lady. Then she added, “Would you care to look after + so many as three little children, and help around in light housework + between whiles?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” “Because my sister—she lives in North Berkeley, above + here—she's looking far a girl. Have you had lots of experience? Got + good references?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll give you the address. She lives up in North Berkeley.” + </p> + <p> + She turned back into the house a moment, and returned, handing Minna a + card. + </p> + <p> + “That's where she lives—careful not to BLOT it, child, the ink's wet + yet—you had better see her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it far? Could I walk there?” + </p> + <p> + “My, no; you better take the electric cars, about six blocks above here.” + </p> + <p> + When Minna arrived in North Berkeley, she had no money left. By a cruel + mistake, she had taken a car going in the wrong direction, and though her + error was rectified easily enough, it had cost her her last five-cent + piece. She was now to try her last hope. Promptly it crumbled away. Like + the former, this place had been already filled, and Minna left the door of + the house with the certainty that her chance had come to naught, and that + now she entered into the last struggle with life—the death struggle—shorn + of her last pitiful defence, her last safeguard, her last penny. + </p> + <p> + As she once more resumed her interminable walk, she realised she was weak, + faint; and she knew that it was the weakness of complete exhaustion, and + the faintness of approaching starvation. Was this the end coming on? + Terror of death aroused her. + </p> + <p> + “I MUST, I MUST do something, oh, anything. I must have something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + At this late hour, the idea of pawning her little jacket occurred to her, + but now she was far away from the city and its pawnshops, and there was no + getting back. + </p> + <p> + She walked on. An hour passed. She lost her sense of direction, became + confused, knew not where she was going, turned corners and went up + by-streets without knowing why, anything to keep moving, for she fancied + that so soon as she stood still, the rat in the pit of her stomach gnawed + more eagerly. + </p> + <p> + At last, she entered what seemed to be, if not a park, at least some sort + of public enclosure. There were many trees; the place was beautiful; + well-kept roads and walks led sinuously and invitingly underneath the + shade. Through the trees upon the other side of a wide expanse of turf, + brown and sear under the summer sun, she caught a glimpse of tall + buildings and a flagstaff. The whole place had a vaguely public, + educational appearance, and Minna guessed, from certain notices affixed to + the trees, warning the public against the picking of flowers, that she had + found her way into the grounds of the State University. She went on a + little further. The path she was following led her, at length, into a + grove of gigantic live oaks, whose lower branches all but swept the + ground. Here the grass was green, the few flowers in bloom, the shade very + thick. A more lovely spot she had seldom seen. Near at hand was a bench, + built around the trunk of the largest live oak, and here, at length, weak + from hunger, exhausted to the limits of her endurance, despairing, + abandoned, Minna Hooven sat down to enquire of herself what next she could + do. + </p> + <p> + But once seated, the demands of the animal—so she could believe—became + more clamorous, more insistent. To eat, to rest, to be safely housed + against another night, above all else, these were the things she craved; + and the craving within her grew so mighty that she crisped her poor, + starved hands into little fists, in an agony of desire, while the tears + ran from her eyes, and the sobs rose thick from her breast and struggled + and strangled in her aching throat. + </p> + <p> + But in a few moments Minna was aware that a woman, apparently of some + thirty years of age, had twice passed along the walk in front of the bench + where she sat, and now, as she took more notice of her, she remembered + that she had seen her on the ferry-boat coming over from the city. + </p> + <p> + The woman was gowned in silk, tightly corseted, and wore a hat of rather + ostentatious smartness. Minna became convinced that the person was + watching her, but before she had a chance to act upon this conviction she + was surprised out of all countenance by the stranger coming up to where + she sat and speaking to her. + </p> + <p> + “Here is a coincidence,” exclaimed the new-comer, as she sat down; “surely + you are the young girl who sat opposite me on the boat. Strange I should + come across you again. I've had you in mind ever since.” + </p> + <p> + On this nearer view Minna observed that the woman's face bore rather more + than a trace of enamel and that the atmosphere about was impregnated with + sachet. She was not otherwise conspicuous, but there was a certain + hardness about her mouth and a certain droop of fatigue in her eyelids + which, combined with an indefinite self-confidence of manner, held Minna's + attention. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” continued the woman, “I believe you are in trouble. I + thought so when I saw you on the boat, and I think so now. Are you? Are + you in trouble? You're from the country, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + Minna, glad to find a sympathiser, even in this chance acquaintance, + admitted that she was in distress; that she had become separated from her + mother, and that she was indeed from the country. + </p> + <p> + “I've been trying to find a situation,” she hazarded in conclusion, “but I + don't seem to succeed. I've never been in a city before, except + Bonneville.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it IS a coincidence,” said the other. “I know I wasn't drawn to you + for nothing. I am looking for just such a young girl as you. You see, I + live alone a good deal and I've been wanting to find a nice, bright, + sociable girl who will be a sort of COMPANION to me. Understand? And + there's something about you that I like. I took to you the moment I saw + you on the boat. Now shall we talk this over?” + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of the week, one afternoon, as Presley was returning from + his club, he came suddenly face to face with Minna upon a street corner. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he cried, coming toward her joyfully. “Upon my word, I had almost + given you up. I've been looking everywhere for you. I was afraid you might + not be getting along, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could + do. How are your mother and Hilda? Where are you stopping? Have you got a + good place?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know where mamma is,” answered Minna. “We got separated, and I + never have been able to find her again.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Presley had been taking in with a quick eye the details of + Minna's silk dress, with its garniture of lace, its edging of velvet, its + silver belt-buckle. Her hair was arranged in a new way and on her head was + a wide hat with a flare to one side, set off with a gilt buckle and a puff + of bright blue plush. He glanced at her sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Well, but—but how are you getting on?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Minna laughed scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “I?” she cried. “Oh, I'VE gone to hell. It was either that or starvation.” + </p> + <p> + Presley regained his room at the club, white and trembling. Worse than the + worst he had feared had happened. He had not been soon enough to help. He + had failed again. A superstitious fear assailed him that he was, in a + manner, marked; that he was foredoomed to fail. Minna had come—had + been driven to this; and he, acting too late upon his tardy resolve, had + not been able to prevent it. Were the horrors, then, never to end? Was the + grisly spectre of consequence to forever dance in his vision? Were the + results, the far-reaching results of that battle at the irrigating ditch + to cross his path forever? When would the affair be terminated, the + incident closed? Where was that spot to which the tentacle of the monster + could not reach? + </p> + <p> + By now, he was sick with the dread of it all. He wanted to get away, to be + free from that endless misery, so that he might not see what he could no + longer help. Cowardly he now knew himself to be. He thought of himself + only with loathing. + </p> + <p> + Bitterly self-contemptuous that he could bring himself to a participation + in such trivialities, he began to dress to keep his engagement to dine + with the Cedarquists. + </p> + <p> + He arrived at the house nearly half an hour late, but before he could take + off his overcoat, Mrs. Cedarquist appeared in the doorway of the + drawing-room at the end of the hall. She was dressed as if to go out. + </p> + <p> + “My DEAR Presley,” she exclaimed, her stout, over-dressed body bustling + toward him with a great rustle of silk. “I never was so glad. You poor, + dear poet, you are thin as a ghost. You need a better dinner than I can + give you, and that is just what you are to have.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I blundered?” Presley hastened to exclaim. “Did not Mr. Cedarquist + mention Friday evening?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no,” she cried; “it was he who blundered. YOU blundering in a + social amenity! Preposterous! No; Mr. Cedarquist forgot that we were + dining out ourselves to-night, and when he told me he had asked you here + for the same evening, I fell upon the man, my dear, I did actually, tooth + and nail. But I wouldn't hear of his wiring you. I just dropped a note to + our hostess, asking if I could not bring you, and when I told her who you + WERE, she received the idea with, oh, empressement. So, there it is, all + settled. Cedarquist and the girls are gone on ahead, and you are to take + the old lady like a dear, dear poet. I believe I hear the carriage. + Allons! En voiture!” + </p> + <p> + Once settled in the cool gloom of the coupe, odorous of leather and + upholstery, Mrs. Cedarquist exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “And I've never told you who you were to dine with; oh, a personage, + really. Fancy, you will be in the camp of your dearest foes. You are to + dine with the Gerard people, one of the Vice-Presidents of your bete noir, + the P. and S. W. Railroad.” + </p> + <p> + Presley started, his fists clenching so abruptly as to all but split his + white gloves. He was not conscious of what he said in reply, and Mrs. + Cedarquist was so taken up with her own endless stream of talk that she + did not observe his confusion. + </p> + <p> + “Their daughter Honora is going to Europe next week; her mother is to take + her, and Mrs. Gerard is to have just a few people to dinner—very + informal, you know—ourselves, you and, oh, I don't know, two or + three others. Have you ever seen Honora? The prettiest little thing, and + will she be rich? Millions, I would not dare say how many. Tiens. Nous + voici.” + </p> + <p> + The coupe drew up to the curb, and Presley followed Mrs. Cedarquist up the + steps to the massive doors of the great house. In a confused daze, he + allowed one of the footmen to relieve him of his hat and coat; in a daze + he rejoined Mrs. Cedarquist in a room with a glass roof, hung with + pictures, the art gallery, no doubt, and in a daze heard their names + announced at the entrance of another room, the doors of which were hung + with thick, blue curtains. + </p> + <p> + He entered, collecting his wits for the introductions and presentations + that he foresaw impended. + </p> + <p> + The room was very large, and of excessive loftiness. Flat, rectagonal + pillars of a rose-tinted, variegated marble, rose from the floor almost + flush with the walls, finishing off at the top with gilded capitals of a + Corinthian design, which supported the ceiling. The ceiling itself, + instead of joining the walls at right angles, curved to meet them, a + device that produced a sort of dome-like effect. This ceiling was a maze + of golden involutions in very high relief, that adjusted themselves to + form a massive framing for a great picture, nymphs and goddesses, white + doves, golden chariots and the like, all wreathed about with clouds and + garlands of roses. Between the pillars around the sides of the room were + hangings of silk, the design—of a Louis Quinze type—of + beautiful simplicity and faultless taste. The fireplace was a marvel. It + reached from floor to ceiling; the lower parts, black marble, carved into + crouching Atlases, with great muscles that upbore the superstructure. The + design of this latter, of a kind of purple marble, shot through with white + veinings, was in the same style as the design of the silk hangings. In its + midst was a bronze escutcheon, bearing an undecipherable monogram and a + Latin motto. Andirons of brass, nearly six feet high, flanked the + hearthstone. + </p> + <p> + The windows of the room were heavily draped in sombre brocade and ecru + lace, in which the initials of the family were very beautifully worked. + But directly opposite the fireplace, an extra window, lighted from the + adjoining conservatory, threw a wonderful, rich light into the apartment. + It was a Gothic window of stained glass, very large, the centre figures + being armed warriors, Parsifal and Lohengrin; the one with a banner, the + other with a swan. The effect was exquisite, the window a veritable + masterpiece, glowing, flaming, and burning with a hundred tints and + colours—opalescent, purple, wine-red, clouded pinks, royal blues, + saffrons, violets so dark as to be almost black. + </p> + <p> + Under foot, the carpet had all the softness of texture of grass; skins + (one of them of an enormous polar bear) and rugs of silk velvet were + spread upon the floor. A Renaissance cabinet of ebony, many feet taller + than Presley's head, and inlaid with ivory and silver, occupied one corner + of the room, while in its centre stood a vast table of Flemish oak, black, + heavy as iron, massive. A faint odour of sandalwood pervaded the air. From + the conservatory near-by, came the splashing of a fountain. A row of + electric bulbs let into the frieze of the walls between the golden + capitals, and burning dimly behind hemispheres of clouded glass, threw a + subdued light over the whole scene. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gerard came forward. + </p> + <p> + “This is Mr. Presley, of course, our new poet of whom we are all so proud. + I was so afraid you would be unable to come. You have given me a real + pleasure in allowing me to welcome you here.” + </p> + <p> + The footman appeared at her elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Dinner is served, madame,” he announced. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When Mrs. Hooven had left the boarding-house on Castro Street, she had + taken up a position on a neighbouring corner, to wait for Minna's + reappearance. Little Hilda, at this time hardly more than six years of + age, was with her, holding to her hand. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hooven was by no means an old woman, but hard work had aged her. She + no longer had any claim to good looks. She no longer took much interest in + her personal appearance. At the time of her eviction from the Castro + Street boarding-house, she wore a faded black bonnet, garnished with faded + artificial flowers of dirty pink. A plaid shawl was about her shoulders. + But this day of misfortune had set Mrs. Hooven adrift in even worse + condition than her daughter. Her purse, containing a miserable handful of + dimes and nickels, was in her trunk, and her trunk was in the hands of the + landlady. Minna had been allowed such reprieve as her thirty-five cents + would purchase. The destitution of Mrs. Hooven and her little girl had + begun from the very moment of her eviction. + </p> + <p> + While she waited for Minna, watching every street car and every + approaching pedestrian, a policeman appeared, asked what she did, and, + receiving no satisfactory reply, promptly moved her on. + </p> + <p> + Minna had had little assurance in facing the life struggle of the city. + Mrs. Hooven had absolutely none. In her, grief, distress, the pinch of + poverty, and, above all, the nameless fear of the turbulent, fierce life + of the streets, had produced a numbness, an embruted, sodden, silent, + speechless condition of dazed mind, and clogged, unintelligent speech. She + was dumb, bewildered, stupid, animated but by a single impulse. She clung + to life, and to the life of her little daughter Hilda, with the blind + tenacity of purpose of a drowning cat. + </p> + <p> + Thus, when ordered to move on by the officer, she had silently obeyed, not + even attempting to explain her situation. She walked away to the next + street-crossing. Then, in a few moments returned, taking up her place on + the corner near the boarding-house, spying upon the approaching cable + cars, peeping anxiously down the length of the sidewalks. + </p> + <p> + Once more, the officer ordered her away, and once more, unprotesting, she + complied. But when for the third time the policeman found her on the + forbidden spot, he had lost his temper. This time when Mrs. Hooven + departed, he had followed her, and when, bewildered, persistent, she had + attempted to turn back, he caught her by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to get arrested, hey?” he demanded. “Do you want me to lock + you up? Say, do you, speak up?” + </p> + <p> + The ominous words at length reached Mrs. Hooven's comprehension. Arrested! + She was to be arrested. The countrywoman's fear of the Jail nipped and bit + eagerly at her unwilling heels. She hurried off, thinking to return to her + post after the policeman should have gone away. But when, at length, + turning back, she tried to find the boarding-house, she suddenly + discovered that she was on an unfamiliar street. Unwittingly, no doubt, + she had turned a corner. She could not retrace her steps. She and Hilda + were lost. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, I'm tired,” Hilda complained. + </p> + <p> + Her mother picked her up. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, where're we gowun, mammy?” + </p> + <p> + Where, indeed? Stupefied, Mrs. Hooven looked about her at the endless + blocks of buildings, the endless procession of vehicles in the streets, + the endless march of pedestrians on the sidewalks. Where was Minna; where + was she and her baby to sleep that night? How was Hilda to be fed? + </p> + <p> + She could not stand still. There was no place to sit down; but one thing + was left, walk. + </p> + <p> + Ah, that via dolorosa of the destitute, that chemin de la croix of the + homeless. Ah, the mile after mile of granite pavement that MUST be, MUST + be traversed. Walk they must. Move, they must; onward, forward, whither + they cannot tell; why, they do not know. Walk, walk, walk with bleeding + feet and smarting joints; walk with aching back and trembling knees; walk, + though the senses grow giddy with fatigue, though the eyes droop with + sleep, though every nerve, demanding rest, sets in motion its tiny alarm + of pain. Death is at the end of that devious, winding maze of paths, + crossed and re-crossed and crossed again. There is but one goal to the via + dolorosa; there is no escape from the central chamber of that labyrinth. + Fate guides the feet of them that are set therein. Double on their steps + though they may, weave in and out of the myriad corners of the city's + streets, return, go forward, back, from side to side, here, there, + anywhere, dodge, twist, wind, the central chamber where Death sits is + reached inexorably at the end. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes leading and sometimes carrying Hilda, Mrs. Hooven set off upon + her objectless journey. Block after block she walked, street after street. + She was afraid to stop, because of the policemen. As often as she so much + as slackened her pace, she was sure to see one of these terrible figures + in the distance, watching her, so it seemed to her, waiting for her to + halt for the fraction of a second, in order that he might have an excuse + to arrest her. + </p> + <p> + Hilda fretted incessantly. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, where're we gowun? Mammy, I'm tired.” Then, at last, for the first + time, that plaint that stabbed the mother's heart: + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Be qui-ut, den,” said Mrs. Hooven. “Bretty soon we'll hev der subber.” + </p> + <p> + Passers-by on the sidewalk, men and women in the great six o'clock + homeward march, jostled them as they went along. With dumb, dull + curiousness, she looked into one after another of the limitless stream of + faces, and she fancied she saw in them every emotion but pity. The faces + were gay, were anxious, were sorrowful, were mirthful, were lined with + thought, or were merely flat and expressionless, but not one was turned + toward her in compassion. The expressions of the faces might be various, + but an underlying callousness was discoverable beneath every mask. The + people seemed removed from her immeasurably; they were infinitely above + her. What was she to them, she and her baby, the crippled outcasts of the + human herd, the unfit, not able to survive, thrust out on the heath to + perish? + </p> + <p> + To beg from these people did not yet occur to her. There was no pride, + however, in the matter. She would have as readily asked alms of so many + sphinxes. + </p> + <p> + She went on. Without willing it, her feet carried her in a wide circle. + Soon she began to recognise the houses; she had been in that street + before. Somehow, this was distasteful to her; so, striking off at right + angles, she walked straight before her for over a dozen blocks. By now, it + was growing darker. The sun had set. The hands of a clock on the + power-house of a cable line pointed to seven. No doubt, Minna had come + long before this time, had found her mother gone, and had—just what + had she done, just what COULD she do? Where was her daughter now? Walking + the streets herself, no doubt. What was to become of Minna, pretty girl + that she was, lost, houseless and friendless in the maze of these streets? + Mrs. Hooven, roused from her lethargy, could not repress an exclamation of + anguish. Here was misfortune indeed; here was calamity. She bestirred + herself, and remembered the address of the boarding-house. She might + inquire her way back thither. No doubt, by now the policeman would be gone + home for the night. She looked about. She was in the district of modest + residences, and a young man was coming toward her, carrying a new garden + hose looped around his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Meest'r; say, blease——” + </p> + <p> + The young man gave her a quick look and passed on, hitching the coil of + hose over his shoulder. But a few paces distant, he slackened in his walk + and fumbled in his vest pocket with his fingers. Then he came back to Mrs. + Hooven and put a quarter into her hand. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hooven stared at the coin stupefied. The young man disappeared. He + thought, then, that she was begging. It had come to that; she, independent + all her life, whose husband had held five hundred acres of wheat land, had + been taken for a beggar. A flush of shame shot to her face. She was about + to throw the money after its giver. But at the moment, Hilda again + exclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + With a movement of infinite lassitude and resigned acceptance of the + situation, Mrs. Hooven put the coin in her pocket. She had no right to be + proud any longer. Hilda must have food. + </p> + <p> + That evening, she and her child had supper at a cheap restaurant in a poor + quarter of the town, and passed the night on the benches of a little + uptown park. + </p> + <p> + Unused to the ways of the town, ignorant as to the customs and + possibilities of eating-houses, she spent the whole of her quarter upon + supper for herself and Hilda, and had nothing left wherewith to buy a + lodging. + </p> + <p> + The night was dreadful; Hilda sobbed herself to sleep on her mother's + shoulder, waking thereafter from hour to hour, to protest, though wrapped + in her mother's shawl, that she was cold, and to enquire why they did not + go to bed. Drunken men snored and sprawled near at hand. Towards morning, + a loafer, reeking of alcohol, sat down beside her, and indulged in an + incoherent soliloquy, punctuated with oaths and obscenities. It was not + till far along towards daylight that she fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + She awoke to find it broad day. Hilda—mercifully—slept. Her + mother's limbs were stiff and lame with cold and damp; her head throbbed. + She moved to another bench which stood in the rays of the sun, and for a + long two hours sat there in the thin warmth, till the moisture of the + night that clung to her clothes was evaporated. + </p> + <p> + A policeman came into view. She woke Hilda, and carrying her in her arms, + took herself away. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy,” began Hilda as soon as she was well awake; “Mammy, I'm hungry. I + want mein breakfest.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, sure, soon now, leedle tochter.” + </p> + <p> + She herself was hungry, but she had but little thought of that. How was + Hilda to be fed? She remembered her experience of the previous day, when + the young man with the hose had given her money. Was it so easy, then, to + beg? Could charity be had for the asking? So it seemed; but all that was + left of her sturdy independence revolted at the thought. SHE beg! SHE hold + out the hand to strangers! + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + There was no other way. It must come to that in the end. Why temporise, + why put off the inevitable? She sought out a frequented street where men + and women were on their way to work. One after another, she let them go + by, searching their faces, deterred at the very last moment by some + trifling variation of expression, a firm set mouth, a serious, level + eyebrow, an advancing chin. Then, twice, when she had made a choice, and + brought her resolution to the point of speech, she quailed, shrinking, her + ears tingling, her whole being protesting against the degradation. Every + one must be looking at her. Her shame was no doubt the object of an + hundred eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, I'm hungry,” protested Hilda again. + </p> + <p> + She made up her mind. What, though, was she to say? In what words did + beggars ask for assistance? + </p> + <p> + She tried to remember how tramps who had appeared at her back door on Los + Muertos had addressed her; how and with what formula certain mendicants of + Bonneville had appealed to her. Then, having settled upon a phrase, she + approached a whiskered gentleman with a large stomach, walking briskly in + the direction of the town. + </p> + <p> + “Say, den, blease hellup a boor womun.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman passed on. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he doand hear me,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Two well-dressed women advanced, chattering gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Say, say, den, blease hellup a boor womun.” + </p> + <p> + One of the women paused, murmuring to her companion, and from her purse + extracted a yellow ticket which she gave to Mrs. Hooven with voluble + explanations. But Mrs. Hooven was confused, she did not understand. What + could the ticket mean? The women went on their way. + </p> + <p> + The next person to whom she applied was a young girl of about eighteen, + very prettily dressed. + </p> + <p> + “Say, say, den, blease hellup a boor womun.” + </p> + <p> + In evident embarrassment, the young girl paused and searched in her little + pocketbook. “I think I have—I think—I have just ten cents here + somewhere,” she murmured again and again. + </p> + <p> + In the end, she found a dime, and dropped it into Mrs. Hooven's palm. + </p> + <p> + That was the beginning. The first step once taken, the others became easy. + All day long, Mrs. Hooven and Hilda followed the streets, begging, + begging. Here it was a nickel, there a dime, here a nickel again. But she + was not expert in the art, nor did she know where to buy food the + cheapest; and the entire day's work resulted only in barely enough for two + meals of bread, milk, and a wretchedly cooked stew. Tuesday night found + the pair once more shelterless. + </p> + <p> + Once more, Mrs. Hooven and her baby passed the night on the park benches. + But early on Wednesday morning, Mrs. Hooven found herself assailed by + sharp pains and cramps in her stomach. What was the cause she could not + say; but as the day went on, the pains increased, alternating with hot + flushes over all her body, and a certain weakness and faintness. As the + day went on, the pain and the weakness increased. When she tried to walk, + she found she could do so only with the greatest difficulty. Here was + fresh misfortune. To beg, she must walk. Dragging herself forward a + half-block at a time, she regained the street once more. She succeeded in + begging a couple of nickels, bought a bag of apples from a vender, and, + returning to the park, sank exhausted upon a bench. + </p> + <p> + Here she remained all day until evening, Hilda alternately whimpering for + her bread and milk, or playing languidly in the gravel walk at her feet. + In the evening, she started out again. This time, it was bitter hard. + Nobody seemed inclined to give. Twice she was “moved on” by policemen. Two + hours' begging elicited but a single dime. With this, she bought Hilda's + bread and milk, and refusing herself to eat, returned to the bench—the + only home she knew—and spent the night shivering with cold, burning + with fever. + </p> + <p> + From Wednesday morning till Friday evening, with the exception of the few + apples she had bought, and a quarter of a loaf of hard bread that she + found in a greasy newspaper—scraps of a workman's dinner—Mrs. + Hooven had nothing to eat. In her weakened condition, begging became + hourly more difficult, and such little money as was given her, she + resolutely spent on Hilda's bread and milk in the morning and evening. + </p> + <p> + By Friday afternoon, she was very weak, indeed. Her eyes troubled her. She + could no longer see distinctly, and at times there appeared to her curious + figures, huge crystal goblets of the most graceful shapes, floating and + swaying in the air in front of her, almost within arm's reach. Vases of + elegant forms, made of shimmering glass, bowed and courtesied toward her. + Glass bulbs took graceful and varying shapes before her vision, now + rounding into globes, now evolving into hour-glasses, now twisting into + pretzel-shaped convolutions. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, I'm hungry,” insisted Hilda, passing her hands over her face. Mrs. + Hooven started and woke. It was Friday evening. Already the street lamps + were being lit. + </p> + <p> + “Gome, den, leedle girl,” she said, rising and taking Hilda's hand. “Gome, + den, we go vind subber, hey?” + </p> + <p> + She issued from the park and took a cross street, directly away from the + locality where she had begged the previous days. She had had no success + there of late. She would try some other quarter of the town. After a weary + walk, she came out upon Van Ness Avenue, near its junction with Market + Street. She turned into the avenue, and went on toward the Bay, painfully + traversing block after block, begging of all whom she met (for she no + longer made any distinction among the passers-by). + </p> + <p> + “Say, say, den, blease hellup a boor womun.” + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, mammy, I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + It was Friday night, between seven and eight. The great deserted avenue + was already dark. A sea fog was scudding overhead, and by degrees + descending lower. The warmth was of the meagerest, and the street lamps, + birds of fire in cages of glass, fluttered and danced in the prolonged + gusts of the trade wind that threshed and weltered in the city streets + from off the ocean. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Presley entered the dining-room of the Gerard mansion with little Miss + Gerard on his arm. The other guests had preceded them—Cedarquist + with Mrs. Gerard; a pale-faced, languid young man (introduced to Presley + as Julian Lambert) with Presley's cousin Beatrice, one of the twin + daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Cedarquist; his brother Stephen, whose hair was + straight as an Indian's, but of a pallid straw color, with Beatrice's + sister; Gerard himself, taciturn, bearded, rotund, loud of breath, + escorted Mrs. Cedarquist. Besides these, there were one or two other + couples, whose names Presley did not remember. + </p> + <p> + The dining-room was superb in its appointments. On three sides of the + room, to the height of some ten feet, ran a continuous picture, an oil + painting, divided into long sections by narrow panels of black oak. The + painting represented the personages in the Romaunt de la Rose, and was + conceived in an atmosphere of the most delicate, most ephemeral allegory. + One saw young chevaliers, blue-eyed, of elemental beauty and purity; women + with crowns, gold girdles, and cloudy wimples; young girls, entrancing in + their loveliness, wearing snow-white kerchiefs, their golden hair unbound + and flowing, dressed in white samite, bearing armfuls of flowers; the + whole procession defiling against a background of forest glades, venerable + oaks, half-hidden fountains, and fields of asphodel and roses. + </p> + <p> + Otherwise, the room was simple. Against the side of the wall unoccupied by + the picture stood a sideboard of gigantic size, that once had adorned the + banquet hall of an Italian palace of the late Renaissance. It was black + with age, and against its sombre surfaces glittered an array of heavy + silver dishes and heavier cut-glass bowls and goblets. + </p> + <p> + The company sat down to the first course of raw Blue Point oysters, served + upon little pyramids of shaved ice, and the two butlers at once began + filling the glasses of the guests with cool Haut Sauterne. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gerard, who was very proud of her dinners, and never able to resist + the temptation of commenting upon them to her guests, leaned across to + Presley and Mrs. Cedarquist, murmuring, “Mr. Presley, do you find that + Sauterne too cold? I always believe it is so bourgeois to keep such a + delicate wine as Sauterne on the ice, and to ice Bordeaux or Burgundy—oh, + it is nothing short of a crime.” + </p> + <p> + “This is from your own vineyard, is it not?” asked Julian Lambert. “I + think I recognise the bouquet.” + </p> + <p> + He strove to maintain an attitude of fin gourmet, unable to refrain from + comment upon the courses as they succeeded one another. + </p> + <p> + Little Honora Gerard turned to Presley: + </p> + <p> + “You know,” she explained, “Papa has his own vineyards in southern France. + He is so particular about his wines; turns up his nose at California + wines. And I am to go there next summer. Ferrieres is the name of the + place where our vineyards are, the dearest village!” She was a beautiful + little girl of a dainty porcelain type, her colouring low in tone. She + wore no jewels, but her little, undeveloped neck and shoulders, of an + exquisite immaturity, rose from the tulle bodice of her first decollete + gown. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she continued; “I'm to go to Europe for the first time. Won't it be + gay? And I am to have my own bonne, and Mamma and I are to travel—so + many places, Baden, Homburg, Spa, the Tyrol. Won't it be gay?” + </p> + <p> + Presley assented in meaningless words. He sipped his wine mechanically, + looking about that marvellous room, with its subdued saffron lights, its + glitter of glass and silver, its beautiful women in their elaborate + toilets, its deft, correct servants; its array of tableware—cut + glass, chased silver, and Dresden crockery. It was Wealth, in all its + outward and visible forms, the signs of an opulence so great that it need + never be husbanded. It was the home of a railway “Magnate,” a Railroad + King. For this, then, the farmers paid. It was for this that S. Behrman + turned the screw, tightened the vise. It was for this that Dyke had been + driven to outlawry and a jail. It was for this that Lyman Derrick had been + bought, the Governor ruined and broken, Annixter shot down, Hooven killed. + </p> + <p> + The soup, puree a la Derby, was served, and at the same time, as hors + d'oeuvres, ortolan patties, together with a tiny sandwich made of browned + toast and thin slices of ham, sprinkled over with Parmesan cheese. The + wine, so Mrs. Gerard caused it to be understood, was Xeres, of the 1815 + vintage. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Mrs. Hooven crossed the avenue. It was growing late. Without knowing it, + she had come to a part of the city that experienced beggars shunned. There + was nobody about. Block after block of residences stretched away on either + hand, lighted, full of people. But the sidewalks were deserted. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy,” whimpered Hilda. “I'm tired, carry me.” + </p> + <p> + Using all her strength, Mrs. Hooven picked her up and moved on aimlessly. + </p> + <p> + Then again that terrible cry, the cry of the hungry child appealing to the + helpless mother: + </p> + <p> + “Mammy, I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Ach, Gott, leedle girl,” exclaimed Mrs. Hooven, holding her close to her + shoulder, the tears starting from her eyes. “Ach, leedle tochter. Doand, + doand, doand. You praik my hairt. I cen't vind any subber. We got noddings + to eat, noddings, noddings.” + </p> + <p> + “When do we have those bread'n milk again, Mammy?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow—soon—py-and-py, Hilda. I doand know what pecome oaf + us now, what pecome oaf my leedle babby.” + </p> + <p> + She went on, holding Hilda against her shoulder with one arm as best she + might, one hand steadying herself against the fence railings along the + sidewalk. At last, a solitary pedestrian came into view, a young man in a + top hat and overcoat, walking rapidly. Mrs. Hooven held out a quivering + hand as he passed her. + </p> + <p> + “Say, say, den, Meest'r, blease hellup a boor womun.” + </p> + <p> + The other hurried on. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The fish course was grenadins of bass and small salmon, the latter + stuffed, and cooked in white wine and mushroom liquor. + </p> + <p> + “I have read your poem, of course, Mr. Presley,” observed Mrs. Gerard. + “'The Toilers,' I mean. What a sermon you read us, you dreadful young man. + I felt that I ought at once to 'sell all that I have and give to the + poor.' Positively, it did stir me up. You may congratulate yourself upon + making at least one convert. Just because of that poem Mrs. Cedarquist and + I have started a movement to send a whole shipload of wheat to the + starving people in India. Now, you horrid reactionnaire, are you + satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad,” murmured Presley. + </p> + <p> + “But I am afraid,” observed Mrs. Cedarquist, “that we may be too late. + They are dying so fast, those poor people. By the time our ship reaches + India the famine may be all over.” + </p> + <p> + “One need never be afraid of being 'too late' in the matter of helping the + destitute,” answered Presley. “Unfortunately, they are always a fixed + quantity. 'The poor ye have always with you.'” + </p> + <p> + “How very clever that is,” said Mrs. Gerard. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cedarquist tapped the table with her fan in mild applause. + </p> + <p> + “Brilliant, brilliant,” she murmured, “epigrammatical.” + </p> + <p> + “Honora,” said Mrs. Gerard, turning to her daughter, at that moment in + conversation with the languid Lambert, “Honora, entends-tu, ma cherie, + l'esprit de notre jeune Lamartine.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Mrs. Hooven went on, stumbling from street to street, holding Hilda to her + breast. Famine gnawed incessantly at her stomach; walk though she might, + turn upon her tracks up and down the streets, back to the avenue again, + incessantly and relentlessly the torture dug into her vitals. She was + hungry, hungry, and if the want of food harassed and rended her, + full-grown woman that she was, what must it be in the poor, starved + stomach of her little girl? Oh, for some helping hand now, oh, for one + little mouthful, one little nibble! Food, food, all her wrecked body + clamoured for nourishment; anything to numb those gnawing teeth—an + abandoned loaf, hard, mouldered; a half-eaten fruit, yes, even the refuse + of the gutter, even the garbage of the ash heap. On she went, peering into + dark corners, into the areaways, anywhere, everywhere, watching the silent + prowling of cats, the intent rovings of stray dogs. But she was growing + weaker; the pains and cramps in her stomach returned. Hilda's weight bore + her to the pavement. More than once a great giddiness, a certain wheeling + faintness all but overcame her. Hilda, however, was asleep. To wake her + would only mean to revive her to the consciousness of hunger; yet how to + carry her further? Mrs. Hooven began to fear that she would fall with her + child in her arms. The terror of a collapse upon those cold pavements + glistening with fog-damp roused her; she must make an effort to get + through the night. She rallied all her strength, and pausing a moment to + shift the weight of her baby to the other arm, once more set off through + the night. A little while later she found on the edge of the sidewalk the + peeling of a banana. It had been trodden upon and it was muddy, but + joyfully she caught it up. + </p> + <p> + “Hilda,” she cried, “wake oop, leedle girl. See, loog den, dere's + somedings to eat. Look den, hey? Dat's goot, ain't it? Zum bunaner.” + </p> + <p> + But it could not be eaten. Decayed, dirty, all but rotting, the stomach + turned from the refuse, nauseated. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” cried Hilda, “that's not good. I can't eat it. Oh, Mammy, please + gif me those bread'n milk.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + By now the guests of Mrs. Gerard had come to the entrees—Londonderry + pheasants, escallops of duck, and rissolettes a la pompadour. The wine was + Chateau Latour. + </p> + <p> + All around the table conversations were going forward gayly. The good + wines had broken up the slight restraint of the early part of the evening + and a spirit of good humour and good fellowship prevailed. Young Lambert + and Mr. Gerard were deep in reminiscences of certain mutual duck-shooting + expeditions. Mrs. Gerard and Mrs. Cedarquist discussed a novel—a + strange mingling of psychology, degeneracy, and analysis of erotic + conditions—which had just been translated from the Italian. Stephen + Lambert and Beatrice disputed over the merits of a Scotch collie just + given to the young lady. The scene was gay, the electric bulbs sparkled, + the wine flashing back the light. The entire table was a vague glow of + white napery, delicate china, and glass as brilliant as crystal. Behind + the guests the serving-men came and went, filling the glasses continually, + changing the covers, serving the entrees, managing the dinner without + interruption, confusion, or the slightest unnecessary noise. + </p> + <p> + But Presley could find no enjoyment in the occasion. From that picture of + feasting, that scene of luxury, that atmosphere of decorous, well-bred + refinement, his thoughts went back to Los Muertos and Quien Sabe and the + irrigating ditch at Hooven's. He saw them fall, one by one, Harran, + Annixter, Osterman, Broderson, Hooven. The clink of the wine glasses was + drowned in the explosion of revolvers. The Railroad might indeed be a + force only, which no man could control and for which no man was + responsible, but his friends had been killed, but years of extortion and + oppression had wrung money from all the San Joaquin, money that had made + possible this very scene in which he found himself. Because Magnus had + been beggared, Gerard had become Railroad King; because the farmers of the + valley were poor, these men were rich. + </p> + <p> + The fancy grew big in his mind, distorted, caricatured, terrible. Because + the farmers had been killed at the irrigation ditch, these others, Gerard + and his family, fed full. They fattened on the blood of the People, on the + blood of the men who had been killed at the ditch. It was a + half-ludicrous, half-horrible “dog eat dog,” an unspeakable cannibalism. + Harran, Annixter, and Hooven were being devoured there under his eyes. + These dainty women, his cousin Beatrice and little Miss Gerard, frail, + delicate; all these fine ladies with their small fingers and slender + necks, suddenly were transfigured in his tortured mind into harpies + tearing human flesh. His head swam with the horror of it, the terror of + it. Yes, the People WOULD turn some day, and turning, rend those who now + preyed upon them. It would be “dog eat dog” again, with positions + reversed, and he saw for one instant of time that splendid house sacked to + its foundations, the tables overturned, the pictures torn, the hangings + blazing, and Liberty, the red-handed Man in the Street, grimed with powder + smoke, foul with the gutter, rush yelling, torch in hand, through every + door. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + At ten o'clock Mrs. Hooven fell. + </p> + <p> + Luckily she was leading Hilda by the hand at the time and the little girl + was not hurt. In vain had Mrs. Hooven, hour after hour, walked the + streets. After a while she no longer made any attempt to beg; nobody was + stirring, nor did she even try to hunt for food with the stray dogs and + cats. She had made up her mind to return to the park in order to sit upon + the benches there, but she had mistaken the direction, and following up + Sacramento Street, had come out at length, not upon the park, but upon a + great vacant lot at the very top of the Clay Street hill. The ground was + unfenced and rose above her to form the cap of the hill, all overgrown + with bushes and a few stunted live oaks. It was in trying to cross this + piece of ground that she fell. She got upon her feet again. + </p> + <p> + “Ach, Mammy, did you hurt yourself?” asked Hilda. + </p> + <p> + “No, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that house where we get those bread'n milk?” + </p> + <p> + Hilda pointed to a single rambling building just visible in the night, + that stood isolated upon the summit of the hill in a grove of trees. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, dere aindt no braid end miluk, leedle tochter.” + </p> + <p> + Hilda once more began to sob. + </p> + <p> + “Ach, Mammy, please, PLEASE, I want it. I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + The jangled nerves snapped at last under the tension, and Mrs. Hooven, + suddenly shaking Hilda roughly, cried out: “Stop, stop. Doand say ut egen, + you. My Gott, you kill me yet.” + </p> + <p> + But quick upon this came the reaction. The mother caught her little girl + to her, sinking down upon her knees, putting her arms around her, holding + her close. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, gry all so mudge es you want. Say dot you are hongry. Say ut + egen, say ut all de dime, ofer end ofer egen. Say ut, poor, starfing, + leedle babby. Oh, mein poor, leedle tochter. My Gott, oh, I go crazy + bretty soon, I guess. I cen't hellup you. I cen't ged you noddings to eat, + noddings, noddings. Hilda, we gowun to die togedder. Put der arms roundt + me, soh, tighd, leedle babby. We gowun to die, we gowun to vind Popper. We + aindt gowun to be hongry eny more.” + </p> + <p> + “Vair we go now?” demanded Hilda. + </p> + <p> + “No places. Mommer's soh tiredt. We stop heir, leedle while, end rest.” + </p> + <p> + Underneath a large bush that afforded a little shelter from the wind, Mrs. + Hooven lay down, taking Hilda in her arms and wrapping her shawl about + her. The infinite, vast night expanded gigantic all around them. At this + elevation they were far above the city. It was still. Close overhead + whirled the chariots of the fog, galloping landward, smothering lights, + blurring outlines. Soon all sight of the town was shut out; even the + solitary house on the hilltop vanished. There was nothing left but grey, + wheeling fog, and the mother and child, alone, shivering in a little strip + of damp ground, an island drifting aimlessly in empty space. + </p> + <p> + Hilda's fingers touched a leaf from the bush and instinctively closed upon + it and carried it to her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Mammy,” she said, “I'm eating those leaf. Is those good?” + </p> + <p> + Her mother did not reply. + </p> + <p> + “You going to sleep, Mammy?” inquired Hilda, touching her face. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hooven roused herself a little. + </p> + <p> + “Hey? Vat you say? Asleep? Yais, I guess I wass asleep.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice trailed unintelligibly to silence again. She was not, however, + asleep. Her eyes were open. A grateful numbness had begun to creep over + her, a pleasing semi-insensibility. She no longer felt the pain and cramps + of her stomach, even the hunger was ceasing to bite. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “These stuffed artichokes are delicious, Mrs. Gerard,” murmured young + Lambert, wiping his lips with a corner of his napkin. “Pardon me for + mentioning it, but your dinner must be my excuse.” + </p> + <p> + “And this asparagus—since Mr. Lambert has set the bad example,” + observed Mrs. Cedarquist, “so delicate, such an exquisite flavour. How do + you manage?” + </p> + <p> + “We get all our asparagus from the southern part of the State, from one + particular ranch,” explained Mrs. Gerard. “We order it by wire and get it + only twenty hours after cutting. My husband sees to it that it is put on a + special train. It stops at this ranch just to take on our asparagus. + Extravagant, isn't it, but I simply cannot eat asparagus that has been cut + more than a day.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” exclaimed Julian Lambert, who posed as an epicure. “I can tell to + an hour just how long asparagus has been picked.” + </p> + <p> + “Fancy eating ordinary market asparagus,” said Mrs. Gerard, “that has been + fingered by Heaven knows how many hands.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Mammy, mammy, wake up,” cried Hilda, trying to push open Mrs. Hooven's + eyelids, at last closed. “Mammy, don't. You're just trying to frighten + me.” + </p> + <p> + Feebly Hilda shook her by the shoulder. At last Mrs. Hooven's lips + stirred. Putting her head down, Hilda distinguished the whispered words: + </p> + <p> + “I'm sick. Go to schleep....Sick....Noddings to eat.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The dessert was a wonderful preparation of alternate layers of biscuit + glaces, ice cream, and candied chestnuts. + </p> + <p> + “Delicious, is it not?” observed Julian Lambert, partly to himself, partly + to Miss Cedarquist. “This Moscovite fouette—upon my word, I have + never tasted its equal.” + </p> + <p> + “And you should know, shouldn't you?” returned the young lady. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + “Mammy, mammy, wake up,” cried Hilda. “Don't sleep so. I'm frightenedt.” + </p> + <p> + Repeatedly she shook her; repeatedly she tried to raise the inert eyelids + with the point of her finger. But her mother no longer stirred. The gaunt, + lean body, with its bony face and sunken eye-sockets, lay back, prone upon + the ground, the feet upturned and showing the ragged, worn soles of the + shoes, the forehead and grey hair beaded with fog, the poor, faded bonnet + awry, the poor, faded dress soiled and torn. Hilda drew close to her + mother, kissing her face, twining her arms around her neck. For a long + time, she lay that way, alternately sobbing and sleeping. Then, after a + long time, there was a stir. She woke from a doze to find a police officer + and two or three other men bending over her. Some one carried a lantern. + Terrified, smitten dumb, she was unable to answer the questions put to + her. Then a woman, evidently a mistress of the house on the top of the + hill, arrived and took Hilda in her arms and cried over her. + </p> + <p> + “I'll take the little girl,” she said to the police officer. + </p> + <p> + “But the mother, can you save her? Is she too far gone?” + </p> + <p> + “I've sent for a doctor,” replied the other. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Just before the ladies left the table, young Lambert raised his glass of + Madeira. Turning towards the wife of the Railroad King, he said: + </p> + <p> + “My best compliments for a delightful dinner.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The doctor who had been bending over Mrs. Hooven, rose. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use,” he said; “she has been dead some time—exhaustion from + starvation.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + On Division Number Three of the Los Muertos ranch the wheat had already + been cut, and S. Behrman on a certain morning in the first week of August + drove across the open expanse of stubble toward the southwest, his eyes + searching the horizon for the feather of smoke that would mark the + location of the steam harvester. However, he saw nothing. The stubble + extended onward apparently to the very margin of the world. + </p> + <p> + At length, S. Behrman halted his buggy and brought out his field glasses + from beneath the seat. He stood up in his place and, adjusting the lenses, + swept the prospect to the south and west. It was the same as though the + sea of land were, in reality, the ocean, and he, lost in an open boat, + were scanning the waste through his glasses, looking for the smoke of a + steamer, hull down, below the horizon. “Wonder,” he muttered, “if they're + working on Four this morning?” + </p> + <p> + At length, he murmured an “Ah” of satisfaction. Far to the south into the + white sheen of sky, immediately over the horizon, he made out a faint + smudge—the harvester beyond doubt. + </p> + <p> + Thither S. Behrman turned his horse's head. It was all of an hour's drive + over the uneven ground and through the crackling stubble, but at length he + reached the harvester. He found, however, that it had been halted. The + sack sewers, together with the header-man, were stretched on the ground in + the shade of the machine, while the engineer and separator-man were + pottering about a portion of the works. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Billy?” demanded S. Behrman reining up. + </p> + <p> + The engineer turned about. + </p> + <p> + “The grain is heavy in here. We thought we'd better increase the speed of + the cup-carrier, and pulled up to put in a smaller sprocket.” + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman nodded to say that was all right, and added a question. + </p> + <p> + “How is she going?” + </p> + <p> + “Anywheres from twenty-five to thirty sacks to the acre right along here; + nothing the matter with THAT I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing in the world, Bill.” + </p> + <p> + One of the sack sewers interposed: + </p> + <p> + “For the last half hour we've been throwing off three bags to the minute.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good, that's good.” + </p> + <p> + It was more than good; it was “bonanza,” and all that division of the + great ranch was thick with just such wonderful wheat. Never had Los + Muertos been more generous, never a season more successful. S. Behrman + drew a long breath of satisfaction. He knew just how great was his share + in the lands which had just been absorbed by the corporation he served, + just how many thousands of bushels of this marvellous crop were his + property. Through all these years of confusion, bickerings, open hostility + and, at last, actual warfare he had waited, nursing his patience, calm + with the firm assurance of ultimate success. The end, at length, had come; + he had entered into his reward and saw himself at last installed in the + place he had so long, so silently coveted; saw himself chief of a + principality, the Master of the Wheat. + </p> + <p> + The sprocket adjusted, the engineer called up the gang and the men took + their places. The fireman stoked vigorously, the two sack sewers resumed + their posts on the sacking platform, putting on the goggles that kept the + chaff from their eyes. The separator-man and header-man gripped their + levers. + </p> + <p> + The harvester, shooting a column of thick smoke straight upward, vibrating + to the top of the stack, hissed, clanked, and lurched forward. Instantly, + motion sprang to life in all its component parts; the header knives, + cutting a thirty-six foot swath, gnashed like teeth; beltings slid and + moved like smooth flowing streams; the separator whirred, the agitator + jarred and crashed; cylinders, augers, fans, seeders and elevators, + drapers and chaff-carriers clattered, rumbled, buzzed, and clanged. The + steam hissed and rasped; the ground reverberated a hollow note, and the + thousands upon thousands of wheat stalks sliced and slashed in the + clashing shears of the header, rattled like dry rushes in a hurricane, as + they fell inward, and were caught up by an endless belt, to disappear into + the bowels of the vast brute that devoured them. + </p> + <p> + It was that and no less. It was the feeding of some prodigious monster, + insatiable, with iron teeth, gnashing and threshing into the fields of + standing wheat; devouring always, never glutted, never satiated, + swallowing an entire harvest, snarling and slobbering in a welter of warm + vapour, acrid smoke, and blinding, pungent clouds of chaff. It moved + belly-deep in the standing grain, a hippopotamus, half-mired in river + ooze, gorging rushes, snorting, sweating; a dinosaur wallowing through + thick, hot grasses, floundering there, crouching, grovelling there as its + vast jaws crushed and tore, and its enormous gullet swallowed, incessant, + ravenous, and inordinate. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman, very much amused, changed places with one of the sack sewers, + allowing him to hold his horse while he mounted the sacking platform and + took his place. The trepidation and jostling of the machine shook him till + his teeth chattered in his head. His ears were shocked and assaulted by a + myriad-tongued clamour, clashing steel, straining belts, jarring woodwork, + while the impalpable chaff powder from the separators settled like dust in + his hair, his ears, eyes, and mouth. + </p> + <p> + Directly in front of where he sat on the platform was the chute from the + cleaner, and from this into the mouth of a half-full sack spouted an + unending gush of grain, winnowed, cleaned, threshed, ready for the mill. + </p> + <p> + The pour from the chute of the cleaner had for S. Behrman an immense + satisfaction. Without an instant's pause, a thick rivulet of wheat rolled + and dashed tumultuous into the sack. In half a minute—sometimes in + twenty seconds—the sack was full, was passed over to the second + sewer, the mouth reeved up, and the sack dumped out upon the ground, to be + picked up by the wagons and hauled to the railroad. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman, hypnotised, sat watching that river of grain. All that + shrieking, bellowing machinery, all that gigantic organism, all the months + of labour, the ploughing, the planting, the prayers for rain, the years of + preparation, the heartaches, the anxiety, the foresight, all the whole + business of the ranch, the work of horses, of steam, of men and boys, + looked to this spot—the grain chute from the harvester into the + sacks. Its volume was the index of failure or success, of riches or + poverty. And at this point, the labour of the rancher ended. Here, at the + lip of the chute, he parted company with his grain, and from here the + wheat streamed forth to feed the world. The yawning mouths of the sacks + might well stand for the unnumbered mouths of the People, all agape for + food; and here, into these sacks, at first so lean, so flaccid, attenuated + like starved stomachs, rushed the living stream of food, insistent, + interminable, filling the empty, fattening the shrivelled, making it sleek + and heavy and solid. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, the harvester stopped again. The men on the sacking + platform had used up all the sacks. But S. Behrman's foreman, a new man on + Los Muertos, put in an appearance with the report that the wagon bringing + a fresh supply was approaching. + </p> + <p> + “How is the grain elevator at Port Costa getting on, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Finished,” replied S. Behrman. + </p> + <p> + The new master of Los Muertos had decided upon accumulating his grain in + bulk in a great elevator at the tide-water port, where the grain ships for + Liverpool and the East took on their cargoes. To this end, he had bought + and greatly enlarged a building at Port Costa, that was already in use for + that purpose, and to this elevator all the crop of Los Muertos was to be + carried. The P. and S. W. made S. Behrman a special rate. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said S. Behrman to his superintendent, “we're in luck. + Fallon's buyer was in Bonneville yesterday. He's buying for Fallon and for + Holt, too. I happened to run into him, and I've sold a ship load.” + </p> + <p> + “A ship load!” + </p> + <p> + “Of Los Muertos wheat. He's acting for some Indian Famine Relief Committee—lot + of women people up in the city—and wanted a whole cargo. I made a + deal with him. There's about fifty thousand tons of disengaged shipping in + San Francisco Bay right now, and ships are fighting for charters. I wired + McKissick and got a long distance telephone from him this morning. He got + me a barque, the 'Swanhilda.' She'll dock day after to-morrow, and begin + loading.” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't I better take a run up,” observed the superintendent, “and keep an + eye on things?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered S. Behrman, “I want you to stop down here, and see that + those carpenters hustle the work in the ranch house. Derrick will be out + by then. You see this deal is peculiar. I'm not selling to any middle-man—not + to Fallon's buyer. He only put me on to the thing. I'm acting direct with + these women people, and I've got to have some hand in shipping this stuff + myself. But I made my selling figure cover the price of a charter. It's a + queer, mixed-up deal, and I don't fancy it much, but there's boodle in it. + I'll go to Port Costa myself.” + </p> + <p> + A little later on in the day, when S. Behrman had satisfied himself that + his harvesting was going forward favourably, he reentered his buggy and + driving to the County Road turned southward towards the Los Muertos ranch + house. He had not gone far, however, before he became aware of a familiar + figure on horse-back, jogging slowly along ahead of him. He recognised + Presley; he shook the reins over his horse's back and very soon ranging up + by the side of the young man passed the time of day with him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what brings you down here again, Mr. Presley?” he observed. “I + thought we had seen the last of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I came down to say good-bye to my friends,” answered Presley shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—to India.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, upon my word. For your health, hey?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You LOOK knocked up,” asserted the other. “By the way,” he added, “I + suppose you've heard the news?” + </p> + <p> + Presley shrank a little. Of late the reports of disasters had followed so + swiftly upon one another that he had begun to tremble and to quail at + every unexpected bit of information. + </p> + <p> + “What news do you mean?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “About Dyke. He has been convicted. The judge sentenced him for life.” + </p> + <p> + For life! Riding on by the side of this man through the ranches by the + County Road, Presley repeated these words to himself till the full effect + of them burst at last upon him. + </p> + <p> + Jailed for life! No outlook. No hope for the future. Day after day, year + after year, to tread the rounds of the same gloomy monotony. He saw the + grey stone walls, the iron doors; the flagging of the “yard” bare of grass + or trees—the cell, narrow, bald, cheerless; the prison garb, the + prison fare, and round all the grim granite of insuperable barriers, + shutting out the world, shutting in the man with outcasts, with the pariah + dogs of society, thieves, murderers, men below the beasts, lost to all + decency, drugged with opium, utter reprobates. To this, Dyke had been + brought, Dyke, than whom no man had been more honest, more courageous, + more jovial. This was the end of him, a prison; this was his final estate, + a criminal. + </p> + <p> + Presley found an excuse for riding on, leaving S. Behrman behind him. He + did not stop at Caraher's saloon, for the heat of his rage had long since + begun to cool, and dispassionately, he saw things in their true light. For + all the tragedy of his wife's death, Caraher was none the less an evil + influence among the ranchers, an influence that worked only to the + inciting of crime. Unwilling to venture himself, to risk his own life, the + anarchist saloon-keeper had goaded Dyke and Presley both to murder; a bad + man, a plague spot in the world of the ranchers, poisoning the farmers' + bodies with alcohol and their minds with discontent. + </p> + <p> + At last, Presley arrived at the ranch house of Los Muertos. The place was + silent; the grass on the lawn was half dead and over a foot high; the + beginnings of weeds showed here and there in the driveway. He tied his + horse to a ring in the trunk of one of the larger eucalyptus trees and + entered the house. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Derrick met him in the dining-room. The old look of uneasiness, + almost of terror, had gone from her wide-open brown eyes. There was in + them instead, the expression of one to whom a contingency, long dreaded, + has arrived and passed. The stolidity of a settled grief, of an + irreparable calamity, of a despair from which there was no escape was in + her look, her manner, her voice. She was listless, apathetic, calm with + the calmness of a woman who knows she can suffer no further. + </p> + <p> + “We are going away,” she told Presley, as the two sat down at opposite + ends of the dining table. “Just Magnus and myself—all there is left + of us. There is very little money left; Magnus can hardly take care of + himself, to say nothing of me. I must look after him now. We are going to + Marysville.” + </p> + <p> + “Why there?” + </p> + <p> + “You see,” she explained, “it happens that my old place is vacant in the + Seminary there. I am going back to teach—literature.” She smiled + wearily. “It is beginning all over again, isn't it? Only there is nothing + to look forward to now. Magnus is an old man already, and I must take care + of him.” + </p> + <p> + “He will go with you, then,” Presley said, “that will be some comfort to + you at least.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she said slowly, “you have not seen Magnus lately.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he—how do you mean? Isn't he any better?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to see him? He is in the office. You can go right in.” + </p> + <p> + Presley rose. He hesitated a moment, then: + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Annixter,” he asked, “Hilma—is she still with you? I should + like to see her before I go.” “Go in and see Magnus,” said Mrs. Derrick. + “I will tell her you are here.” + </p> + <p> + Presley stepped across the stone-paved hallway with the glass roof, and + after knocking three times at the office door pushed it open and entered. + </p> + <p> + Magnus sat in the chair before the desk and did not look up as Presley + entered. He had the appearance of a man nearer eighty than sixty. All the + old-time erectness was broken and bent. It was as though the muscles that + once had held the back rigid, the chin high, had softened and stretched. A + certain fatness, the obesity of inertia, hung heavy around the hips and + abdomen, the eye was watery and vague, the cheeks and chin unshaven and + unkempt, the grey hair had lost its forward curl towards the temples and + hung thin and ragged around the ears. The hawk-like nose seemed hooked to + meet the chin; the lips were slack, the mouth half-opened. + </p> + <p> + Where once the Governor had been a model of neatness in his dress, the + frock coat buttoned, the linen clean, he now sat in his shirt sleeves, the + waistcoat open and showing the soiled shirt. His hands were stained with + ink, and these, the only members of his body that yet appeared to retain + their activity, were busy with a great pile of papers,—oblong, legal + documents, that littered the table before him. Without a moment's + cessation, these hands of the Governor's came and went among the papers, + deft, nimble, dexterous. + </p> + <p> + Magnus was sorting papers. From the heap upon his left hand he selected a + document, opened it, glanced over it, then tied it carefully, and laid it + away upon a second pile on his right hand. When all the papers were in one + pile, he reversed the process, taking from his right hand to place upon + his left, then back from left to right again, then once more from right to + left. He spoke no word, he sat absolutely still, even his eyes did not + move, only his hands, swift, nervous, agitated, seemed alive. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how are you, Governor?” said Presley, coming forward. Magnus turned + slowly about and looked at him and at the hand in which he shook his own. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said at length, “Presley...yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then his glance fell, and he looked aimlessly about upon the floor. “I've + come to say good-bye, Governor,” continued Presley, “I'm going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Going away...yes, why it's Presley. Good-day, Presley.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-day, Governor. I'm going away. I've come to say good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye?” Magnus bent his brows, “what are you saying good-bye for?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going away, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor did not answer. Staring at the ledge of the desk, he seemed + lost in thought. There was a long silence. Then, at length, Presley said: + </p> + <p> + “How are you getting on, Governor?” + </p> + <p> + Magnus looked up slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Why it's Presley,” he said. “How do you do, Presley.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you getting on all right, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Magnus after a while, “yes, all right. I am going away. I've + come to say good-bye. No—” He interrupted himself with a deprecatory + smile, “YOU said THAT, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are going away, too, your wife tells me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm going away. I can't stay on...” he hesitated a long time, + groping for the right word, “I can't stay on—on—what's the + name of this place?” + </p> + <p> + “Los Muertos,” put in Presley. + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn't. Yes, it is, too, that's right, Los Muertos. I don't know + where my memory has gone to of late.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope you will be better soon, Governor.” + </p> + <p> + As Presley spoke the words, S. Behrman entered the room, and the Governor + sprang up with unexpected agility and stood against the wall, drawing one + long breath after another, watching the railroad agent with intent eyes. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman saluted both men affably and sat down near the desk, drawing + the links of his heavy watch chain through his fat fingers. + </p> + <p> + “There wasn't anybody outside when I knocked, but I heard your voice in + here, Governor, so I came right in. I wanted to ask you, Governor, if my + carpenters can begin work in here day after to-morrow. I want to take down + that partition there, and throw this room and the next into one. I guess + that will be O. K., won't it? You'll be out of here by then, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + There was no vagueness about Magnus's speech or manner now. There was that + same alertness in his demeanour that one sees in a tamed lion in the + presence of its trainer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he said quickly, “you can send your men here. I will be gone + by to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to seem to hurry you, Governor.” “No, you will not hurry me. + I am ready to go now.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything I can do for you, Governor?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is, Governor,” insisted S. Behrman. “I think now that all is + over we ought to be good friends. I think I can do something for you. We + still want an assistant in the local freight manager's office. Now, what + do you say to having a try at it? There's a salary of fifty a month goes + with it. I guess you must be in need of money now, and there's always the + wife to support; what do you say? Will you try the place?” + </p> + <p> + Presley could only stare at the man in speechless wonder. What was he + driving at? What reason was there back of this new move, and why should it + be made thus openly and in his hearing? An explanation occurred to him. + Was this merely a pleasantry on the part of S. Behrman, a way of enjoying + to the full his triumph; was he testing the completeness of his victory, + trying to see just how far he could go, how far beneath his feet he could + push his old-time enemy? + </p> + <p> + “What do you say?” he repeated. “Will you try the place?” + </p> + <p> + “You—you INSIST?” inquired the Governor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not insisting on anything,” cried S. Behrman. “I'm offering you a + place, that's all. Will you take it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I'll take it.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll come over to our side?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'll come over.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to turn 'railroad,' understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll turn railroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess there may be times when you'll have to take orders from me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take orders from you.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to be loyal to railroad, you know. No funny business.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be loyal to the railroad.” + </p> + <p> + “You would like the place then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman turned from Magnus, who at once resumed his seat and began + again to sort his papers. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Presley,” said the railroad agent: “I guess I won't see you again.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not,” answered the other. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, Presley, you know you can't make me angry.” + </p> + <p> + He put on his hat of varnished straw and wiped his fat forehead with his + handkerchief. Of late, he had grown fatter than ever, and the linen vest, + stamped with a multitude of interlocked horseshoes, strained tight its + imitation pearl buttons across the great protuberant stomach. + </p> + <p> + Presley looked at the man a moment before replying. + </p> + <p> + But a few weeks ago he could not thus have faced the great enemy of the + farmers without a gust of blind rage blowing tempestuous through all his + bones. Now, however, he found to his surprise that his fury had lapsed to + a profound contempt, in which there was bitterness, but no truculence. He + was tired, tired to death of the whole business. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered deliberately, “I am going away. You have ruined this + place for me. I couldn't live here where I should have to see you, or the + results of what you have done, whenever I stirred out of doors.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Presley,” answered the other, refusing to become angry. “That's + foolishness, that kind of talk; though, of course, I understand how you + feel. I guess it was you, wasn't it, who threw that bomb into my house?” + </p> + <p> + “It was.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that don't show any common sense, Presley,” returned S. Behrman + with perfect aplomb. “What could you have gained by killing me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so much probably as you have gained by killing Harran and Annixter. + But that's all passed now. You're safe from me.” The strangeness of this + talk, the oddity of the situation burst upon him and he laughed aloud. “It + don't seem as though you could be brought to book, S. Behrman, by anybody, + or by any means, does it? They can't get at you through the courts,—the + law can't get you, Dyke's pistol missed fire for just your benefit, and + you even escaped Caraher's six inches of plugged gas pipe. Just what are + we going to do with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Best give it up, Pres, my boy,” returned the other. “I guess there ain't + anything can touch me. Well, Magnus,” he said, turning once more to the + Governor. “Well, I'll think over what you say, and let you know if I can + get the place for you in a day or two. You see,” he added, “you're getting + pretty old, Magnus Derrick.” + </p> + <p> + Presley flung himself from the room, unable any longer to witness the + depths into which Magnus had fallen. What other scenes of degradation were + enacted in that room, how much further S. Behrman carried the humiliation, + he did not know. He suddenly felt that the air of the office was choking + him. + </p> + <p> + He hurried up to what once had been his own room. On his way he could not + but note that much of the house was in disarray, a great packing-up was in + progress; trunks, half-full, stood in the hallways, crates and cases in a + litter of straw encumbered the rooms. The servants came and went with + armfuls of books, ornaments, articles of clothing. + </p> + <p> + Presley took from his room only a few manuscripts and note-books, and a + small valise full of his personal effects; at the doorway he paused and, + holding the knob of the door in his hand, looked back into the room a very + long time. + </p> + <p> + He descended to the lower floor and entered the dining-room. Mrs. Derrick + had disappeared. Presley stood for a long moment in front of the + fireplace, looking about the room, remembering the scenes that he had + witnessed there—the conference when Osterman had first suggested the + fight for Railroad Commissioner and then later the attack on Lyman Derrick + and the sudden revelation of that inconceivable treachery. But as he stood + considering these things a door to his right opened and Hilma entered the + room. + </p> + <p> + Presley came forward, holding out his hand, all unable to believe his + eyes. It was a woman, grave, dignified, composed, who advanced to meet + him. Hilma was dressed in black, the cut and fashion of the gown severe, + almost monastic. All the little feminine and contradictory daintinesses + were nowhere to be seen. Her statuesque calm evenness of contour yet + remained, but it was the calmness of great sorrow, of infinite + resignation. Beautiful she still remained, but she was older. The + seriousness of one who has gained the knowledge of the world—knowledge + of its evil—seemed to envelope her. The calm gravity of a great + suffering past, but not forgotten, sat upon her. Not yet twenty-one, she + exhibited the demeanour of a woman of forty. + </p> + <p> + The one-time amplitude of her figure, the fulness of hip and shoulder, the + great deep swell from waist to throat were gone. She had grown thinner + and, in consequence, seemed unusually, almost unnaturally tall. Her neck + was slender, the outline of her full lips and round chin was a little + sharp; her arms, those wonderful, beautiful arms of hers, were a little + shrunken. But her eyes were as wide open as always, rimmed as ever by the + thin, intensely black line of the lashes and her brown, fragrant hair was + still thick, still, at times, glittered and coruscated in the sun. When + she spoke, it was with the old-time velvety huskiness of voice that + Annixter had learned to love so well. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is you,” she said, giving him her hand. “You were good to want to + see me before you left. I hear that you are going away.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down upon the sofa. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Presley answered, drawing a chair near to her, “yes, I felt I could + not stay—down here any longer. I am going to take a long ocean + voyage. My ship sails in a few days. But you, Mrs. Annixter, what are you + going to do? Is there any way I can serve you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, “nothing. Papa is doing well. We are living here now.” + </p> + <p> + “You are well?” + </p> + <p> + She made a little helpless gesture with both her hands, smiling very + sadly. + </p> + <p> + “As you see,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + As he talked, Presley was looking at her intently. Her dignity was a new + element in her character and the certain slender effect of her figure, + emphasised now by the long folds of the black gown she wore, carried it + almost superbly. She conveyed something of the impression of a queen in + exile. But she had lost none of her womanliness; rather, the contrary. + Adversity had softened her, as well as deepened her. Presley saw that very + clearly. Hilma had arrived now at her perfect maturity; she had known + great love and she had known great grief, and the woman that had awakened + in her with her affection for Annixter had been strengthened and + infinitely ennobled by his death. What if things had been different? Thus, + as he conversed with her, Presley found himself wondering. Her sweetness, + her beautiful gentleness, and tenderness were almost like palpable + presences. It was almost as if a caress had been laid softly upon his + cheek, as if a gentle hand closed upon his. Here, he knew, was sympathy; + here, he knew, was an infinite capacity for love. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly all the tired heart of him went out towards her. A longing + to give the best that was in him to the memory of her, to be strong and + noble because of her, to reshape his purposeless, half-wasted life with + her nobility and purity and gentleness for his inspiration leaped all at + once within him, leaped and stood firm, hardening to a resolve stronger + than any he had ever known. + </p> + <p> + For an instant he told himself that the suddenness of this new emotion + must be evidence of its insincerity. He was perfectly well aware that his + impulses were abrupt and of short duration. But he knew that this was not + sudden. Without realising it, he had been from the first drawn to Hilma, + and all through these last terrible days, since the time he had seen her + at Los Muertos, just after the battle at the ditch, she had obtruded + continually upon his thoughts. The sight of her to-day, more beautiful + than ever, quiet, strong, reserved, had only brought matters to a + culmination. + </p> + <p> + “Are you,” he asked her, “are you so unhappy, Hilma, that you can look + forward to no more brightness in your life?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless I could forget—forget my husband,” she answered, “how can I + be happy? I would rather be unhappy in remembering him than happy in + forgetting him. He was my whole world, literally and truly. Nothing seemed + to count before I knew him, and nothing can count for me now, after I have + lost him.” + </p> + <p> + “You think now,” he answered, “that in being happy again you would be + disloyal to him. But you will find after a while—years from now—that + it need not be so. The part of you that belonged to your husband can + always keep him sacred, that part of you belongs to him and he to it. But + you are young; you have all your life to live yet. Your sorrow need not be + a burden to you. If you consider it as you should—as you WILL some + day, believe me—it will only be a great help to you. It will make + you more noble, a truer woman, more generous.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I see,” she answered, “and I never thought about it in that light + before.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to help you,” he answered, “as you have helped me. I want to be + your friend, and above all things I do not want to see your life wasted. I + am going away and it is quite possible I shall never see you again, but + you will always be a help to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand,” she answered, “but I know you mean to be very, very + kind to me. Yes, I hope when you come back—if you ever do—you + will still be that. I do not know why you should want to be so kind, + unless—yes, of course—you were my husband's dearest friend.” + </p> + <p> + They talked a little longer, and at length Presley rose. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot bring myself to see Mrs. Derrick again,” he said. “It would only + serve to make her very unhappy. Will you explain that to her? I think she + will understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Hilma. “Yes, I will.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. There seemed to be nothing more for either of them to + say. Presley held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” she said, as she gave him hers. + </p> + <p> + He carried it to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” he answered. “Good-bye and may God bless you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away abruptly and left the room. But as he was quietly making + his way out of the house, hoping to get to his horse unobserved, he came + suddenly upon Mrs. Dyke and Sidney on the porch of the house. He had + forgotten that since the affair at the ditch, Los Muertos had been a home + to the engineer's mother and daughter. + </p> + <p> + “And you, Mrs. Dyke,” he asked as he took her hand, “in this break-up of + everything, where do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “To the city,” she answered, “to San Francisco. I have a sister there who + will look after the little tad.” + </p> + <p> + “But you, how about yourself, Mrs. Dyke?” + </p> + <p> + She answered him in a quiet voice, monotonous, expressionless: + </p> + <p> + “I am going to die very soon, Mr. Presley. There is no reason why I should + live any longer. My son is in prison for life, everything is over for me, + and I am tired, worn out.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't talk like that, Mrs. Dyke,” protested Presley, “nonsense; you + will live long enough to see the little tad married.” He tried to be + cheerful. But he knew his words lacked the ring of conviction. Death + already overshadowed the face of the engineer's mother. He felt that she + spoke the truth, and as he stood there speaking to her for the last time, + his arm about little Sidney's shoulder, he knew that he was seeing the + beginnings of the wreck of another family and that, like Hilda Hooven, + another baby girl was to be started in life, through no fault of hers, + fearfully handicapped, weighed down at the threshold of existence with a + load of disgrace. Hilda Hooven and Sidney Dyke, what was to be their + histories? the one, sister of an outcast; the other, daughter of a + convict. And he thought of that other young girl, the little Honora + Gerard, the heiress of millions, petted, loved, receiving adulation from + all who came near to her, whose only care was to choose from among the + multitude of pleasures that the world hastened to present to her + consideration. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” he said, holding out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Sidney.” + </p> + <p> + He kissed the little girl, clasped Mrs. Dyke's hand a moment with his; + then, slinging his satchel about his shoulders by the long strap with + which it was provided, left the house, and mounting his horse rode away + from Los Muertos never to return. + </p> + <p> + Presley came out upon the County Road. At a little distance to his left he + could see the group of buildings where once Broderson had lived. These + were being remodelled, at length, to suit the larger demands of the New + Agriculture. A strange man came out by the road gate; no doubt, the new + proprietor. Presley turned away, hurrying northwards along the County Road + by the mammoth watering-tank and the long wind-break of poplars. + </p> + <p> + He came to Caraher's place. There was no change here. The saloon had + weathered the storm, indispensable to the new as well as to the old + regime. The same dusty buggies and buckboards were tied under the shed, + and as Presley hurried by he could distinguish Caraher's voice, loud as + ever, still proclaiming his creed of annihilation. + </p> + <p> + Bonneville Presley avoided. He had no associations with the town. He + turned aside from the road, and crossing the northwest corner of Los + Muertos and the line of the railroad, turned back along the Upper Road + till he came to the Long Trestle and Annixter's,—Silence, + desolation, abandonment. + </p> + <p> + A vast stillness, profound, unbroken, brooded low over all the place. No + living thing stirred. The rusted wind-mill on the skeleton-like tower of + the artesian well was motionless; the great barn empty; the windows of the + ranch house, cook house, and dairy boarded up. Nailed upon a tree near the + broken gateway was a board, white painted, with stencilled letters, + bearing the inscription: + </p> + <p> + “Warning. ALL PERSONS FOUND TRESPASSING ON THESE PREMISES WILL BE + PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW. By order P. and S. W. R. R.” + </p> + <p> + As he had planned, Presley reached the hills by the head waters of + Broderson's Creek late in the afternoon. Toilfully he climbed them, + reached the highest crest, and turning about, looked long and for the last + time at all the reach of the valley unrolled beneath him. The land of the + ranches opened out forever and forever under the stimulus of that + measureless range of vision. The whole gigantic sweep of the San Joaquin + expanded Titanic before the eye of the mind, flagellated with heat, + quivering and shimmering under the sun's red eye. It was the season after + the harvest, and the great earth, the mother, after its period of + reproduction, its pains of labour, delivered of the fruit of its loins, + slept the sleep of exhaustion in the infinite repose of the colossus, + benignant, eternal, strong, the nourisher of nations, the feeder of an + entire world. + </p> + <p> + And as Presley looked there came to him strong and true the sense and the + significance of all the enigma of growth. He seemed for one instant to + touch the explanation of existence. Men were nothings, mere animalculae, + mere ephemerides that fluttered and fell and were forgotten between dawn + and dusk. Vanamee had said there was no death. But for one second Presley + could go one step further. Men were naught, death was naught, life was + naught; FORCE only existed—FORCE that brought men into the world, + FORCE that crowded them out of it to make way for the succeeding + generation, FORCE that made the wheat grow, FORCE that garnered it from + the soil to give place to the succeeding crop. + </p> + <p> + It was the mystery of creation, the stupendous miracle of recreation; the + vast rhythm of the seasons, measured, alternative, the sun and the stars + keeping time as the eternal symphony of reproduction swung in its + tremendous cadences like the colossal pendulum of an almighty machine—primordial + energy flung out from the hand of the Lord God himself, immortal, calm, + infinitely strong. + </p> + <p> + But as he stood thus looking down upon the great valley he was aware of + the figure of a man, far in the distance, moving steadily towards the + Mission of San Juan. The man was hardly more than a dot, but there was + something unmistakably familiar in his gait; and besides this, Presley + could fancy that he was hatless. He touched his pony with his spur. The + man was Vanamee beyond all doubt, and a little later Presley, descending + the maze of cow-paths and cattle-trails that led down towards the + Broderson Creek, overtook his friend. + </p> + <p> + Instantly Presley was aware of an immense change. Vanamee's face was still + that of an ascetic, still glowed with the rarefied intelligence of a young + seer, a half-inspired shepherd-prophet of Hebraic legends; but the shadow + of that great sadness which for so long had brooded over him was gone; the + grief that once he had fancied deathless was, indeed, dead, or rather + swallowed up in a victorious joy that radiated like sunlight at dawn from + the deep-set eyes, and the hollow, swarthy cheeks. They talked together + till nearly sundown, but to Presley's questions as to the reasons for + Vanamee's happiness, the other would say nothing. Once only he allowed + himself to touch upon the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Death and grief are little things,” he said. “They are transient. Life + must be before death, and joy before grief. Else there are no such things + as death or grief. These are only negatives. Life is positive. Death is + only the absence of life, just as night is only the absence of day, and if + this is so, there is no such thing as death. There is only life, and the + suppression of life, that we, foolishly, say is death. 'Suppression,' I + say, not extinction. I do not say that life returns. Life never departs. + Life simply IS. For certain seasons, it is hidden in the dark, but is that + death, extinction, annihilation? I take it, thank God, that it is not. + Does the grain of wheat, hidden for certain seasons in the dark, die? The + grain we think is dead RESUMES AGAIN; but how? Not as one grain, but as + twenty. So all life. Death is only real for all the detritus of the world, + for all the sorrow, for all the injustice, for all the grief. Presley, the + good never dies; evil dies, cruelty, oppression, selfishness, greed—these + die; but nobility, but love, but sacrifice, but generosity, but truth, + thank God for it, small as they are, difficult as it is to discover them—these + live forever, these are eternal. You are all broken, all cast down by what + you have seen in this valley, this hopeless struggle, this apparently + hopeless despair. Well, the end is not yet. What is it that remains after + all is over, after the dead are buried and the hearts are broken? Look at + it all from the vast height of humanity—'the greatest good to the + greatest numbers.' What remains? Men perish, men are corrupted, hearts are + rent asunder, but what remains untouched, unassailable, undefiled? Try to + find that, not only in this, but in every crisis of the world's life, and + you will find, if your view be large enough, that it is not evil, but + good, that in the end remains.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. Presley, his mind full of new thoughts, held his + peace, and Vanamee added at length: + </p> + <p> + “I believed Angele dead. I wept over her grave; mourned for her as dead in + corruption. She has come back to me, more beautiful than ever. Do not ask + me any further. To put this story, this idyl, into words, would, for me, + be a profanation. This must suffice you. Angele has returned to me, and I + am happy. Adios.” + </p> + <p> + He rose suddenly. The friends clasped each other's hands. + </p> + <p> + “We shall probably never meet again,” said Vanamee; “but if these are the + last words I ever speak to you, listen to them, and remember them, because + I know I speak the truth. Evil is short-lived. Never judge of the whole + round of life by the mere segment you can see. The whole is, in the end, + perfect.” + </p> + <p> + Abruptly he took himself away. He was gone. Presley, alone, thoughtful, + his hands clasped behind him, passed on through the ranches—here + teeming with ripened wheat—his face set from them forever. + </p> + <p> + Not so Vanamee. For hours he roamed the countryside, now through the + deserted cluster of buildings that had once been Annixter's home; now + through the rustling and, as yet, uncut wheat of Quien Sabe! now treading + the slopes of the hills far to the north, and again following the winding + courses of the streams. Thus he spent the night. + </p> + <p> + At length, the day broke, resplendent, cloudless. The night was passed. + There was all the sparkle and effervescence of joy in the crystal sunlight + as the dawn expanded roseate, and at length flamed dazzling to the zenith + when the sun moved over the edge of the world and looked down upon all the + earth like the eye of God the Father. + </p> + <p> + At the moment, Vanamee stood breast-deep in the wheat in a solitary corner + of the Quien Sabe rancho. He turned eastward, facing the celestial glory + of the day and sent his voiceless call far from him across the golden + grain out towards the little valley of flowers. + </p> + <p> + Swiftly the answer came. It advanced to meet him. The flowers of the Seed + ranch were gone, dried and parched by the summer's sun, shedding their + seed by handfuls to be sown again and blossom yet another time. The Seed + ranch was no longer royal with colour. The roses, the lilies, the + carnations, the hyacinths, the poppies, the violets, the mignonette, all + these had vanished, the little valley was without colour; where once it + had exhaled the most delicious perfume, it was now odourless. Under the + blinding light of the day it stretched to its hillsides, bare, brown, + unlovely. The romance of the place had vanished, but with it had vanished + the Vision. + </p> + <p> + It was no longer a figment of his imagination, a creature of dreams that + advanced to meet Vanamee. It was Reality—it was Angele in the flesh, + vital, sane, material, who at last issued forth from the entrance of the + little valley. Romance had vanished, but better than romance was here. Not + a manifestation, not a dream, but her very self. The night was gone, but + the sun had risen; the flowers had disappeared, but strong, vigorous, + noble, the wheat had come. + </p> + <p> + In the wheat he waited for her. He saw her coming. She was simply dressed. + No fanciful wreath of tube-roses was about her head now, no strange + garment of red and gold enveloped her now. It was no longer an ephemeral + illusion of the night, evanescent, mystic, but a simple country girl + coming to meet her lover. The vision of the night had been beautiful, but + what was it compared to this? Reality was better than Romance. The simple + honesty of a loving, trusting heart was better than a legend of flowers, + an hallucination of the moonlight. She came nearer. Bathed in sunlight, he + saw her face to face, saw her hair hanging in two straight plaits on + either side of her face, saw the enchanting fulness of her lips, the + strange, balancing movement of her head upon her slender neck. But now she + was no longer asleep. The wonderful eyes, violet blue, heavy-lidded, with + their perplexing, oriental slant towards the temples, were wide open and + fixed upon his. + </p> + <p> + From out the world of romance, out of the moonlight and the star sheen, + out of the faint radiance of the lilies and the still air heavy with + perfume, she had at last come to him. The moonlight, the flowers, and the + dream were all vanished away. Angele was realised in the Wheat. She stood + forth in the sunlight, a fact, and no longer a fancy. + </p> + <p> + He ran forward to meet her and she held out her arms to him. He caught her + to him, and she, turning her face to his, kissed him on the mouth. + </p> + <p> + “I love you, I love you,” she murmured. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Upon descending from his train at Port Costa, S. Behrman asked to be + directed at once to where the bark “Swanhilda” was taking on grain. Though + he had bought and greatly enlarged his new elevator at this port, he had + never seen it. The work had been carried on through agents, S. Behrman + having far too many and more pressing occupations to demand his presence + and attention. Now, however, he was to see the concrete evidence of his + success for the first time. + </p> + <p> + He picked his way across the railroad tracks to the line of warehouses + that bordered the docks, numbered with enormous Roman numerals and full of + grain in bags. The sight of these bags of grain put him in mind of the + fact that among all the other shippers he was practically alone in his way + of handling his wheat. They handled the grain in bags; he, however, + preferred it in the bulk. Bags were sometimes four cents apiece, and he + had decided to build his elevator and bulk his grain therein, rather than + to incur this expense. Only a small part of his wheat—that on Number + Three division—had been sacked. All the rest, practically two-thirds + of the entire harvest of Los Muertos, now found itself warehoused in his + enormous elevator at Port Costa. + </p> + <p> + To a certain degree it had been the desire of observing the working of his + system of handling the wheat in bulk that had drawn S. Behrman to Port + Costa. But the more powerful motive had been curiosity, not to say + downright sentiment. So long had he planned for this day of triumph, so + eagerly had he looked forward to it, that now, when it had come, he wished + to enjoy it to its fullest extent, wished to miss no feature of the + disposal of the crop. He had watched it harvested, he had watched it + hauled to the railway, and now would watch it as it poured into the hold + of the ship, would even watch the ship as she cleared and got under way. + </p> + <p> + He passed through the warehouses and came out upon the dock that ran + parallel with the shore of the bay. A great quantity of shipping was in + view, barques for the most part, Cape Horners, great, deep sea tramps, + whose iron-shod forefeet had parted every ocean the world round from + Rangoon to Rio Janeiro, and from Melbourne to Christiania. Some were still + in the stream, loaded with wheat to the Plimsoll mark, ready to depart + with the next tide. But many others laid their great flanks alongside the + docks and at that moment were being filled by derrick and crane with + thousands upon thousands of bags of wheat. The scene was brisk; the cranes + creaked and swung incessantly with a rattle of chains; stevedores and + wharfingers toiled and perspired; boatswains and dock-masters shouted + orders, drays rumbled, the water lapped at the piles; a group of sailors, + painting the flanks of one of the great ships, raised an occasional + chanty; the trade wind sang aeolian in the cordages, filling the air with + the nimble taint of salt. All around were the noises of ships and the feel + and flavor of the sea. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman soon discovered his elevator. It was the largest structure + discernible, and upon its red roof, in enormous white letters, was his own + name. Thither, between piles of grain bags, halted drays, crates and boxes + of merchandise, with an occasional pyramid of salmon cases, S. Behrman + took his way. Cabled to the dock, close under his elevator, lay a great + ship with lofty masts and great spars. Her stern was toward him as he + approached, and upon it, in raised golden letters, he could read the words + “Swanhilda—Liverpool.” + </p> + <p> + He went aboard by a very steep gangway and found the mate on the quarter + deck. S. Behrman introduced himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he added, “how are you getting on?” + </p> + <p> + “Very fairly, sir,” returned the mate, who was an Englishman. “We'll have + her all snugged down tight by this time, day after to-morrow. It's a great + saving of time shunting the stuff in her like that, and three men can do + the work of seven.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have a look 'round, I believe,” returned S. Behrman. + </p> + <p> + “Right—oh,” answered the mate with a nod. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman went forward to the hatch that opened down into the vast hold + of the ship. A great iron chute connected this hatch with the elevator, + and through it was rushing a veritable cataract of wheat. + </p> + <p> + It came from some gigantic bin within the elevator itself, rushing down + the confines of the chute to plunge into the roomy, gloomy interior of the + hold with an incessant, metallic roar, persistent, steady, inevitable. No + men were in sight. The place was deserted. No human agency seemed to be + back of the movement of the wheat. Rather, the grain seemed impelled with + a force of its own, a resistless, huge force, eager, vivid, impatient for + the sea. + </p> + <p> + S. Behrman stood watching, his ears deafened with the roar of the hard + grains against the metallic lining of the chute. He put his hand once into + the rushing tide, and the contact rasped the flesh of his fingers and like + an undertow drew his hand after it in its impetuous dash. + </p> + <p> + Cautiously he peered down into the hold. A musty odour rose to his + nostrils, the vigorous, pungent aroma of the raw cereal. It was dark. He + could see nothing; but all about and over the opening of the hatch the air + was full of a fine, impalpable dust that blinded the eyes and choked the + throat and nostrils. + </p> + <p> + As his eyes became used to the shadows of the cavern below him, he began + to distinguish the grey mass of the wheat, a great expanse, almost liquid + in its texture, which, as the cataract from above plunged into it, moved + and shifted in long, slow eddies. As he stood there, this cataract on a + sudden increased in volume. He turned about, casting his eyes upward + toward the elevator to discover the cause. His foot caught in a coil of + rope, and he fell headforemost into the hold. + </p> + <p> + The fall was a long one and he struck the surface of the wheat with the + sodden impact of a bundle of damp clothes. For the moment he was stunned. + All the breath was driven from his body. He could neither move nor cry + out. But, by degrees, his wits steadied themselves and his breath returned + to him. He looked about and above him. The daylight in the hold was dimmed + and clouded by the thick, chaff-dust thrown off by the pour of grain, and + even this dimness dwindled to twilight at a short distance from the + opening of the hatch, while the remotest quarters were lost in + impenetrable blackness. He got upon his feet only to find that he sunk + ankle deep in the loose packed mass underfoot. + </p> + <p> + “Hell,” he muttered, “here's a fix.” + </p> + <p> + Directly underneath the chute, the wheat, as it poured in, raised itself + in a conical mound, but from the sides of this mound it shunted away + incessantly in thick layers, flowing in all directions with the nimbleness + of water. Even as S. Behrman spoke, a wave of grain poured around his legs + and rose rapidly to the level of his knees. He stepped quickly back. To + stay near the chute would soon bury him to the waist. + </p> + <p> + No doubt, there was some other exit from the hold, some companion ladder + that led up to the deck. He scuffled and waded across the wheat, groping + in the dark with outstretched hands. With every inhalation he choked, + filling his mouth and nostrils more with dust than with air. At times he + could not breathe at all, but gagged and gasped, his lips distended. But + search as he would he could find no outlet to the hold, no stairway, no + companion ladder. Again and again, staggering along in the black darkness, + he bruised his knuckles and forehead against the iron sides of the ship. + He gave up the attempt to find any interior means of escape and returned + laboriously to the space under the open hatchway. Already he could see + that the level of the wheat was raised. + </p> + <p> + “God,” he said, “this isn't going to do at all.” He uttered a great shout. + “Hello, on deck there, somebody. For God's sake.” + </p> + <p> + The steady, metallic roar of the pouring wheat drowned out his voice. He + could scarcely hear it himself above the rush of the cataract. Besides + this, he found it impossible to stay under the hatch. The flying grains of + wheat, spattering as they fell, stung his face like wind-driven particles + of ice. It was a veritable torture; his hands smarted with it. Once he was + all but blinded. Furthermore, the succeeding waves of wheat, rolling from + the mound under the chute, beat him back, swirling and dashing against his + legs and knees, mounting swiftly higher, carrying him off his feet. + </p> + <p> + Once more he retreated, drawing back from beneath the hatch. He stood + still for a moment and shouted again. It was in vain. His voice returned + upon him, unable to penetrate the thunder of the chute, and horrified, he + discovered that so soon as he stood motionless upon the wheat, he sank + into it. Before he knew it, he was knee-deep again, and a long swirl of + grain sweeping outward from the ever-breaking, ever-reforming pyramid + below the chute, poured around his thighs, immobolising him. + </p> + <p> + A frenzy of terror suddenly leaped to life within him. The horror of + death, the Fear of The Trap, shook him like a dry reed. Shouting, he tore + himself free of the wheat and once more scrambled and struggled towards + the hatchway. He stumbled as he reached it and fell directly beneath the + pour. Like a storm of small shot, mercilessly, pitilessly, the unnumbered + multitude of hurtling grains flagellated and beat and tore his flesh. + Blood streamed from his forehead and, thickening with the powder-like + chaff-dust, blinded his eyes. He struggled to his feet once more. An + avalanche from the cone of wheat buried him to his thighs. He was forced + back and back and back, beating the air, falling, rising, howling for aid. + He could no longer see; his eyes, crammed with dust, smarted as if + transfixed with needles whenever he opened them. His mouth was full of the + dust, his lips were dry with it; thirst tortured him, while his outcries + choked and gagged in his rasped throat. + </p> + <p> + And all the while without stop, incessantly, inexorably, the wheat, as if + moving with a force all its own, shot downward in a prolonged roar, + persistent, steady, inevitable. + </p> + <p> + He retreated to a far corner of the hold and sat down with his back + against the iron hull of the ship and tried to collect his thoughts, to + calm himself. Surely there must be some way of escape; surely he was not + to die like this, die in this dreadful substance that was neither solid + nor fluid. What was he to do? How make himself heard? + </p> + <p> + But even as he thought about this, the cone under the chute broke again + and sent a great layer of grain rippling and tumbling toward him. It + reached him where he sat and buried his hand and one foot. + </p> + <p> + He sprang up trembling and made for another corner. + </p> + <p> + “By God,” he cried, “by God, I must think of something pretty quick!” + </p> + <p> + Once more the level of the wheat rose and the grains began piling deeper + about him. Once more he retreated. Once more he crawled staggering to the + foot of the cataract, screaming till his ears sang and his eyeballs + strained in their sockets, and once more the relentless tide drove him + back. + </p> + <p> + Then began that terrible dance of death; the man dodging, doubling, + squirming, hunted from one corner to another, the wheat slowly, inexorably + flowing, rising, spreading to every angle, to every nook and cranny. It + reached his middle. Furious and with bleeding hands and broken nails, he + dug his way out to fall backward, all but exhausted, gasping for breath in + the dust-thickened air. Roused again by the slow advance of the tide, he + leaped up and stumbled away, blinded with the agony in his eyes, only to + crash against the metal hull of the vessel. He turned about, the blood + streaming from his face, and paused to collect his senses, and with a + rush, another wave swirled about his ankles and knees. Exhaustion grew + upon him. To stand still meant to sink; to lie or sit meant to be buried + the quicker; and all this in the dark, all this in an air that could + scarcely be breathed, all this while he fought an enemy that could not be + gripped, toiling in a sea that could not be stayed. + </p> + <p> + Guided by the sound of the falling wheat, S. Behrman crawled on hands and + knees toward the hatchway. Once more he raised his voice in a shout for + help. His bleeding throat and raw, parched lips refused to utter but a + wheezing moan. Once more he tried to look toward the one patch of faint + light above him. His eye-lids, clogged with chaff, could no longer open. + The Wheat poured about his waist as he raised himself upon his knees. + </p> + <p> + Reason fled. Deafened with the roar of the grain, blinded and made dumb + with its chaff, he threw himself forward with clutching fingers, rolling + upon his back, and lay there, moving feebly, the head rolling from side to + side. The Wheat, leaping continuously from the chute, poured around him. + It filled the pockets of the coat, it crept up the sleeves and trouser + legs, it covered the great, protuberant stomach, it ran at last in + rivulets into the distended, gasping mouth. It covered the face. Upon the + surface of the Wheat, under the chute, nothing moved but the Wheat itself. + There was no sign of life. Then, for an instant, the surface stirred. A + hand, fat, with short fingers and swollen veins, reached up, clutching, + then fell limp and prone. In another instant it was covered. In the hold + of the “Swanhilda” there was no movement but the widening ripples that + spread flowing from the ever-breaking, ever-reforming cone; no sound, but + the rushing of the Wheat that continued to plunge incessantly from the + iron chute in a prolonged roar, persistent, steady, inevitable. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_CONC" id="link2H_CONC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CONCLUSION + </h2> + <p> + The “Swanhilda” cast off from the docks at Port Costa two days after + Presley had left Bonneville and the ranches and made her way up to San + Francisco, anchoring in the stream off the City front. A few hours after + her arrival, Presley, waiting at his club, received a despatch from + Cedarquist to the effect that she would clear early the next morning and + that he must be aboard of her before midnight. + </p> + <p> + He sent his trunks aboard and at once hurried to Cedarquist's office to + say good-bye. He found the manufacturer in excellent spirits. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of Lyman Derrick now, Presley?” he said, when Presley + had sat down. “He's in the new politics with a vengeance, isn't he? And + our own dear Railroad openly acknowledges him as their candidate. You've + heard of his canvass.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” answered Presley. “Well, he knows his business best.” + </p> + <p> + But Cedarquist was full of another idea: his new venture—the + organizing of a line of clipper wheat ships for Pacific and Oriental trade—was + prospering. + </p> + <p> + “The 'Swanhilda' is the mother of the fleet, Pres. I had to buy HER, but + the keel of her sister ship will be laid by the time she discharges at + Calcutta. We'll carry our wheat into Asia yet. The Anglo-Saxon started + from there at the beginning of everything and it's manifest destiny that + he must circle the globe and fetch up where he began his march. You are up + with procession, Pres, going to India this way in a wheat ship that flies + American colours. By the way, do you know where the money is to come from + to build the sister ship of the 'Swanhilda'? From the sale of the plant + and scrap iron of the Atlas Works. Yes, I've given it up definitely, that + business. The people here would not back me up. But I'm working off on + this new line now. It may break me, but we'll try it on. You know the + 'Million Dollar Fair' was formally opened yesterday. There is,” he added + with a wink, “a Midway Pleasance in connection with the thing. Mrs. + Cedarquist and our friend Hartrath 'got up a subscription' to construct a + figure of California—heroic size—out of dried apricots. I + assure you,” he remarked With prodigious gravity, “it is a real work of + art and quite a 'feature' of the Fair. Well, good luck to you, Pres. Write + to me from Honolulu, and bon voyage. My respects to the hungry Hindoo. + Tell him 'we're coming, Father Abraham, a hundred thousand more.' Tell the + men of the East to look out for the men of the West. The irrepressible + Yank is knocking at the doors of their temples and he will want to sell + 'em carpet-sweepers for their harems and electric light plants for their + temple shrines. Good-bye to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Get fat yourself while you're about it, Presley,” he observed, as the two + stood up and shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “There shouldn't be any lack of food on a wheat ship. Bread enough, + surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Little monotonous, though. 'Man cannot live by bread alone.' Well, you're + really off. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, sir.” + </p> + <p> + And as Presley issued from the building and stepped out into the street, + he was abruptly aware of a great wagon shrouded in white cloth, inside of + which a bass drum was being furiously beaten. On the cloth, in great + letters, were the words: + </p> + <p> + “Vote for Lyman Derrick, Regular Republican Nominee for Governor of + California.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The “Swanhilda” lifted and rolled slowly, majestically on the ground swell + of the Pacific, the water hissing and boiling under her forefoot, her + cordage vibrating and droning in the steady rush of the trade winds. It + was drawing towards evening and her lights had just been set. The master + passed Presley, who was leaning over the rail smoking a cigarette, and + paused long enough to remark: + </p> + <p> + “The land yonder, if you can make it out, is Point Gordo, and if you were + to draw a line from our position now through that point and carry it on + about a hundred miles further, it would just about cross Tulare County not + very far from where you used to live.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” answered Presley, “I see. Thanks. I am glad to know that.” + </p> + <p> + The master passed on, and Presley, going up to the quarter deck, looked + long and earnestly at the faint line of mountains that showed vague and + bluish above the waste of tumbling water. + </p> + <p> + Those were the mountains of the Coast range and beyond them was what once + had been his home. Bonneville was there, and Guadalajara and Los Muertos + and Quien Sabe, the Mission of San Juan, the Seed ranch, Annixter's + desolated home and Dyke's ruined hop-fields. + </p> + <p> + Well, it was all over now, that terrible drama through which he had lived. + Already it was far distant from him; but once again it rose in his memory, + portentous, sombre, ineffaceable. He passed it all in review from the day + of his first meeting with Vanamee to the day of his parting with Hilma. He + saw it all—the great sweep of country opening to view from the + summit of the hills at the head waters of Broderson's Creek; the barn + dance at Annixter's, the harness room with its jam of furious men; the + quiet garden of the Mission; Dyke's house, his flight upon the engine, his + brave fight in the chaparral; Lyman Derrick at bay in the dining-room of + the ranch house; the rabbit drive; the fight at the irrigating ditch, the + shouting mob in the Bonneville Opera House. The drama was over. The fight + of Ranch and Railroad had been wrought out to its dreadful close. It was + true, as Shelgrim had said, that forces rather than men had locked horns + in that struggle, but for all that the men of the Ranch and not the men of + the Railroad had suffered. Into the prosperous valley, into the quiet + community of farmers, that galloping monster, that terror of steel and + steam had burst, shooting athwart the horizons, flinging the echo of its + thunder over all the ranches of the valley, leaving blood and destruction + in its path. + </p> + <p> + Yes, the Railroad had prevailed. The ranches had been seized in the + tentacles of the octopus; the iniquitous burden of extortionate freight + rates had been imposed like a yoke of iron. The monster had killed Harran, + had killed Osterman, had killed Broderson, had killed Hooven. It had + beggared Magnus and had driven him to a state of semi-insanity after he + had wrecked his honour in the vain attempt to do evil that good might + come. It had enticed Lyman into its toils to pluck from him his manhood + and his honesty, corrupting him and poisoning him beyond redemption; it + had hounded Dyke from his legitimate employment and had made of him a + highwayman and criminal. It had cast forth Mrs. Hooven to starve to death + upon the City streets. It had driven Minna to prostitution. It had slain + Annixter at the very moment when painfully and manfully he had at last + achieved his own salvation and stood forth resolved to do right, to act + unselfishly and to live for others. It had widowed Hilma in the very dawn + of her happiness. It had killed the very babe within the mother's womb, + strangling life ere yet it had been born, stamping out the spark ordained + by God to burn through all eternity. + </p> + <p> + What then was left? Was there no hope, no outlook for the future, no rift + in the black curtain, no glimmer through the night? Was good to be thus + overthrown? Was evil thus to be strong and to prevail? Was nothing left? + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly Vanamee's words came back to his mind. What was the larger + view, what contributed the greatest good to the greatest numbers? What was + the full round of the circle whose segment only he beheld? In the end, the + ultimate, final end of all, what was left? Yes, good issued from this + crisis, untouched, unassailable, undefiled. + </p> + <p> + Men—motes in the sunshine—perished, were shot down in the very + noon of life, hearts were broken, little children started in life + lamentably handicapped; young girls were brought to a life of shame; old + women died in the heart of life for lack of food. In that little, isolated + group of human insects, misery, death, and anguish spun like a wheel of + fire. + </p> + <p> + BUT THE WHEAT REMAINED. Untouched, unassailable, undefiled, that mighty + world-force, that nourisher of nations, wrapped in Nirvanic calm, + indifferent to the human swarm, gigantic, resistless, moved onward in its + appointed grooves. Through the welter of blood at the irrigation ditch, + through the sham charity and shallow philanthropy of famine relief + committees, the great harvest of Los Muertos rolled like a flood from the + Sierras to the Himalayas to feed thousands of starving scarecrows on the + barren plains of India. + </p> + <p> + Falseness dies; injustice and oppression in the end of everything fade and + vanish away. Greed, cruelty, selfishness, and inhumanity are short-lived; + the individual suffers, but the race goes on. Annixter dies, but in a far + distant corner of the world a thousand lives are saved. The larger view + always and through all shams, all wickednesses, discovers the Truth that + will, in the end, prevail, and all things, surely, inevitably, + resistlessly work together for good. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Octopus, by Frank Norris + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OCTOPUS *** + +***** This file should be named 268-h.htm or 268-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/268/ + +Produced by John Hamm, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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