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diff --git a/268-0.txt b/268-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5c04e07 --- /dev/null +++ b/268-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21604 @@ +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 + + + + + +THE OCTOPUS + +A Story of California + +by Frank Norris + + + + + +BOOK 1 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“Hello, Bismarck,” said Presley, as Hooven brought his team to a +standstill by the tank, preparatory to refilling. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Well, you must be quick about it, Bismarck,” he answered sharply. “I'm +late for dinner, as it is.” + +“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. + +“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----” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Sieben yahr I hef stay,” protested Hooven, “and who will der ditch +ge-tend, und alle dem cettles drive?” + +“Well, Harran's your man,” answered Presley, preparing to mount his +bicycle. + +“Say, you hef hear about dose ting?” + +“I don't hear about anything, Bismarck. I don't know the first thing +about how the ranch is run.” + +“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.” + +“Well, talk to Harran about it.” + +“Say, he doand farm der whole demn rench bei hisseluf. Me, I gotta +stay.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“Sieben yahr; yais, sir, seiben yahr I hef been on dis rench. Git oop, +you mule you, hoop!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Here's the mail. I think I shall go on.” + +“But dinner is ready,” said Harran; “we are just sitting down.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“What case? Oh, in the matter of rates?” + +Harran nodded, his eyes flashing, his face growing suddenly scarlet. + +“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?” + +He dug his boot-heel into the ground and turned away to the house +abruptly, cursing beneath his breath. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Why, what's the matter with railroading?” + +Dyke drew a couple of puffs on his pipe, and fixed Presley with a +glance. + +“There's this the matter with it,” he said; “I'm fired.” + +“Fired! You!” exclaimed Presley, turning abruptly toward him. “That's +what I'm telling you,” returned Dyke grimly. + +“You don't mean it. Why, what for, Dyke?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Dyke smote his knee with his clenched fist. + +“NAME ONE.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“And the girl?” demanded Presley. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“I was born too late for that,” he declared, “for that, and for many +other things. Adios.” + +“You are travelling to-day, senor?” + +“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.” + +“Ah, the Quien Sabe rancho. The sheep are grazing there this week.” + +Solotari, the keeper of the restaurant, explained: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“What are you doing up this way?” he demanded. + +“Oh, just having a look around,” answered Presley. “How's the ranch?” + +“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?” + +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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +But Presley, scenting an argument, refrained from answering, and +bethought himself of moving on. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Well, maybe I will, thank you,” said Presley, moving off. “By the way,” + he added, “I see your barn is about done.” + +“You bet,” answered Annixter. “In about a fortnight now she'll be all +ready.” + +“It's a big barn,” murmured Presley, glancing around the angle of the +house toward where the great structure stood. + +“Guess we'll have to have a dance there before we move the stock in,” + observed Annixter. “That's the custom all around here.” + +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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Suddenly, at some twenty paces distant from the approaching shepherd, +Presley stopped short, his eyes riveted upon the other. + +“Vanamee!” he exclaimed. + +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.” + +“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.” + +“I have never known it to fail. It helps with the sheep.” + +“With the sheep?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Where have you come from this time?” Presley had asked. “Where have you +kept yourself?” + +The other swept the horizon to the south and east with a vague gesture. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Your idea?” + +“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!” + +Vanamee understood him perfectly. He nodded gravely. + +“Yes, it is there. It is Life, the primitive, simple, direct Life, +passionate, tumultuous. Yes, there is an epic there.” + +Presley caught at the word. It had never before occurred to him. + +“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.” + +Vanamee heard him to the end, his grave, sad face thoughtful and +attentive. Then he rose. + +“I am going over to the Mission,” he said, “to see Father Sarria. I have +not seen him yet.” + +“How about the sheep?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“As you have done, for instance?” + +Vanamee nodded. + +“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.” + +“Each to his own life,” observed Vanamee. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I thought I'd speak to you about the seed from Four, sir,” he said. +“That hasn't been brought in yet.” + +Harran nodded. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“How about that seed?” demanded Harran when he had got Cutter on the +line. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“If it was all like that, sir, hey?” observed Phelps. + +Harran put his chin in the air. + +“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. + +“Hello,” he remarked, “here's a red wheat. Where did this come from?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Harran kissed his mother and sat down in a wicker chair on the porch, +removing his hat, running his fingers through his yellow hair. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“But, Presley,” she had murmured, “that is not literature.” + +“No,” he had cried between his teeth, “no, thank God, it is not.” + +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. + +“That's good,” he muttered, touching the bays with the whip, “we can't +get our ploughs to hand any too soon.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Well, boy.” + +“Well, Governor.” + +“I am very pleased you came yourself, Harran. I feared that you might be +too busy and send Phelps. It was thoughtful.” + +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. + +“Harran,” observed Magnus, fixing the machinery with a judicial frown, +“Harran, those look singularly like our ploughs. Drive over, boy.” + +The train had by this time gone on its way and Harran brought the team +up to the siding. + +“Ah, I was right,” said the Governor. “'Magnus Derrick, Los Muertos, +Bonneville, from Ditson & Co., Rochester.' These are ours, boy.” + +Harran breathed a sigh of relief. + + +“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.” + +Magnus nodded a grave approval. + +“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.” + +“It means money to us, Governor,” remarked Harran. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +Magnus, head and shoulders above the other, tall, thin, erect, looked +down upon S. Behrman, inclining his head, failing to see his extended +hand. + +“Good-morning, sir,” he observed, and waited for S. Behrman's further +speech. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“The Board of Railroad Commissioners was bought,” remarked Magnus +sharply, a keen, brisk flash glinting in his eye. + +“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.” + +“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----” + +“Tell me when the P. and S. W. ever paid dividends.” + +“The lowest rates,” continued S. Behrman, “that the legislature +can establish must be such as will secure us a fair interest on our +investment.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +S. Behrman spread out his hands, smiling. + +“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.” + +“That all may show obstinacy, Harran,” observed S. Behrman vaguely, “but +it don't show common sense.” + +“We are threshing out old straw, I believe, gentlemen,” remarked Magnus. +“The question was thoroughly sifted in the courts.” + +“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. + +“They are consigned to me,” admitted Magnus. + +“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.” + +“Possibly,” said Magnus. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Magnus made a slight movement of the head as one who remembers a fact +hitherto forgotten. But Harran was as yet unenlightened. + +“To San Francisco!” he answered, “we want them here--what are you +talking about?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“I'll be cursed if I would!” exclaimed Harran. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“You be sure to have a clear understanding with the railroad first about +the rate,” Harran warned him. + +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.” + +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. + +As Harran and his father drove along the road toward Annixter's ranch +house, Magnus asked about what had happened during his absence. + +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.” + +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. + +“By the way, Governor,” he demanded suddenly, “how is Lyman getting on?” + +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. + +“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.” + +As Harran turned the team into the driveway that led up to Annixter's +house, Magnus remarked: + +“Harran, isn't that young Annixter himself on the porch?” + +Harran nodded and remarked: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Well,” he observed, “you know your business best. Come if you can. We +dine at seven.” + +“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. + +“We are thinking of it,” replied Magnus. + +Annixter grunted scornfully. + +“Did you get the message I sent you by Presley?” he began. + +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. + +“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?” + +“What in hell do YOU want?” demanded Annixter with a stare. + +S. Behrman hiccoughed slightly and passed a fat hand over his waistcoat. + +“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: + +“Go to the devil!” + +“It is as much to your interest as to ours that the safety of the +public----” + +“You heard what I said. Go to the devil!” + +“That all may show obstinacy, Mr. Annixter, but----” + +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. + +“You,” he vociferated, “I'll tell you what you are. You're a--a--a PIP!” + +To his mind it was the last insult, the most outrageous calumny. He had +no worse epithet at his command. + +“----may show obstinacy,” pursued S. Behrman, bent upon finishing the +phrase, “but it don't show common sense.” + +“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.” + +“How the town limits? The sheep were this side the Long Trestle.” + +“Well, that's in the town limits of Guadalajara.” “Why, Mr. Annixter, +the Long Trestle is a good two miles out of Guadalajara.” + +Annixter squared himself, leaping to the chance of an argument. + +“Two miles! It's not a mile and a quarter. No, it's not a mile. I'll +leave it to Magnus here.” + +“Oh, I know nothing about it,” declared Magnus, refusing to be involved. + +“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.” + +“From the depot of the town,” remarked S. Behrman placidly, “to the head +of the Long Trestle is about two miles.” + +“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.” + +Magnus and Harran drove on, leaving Annixter trying to draw S. Behrman +into a wrangle. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +He turned about on the instant, and striding over to the electric bell, +rang it again with all his might. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, it's you, is it, Miss Hilma?” he remarked, for the sake of saying +something. “Good-morning. How do you do?” + +“Good-morning, sir,” she answered, looking up, resting for a moment on +her outspread palms. “I hope you are better.” + +Her voice was low in pitch and of a velvety huskiness, seeming to come +more from her chest than from her throat. + +“Well, I'm some better,” growled Annixter. Then suddenly he demanded, +“Where's that dog?” + +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. + +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: + +“Say, Miss Hilma.” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“If that dog turns up again you let me know.” + +“Very well, sir.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Oh, Delaney got her, did he?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Want to look out for the rain, Mr. Annixter,” remarked Billy. “Guess +we'll have rain before night.” + +“I'll take a rubber coat,” answered Annixter. “Bring the horse up to the +ranch house when you're ready.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“There's your rain,” announced the stableman. “The first of the season.” + +“And I got to be out in it,” fumed Annixter, “and I suppose those swine +will quit work on the big barn now.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Yah-h-h you!” he shouted, inarticulate with exasperation. +“You--you--Gor-r-r, wait till I get hold of you. WHOA, you!” + +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. + +“Why, hello, Mr. Annixter,” said he, pulling up. “Kind of sort of wet, +isn't it?” + +Annixter, his face suddenly scarlet, sat back in his place abruptly, +exclaiming: + +“Oh--oh, there you are, are you?” + +“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.” + +“Oh, you guess it's all right, do you?” observed Annixter through his +teeth. + +“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---- + +“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?” + +“Why, Mr. Annixter----” began Delaney. + +“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.” + +“Why, sir,” declared Delaney, beginning to get indignant, “the sheep did +it themselves last night.” + +“I told you not to TALK to me,” clamoured Annixter. + +“But, say, look here----” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +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?” + +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: + +“Well, it's about time they graded these lands of theirs.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Genslinger frowned, perplexed. + +“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.” + +“I don't care anything about that,” declared Annixter. “They agreed to +charge but two-fifty, and they've got to stick to it.” + +“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.” + +“Times aren't ever very hard for the railroad,” hazards old Broderson. + +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. + +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. + +“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----” + +But Annixter, at the end of all patience, turned to Genslinger, cutting +short the old man: + +“Oh, rot! Of course the railroad will sell at two-fifty,” he cried. +“We've got the contracts.” + +“Look to them, then, Mr. Annixter,” retorted Genslinger significantly, +“look to them. Be sure that you are protected.” + +Soon after this Genslinger took himself away, and Derrick's Chinaman +came in to set the table. + +“What do you suppose he meant?” asked Broderson, when Genslinger was +gone. + +“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.” + +“Oh, as to pledges,” murmured Broderson, “the railroad is not always TOO +much hindered by those.” + +“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?” + +“You telephoned him, didn't you, Presley?” inquired Magnus. + +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. + +“Yes, sir,” returned Presley. “He said he would be here.” + +And as he spoke, young Osterman arrived. + +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. + +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: + +“You're a good fellow, old jelly-belly, after all, hey?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Faugh!” exclaimed Annixter. “It makes me sick. Such--such SLOOP. Take +it away. I'll have mine straight, if you don't mind.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I don't think, however, he has moved yet,” said Magnus. + +“The thing for us, then,” exclaimed Osterman, “is to stand from under +before he does.” + +“Moved yet!” snorted Annixter. “He's probably moved so long ago that +we've never noticed it.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But--well--but,” hazarded Broderson, “but there's the Interstate +Commerce Commission. At least on long-haul rates they----” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Well, why not HAVE a Railroad Commission of our own, then?” suddenly +declared young Osterman. + +“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.” + +“Well, that's the game to play,” said Osterman decisively, “buy +delegates.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Mr. Osterman,” said Magnus, fixing the young man with a swift glance, +“Mr. Osterman, you are proposing a scheme of bribery, sir.” + +“I am proposing,” repeated Osterman, “a scheme of bribery. Exactly so.” + +“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.” + +“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.?” + +“The railroad don't need to know we are in the game against them till +we've got our men seated.” + +“And when you've got them seated, what's to prevent the corporation +buying them right over your head?” + +“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.” + +Annixter struck the table with his fist in exasperation. + +“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.” + +Broderson, shifting uneasily in his place, fingering his beard with a +vague, uncertain gesture, spoke again: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“And,” cried Annixter, “it can't be done.” + +“I don't know,” muttered Harran, “maybe it just wants a little spark +like this to fire the whole train.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Well, in a way it's so, and then again in a way it isn't.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Well, you can't get what you want without paying for it,” contradicted +Annixter. + +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. + +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. + +“Now you are talking something like sense,” observed Osterman. “I +thought you would see it like that when you got my idea.” + +“Your idea, YOUR idea!” cried Annixter. “Why, I've had this idea myself +for over three years.” + +“What about Disbrow?” asked Harran, hastening to interrupt. “Why do we +want to see Disbrow?” + +“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.” + +“Who, for instance?” + +“Darrell, that Los Angeles man--remember?” + +“Well, Darrell is no particular friend of Disbrow,” said Annixter. “Why +should Disbrow take him up?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Magnus rose abruptly to his full height, the nostrils of his thin, +hawk-like nose vibrating, his smooth-shaven face paler than ever. + +“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.” + +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. + +For a few seconds no one answered. Then, Annixter, moving abruptly and +uneasily in his place, muttered: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Osterman paused for a moment, allowing precisely the right number of +seconds to elapse, then altering and lowering his voice, added: + +“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?” + +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.” + +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. + +“Get out!” he exclaimed, lifting his feet to the rung of the chair. +“Lord love me, but I sure do hate a cat.” + +“By the way,” observed Osterman, “I passed Genslinger by the gate as I +came in to-night. Had he been here?” + +“Yes, he was here,” said Harran, “and--” but Annixter took the words out +of his mouth. + +“He says there's some talk of the railroad selling us their sections +this winter.” + +“Oh, he did, did he?” exclaimed Osterman, interested at once. “Where did +he hear that?” + +“Where does a railroad paper get its news? From the General Office, I +suppose.” + +“I hope he didn't get it straight from headquarters that the land was to +be graded at twenty dollars an acre,” murmured Broderson. + +“What's that?” demanded Osterman. “Twenty dollars! Here, put me on, +somebody. What's all up? What did Genslinger say?” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +He ran over the pages of the circular, then read aloud: + +“'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.” + +“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” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Fool!” muttered Annixter when the old man had gone. “Imagine farming a +ranch the size of his without a foreman.” + +Harran showed Osterman and Annixter where they were to sleep, in +adjoining rooms. Magnus soon afterward retired. + +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: + +“Well, I'm going to turn in. It's nearly two o'clock.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Oh, yes, funny, isn't it? In a way, it's funny, and then, again, in a +way it isn't.” + +The door banged to so that all the windows of the house rattled in their +frames. + +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. + +“What's all up?” demanded Osterman. “Whatever in the world is the matter +with Buck?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Well, Buck,” protested Harran, as he noticed the hat in Annixter's +hand, “you're not going home just for----” + +Annixter turned on him with a shout. + +“I'll get plumb out of here,” he trumpeted. “I won't stay here another +minute.” + +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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“All ready here?” inquired the foreman, driving up to Vanamee's team in +his buggy. + +“All ready, sir,” answered Vanamee, buckling the last strap. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Sarria gave a great start, catching his breath. + +“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.” + +Vanamee put his chin in the air. + +“If I had wanted to, sir, I could have made you come to me from back +there in the Quien Sabe ranch.” + +The priest shook his head. + +“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.” + +“Perhaps I should not have waked. Perhaps I should have come to you in +my sleep.” + +“Perhaps.” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +“Quien sabe?” + +“Yes, you, too. Where else? No, it is better here, yonder, by the side +of the little girl.” + +“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.” + +“They amount to everything, my boy.” + +“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?” + +“But you believe that----” + +“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.” + +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.” + +Vanamee was silent for a moment, looking off with unseeing eyes between +the trunks of the pear trees, over the little valley. + +“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.” + +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: + +“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?” + +The priest shook his head. + +“Not a word, not a whisper. It is a mystery. It always will be.” + +Vanamee clasped his head between his clenched fists, rocking himself to +and fro. + +“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.” + +Sarria caught him by the arm. + +“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.” + +Vanamee turned on him with a sudden cry. “Then, tell your God to give +her back to me!” + +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. + +“Tell your God to give her back to me,” he repeated with fierce +insistence. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Vanamee stirred abruptly in his place, drawing a long breath and looking +about him vaguely, as if he came to himself. + +“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----” + +“A diseased and distorted mind is capable of hallucinations, if that is +what you mean,” observed Sarria. + +“Perhaps that is what I mean. Perhaps I want only the delusion, after +all.” + +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. + +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. + +“Asleep, sir?” + +The other started, rubbing his eyes. + +“Upon my word, I believe I was.” + +“Better go to bed, sir. I am not tired. I think I shall sit out here a +little longer.” + +“Well, perhaps I would be better off in bed. YOUR bed is always ready +for you here whenever you want to use it.” + +“No--I shall go back to Quien Sabe--later. Good-night, sir.” + +“Good-night, my boy.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Come to me--Angele--don't you hear? Come to me.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Angele!” he cried in a low voice; “Angele, I am calling you--do you +hear? Come to me--come to me now, now.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“What was it?” he murmured, bewildered. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Oh, Lord! Oh-h, LORD!” + +He stretched three or four times, twisting about in his place, curling +and uncurling his toes, muttering from time to time between two yawns: + +“Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” + +He stared about the room, collecting his thoughts, readjusting himself +for the day's work. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + +“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.” + + +Annixter grunted as he tore the despatch into strips. “Well,” he +muttered, “that part is settled, then.” + +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. + +He knew very well what Osterman referred to by “Flotation of company,” + and also who was the “desirable party” he spoke of. + +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. + +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. + +An editorial in that morning's issue said: + +“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.” + +“Rot!” vociferated Annixter to himself as he finished. He rolled the +paper into a wad and hurled it from him. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +On the threshold, Annixter took off his hat. + +“Good morning, Miss Hilma.” + +Hilma, who had set down the copper can on top of the vat, turned about +quickly. + +“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. + +“Well,” began Annixter vaguely, “how are you getting along down here?” + +“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.” + +“You were, hey?” observed Annixter, for the sake of saying something. +“Afraid in the dark? What of--ghosts?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“My, but that takes strength,” she panted, looking up at him and +smiling. “But isn't it a fine press? Just what we needed.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +For an instant, Annixter stood awkwardly in his place, ridiculous, +clumsy, murmuring over and over again: + +“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.” + +Then, suddenly, with a quick, indefinite gesture of one arm, he +exclaimed: + +“Good-bye, I--I'm sorry.” + +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: + +“Oh, you goat! You beastly fool PIP. Good LORD, what an ass you've made +of yourself now!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“And a precious long time you've been at it, too,” Annixter declared. + +“Well, you know the rain----” + +“Oh, rot the rain! I work in the rain. You and your unions make me +sick.” + +“But, Mr. Annixter, we couldn't have begun painting in the rain. The job +would have been spoiled.” + +“Hoh, yes, spoiled. That's all very well. Maybe it would, and then, +again, maybe it wouldn't.” + +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. + +“And, now,” murmured Annixter, “I'll give that dance in it. I'll make +'em sit up.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“I think that's a crazy-looking monkey-wrench you've got there,” + observed Annixter, glancing at the instrument in Hooven's hand. + +“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.” + +“And the monkey-wrench?” + +“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.” + +“And the Fatherland? Ever want to go back?” + +“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.” + +Annixter gathered up the reins, about to go on. + +“So you like America, do you, Bismarck?” he said. “Who do you vote for?” + +“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.” + +“Good-bye,” commented Annixter, moving off. + +Hooven, the washer replaced, turned to his work again, starting up the +horses. The seeder advanced, whirring. + +“Ach, Hilda, leedle girl,” he cried, “hold tight bei der shdrap on. Hey +MULE! Hoop! Gedt oop, you.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Is Harran anywhere about?” he asked. “I'd like to see Harran, too.” + +“No,” said Mrs. Derrick, “Harran went to Bonneville early this morning.” + +She glanced toward Annixter nervously, without turning her head, lest +she should disturb her outspread hair. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.'” + +But as he spoke, Presley had come up behind Annixter in time to get the +drift of the conversation, and now observed: + +“That's nonsense, Buck. You're not giving a public ball. You MUST send +out invitations.” + +“Hello, Presley, you there?” exclaimed Annixter, turning round. The two +shook hands. + +“Send out invitations?” repeated Annixter uneasily. “Why must I?” + +“Because that's the only way to do.” + +“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: + +“Well, I suppose you know what you're talking about, Pres. Must have +written invites, hey?” + +“Of course.” + +“Typewritten?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Osterman bribed him, I suppose,” observed Magnus. + +Annixter raised a shoulder vexatiously. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +Presley met him at the porch. He was going into town with Phelps, and +proposed to Annixter that he should accompany them. + +“I want to go over and see old Broderson,” Annixter objected. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +Magnus nodded. + +His wife drew close to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. + +“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!” + +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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Give me your word,” she insisted. “We can talk about other things +afterward.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +Disconcerted at Annixter's directness, Harran stammered an affirmative, +adding: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Harran fell thoughtful, his hands in his pockets, frowning moodily at +the toe of his boot. There was a silence. Then: + +“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.” + +Without knowing it, Annixter had touched the right spring. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“Hello,” said Annixter abruptly, scowling the while. “Is your boss in? +Is Ruggles in?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“The land had not been patented to us then,” answered Ruggles. + +“Well, it has been now, I guess,” retorted Annixter. + +“I'm sure I couldn't tell you, Mr. Annixter.” + +Annixter crossed his legs weariedly. + +“Oh, what's the good of lying, Ruggles? You know better than to talk +that way to me.” + +Ruggles's face flushed on the instant, but he checked his answer and +laughed instead. + +“Oh, if you know so much about it--” he observed. + +“Well, when are you going to sell to me?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Ruggles spread out his hands with a deprecatory gesture. + +“I don't own the 'Mercury,'” he said. + +“Well, your company does.” + +“If it does, I don't know anything about it.” + +“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?” + +“Oh, why not a hundred thousand and be done with it?” returned the +other, willing to take it as a joke. + +Instead of replying, Annixter drew his check-book from his inside +pocket. + +“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. + +“What's this?” asked Ruggles. + +“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.” + +Ruggles shook his head, drawing hastily back from the check as though it +carried contamination. + +“I can't touch it,” he declared. “I've no authority to sell to you yet.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But, you've an option” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Why not? Come, spit it out. What's the bunco game this time?” + +“Because we're not ready. Here's your check.” + +“You won't take it?” + +“No.” + +“I'll make it a cash payment, money down--the whole of it--payable to +Cyrus Blakelee Ruggles, for the P. and S. W.” + +“No.” + +“Third and last time.” + +“No.” + +“Oh, go to the devil!” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“How's it coming on?” inquired Annixter. + +“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.” + +“Through here?” inquired Annixter, making ready to move off. + +“In just a minute,” answered Dyke. “Wait for me and I'll walk down the +street with you.” + +Annixter grumbled that he was in a hurry, but waited, nevertheless, +while Dyke again approached the clerk. + +“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. + +“Two cents,” suddenly announced the clerk with a certain surly +indifference. + +“Two cents a pound?” + +“Yes, two cents a pound--that's in car-load lots, of course. I won't +give you that rate on smaller consignments.” + +“Yes, car-load lots, of course... two cents. Well, all right.” + +He turned away with a great sigh of relief. + +“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.'” + +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. + +“Let the little tad find 'em there,” he said behind his hand in a hoarse +whisper. “That'll be one on Sid.” + +“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?” + +Dyke hesitated in some confusion, tugging at the ends of his fine blonde +beard. + +“No, no. I guess I'll leave you here. I've got--got other things to do +up the street. So long.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +Annixter pulled up and passed the time of day with the priest. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Well, there's Vanamee,” observed Annixter. “I suppose he's there early +and late.” + +Sarria made a sharp movement of interest. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“A lazy, cattle-stealing, knife-in-his-boot Dago.” + +“You misjudge him. A really good fellow on better acquaintance.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“Well, I know--but what's in it?” + +“Why--I'm sure--ah, poultry--a chicken or two.” + +“Fancy breed?” + +“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. + +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. + +“'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.” + +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. + +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. + +“I see that dog has turned up,” he announced with brisk cheerfulness. +“That Irish setter I was asking about.” + +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: + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Well, that's just what I do want,” he repeated. “I want you to forget +it and have us be good friends.” + +In his embarrassment, Annixter could think of no other words. He kept +reiterating again and again during the pauses of the conversation: + +“I want you to forget it. Will you? Will you forget it--that--this +morning, and have us be good friends?” + +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. + +“Will you forget it, Miss Hilma? I want you to like me.” + +She took a clean napkin from the sideboard drawer and laid it down by +the plate. + +“I--I do want you to like me,” persisted Annixter. “I want you to forget +all about this business and like me.” + +Hilma was silent. Annixter saw the tears in her eyes. + +“How about that? Will you forget it? Will you--will--will you LIKE me?” + +She shook her head. + +“No,” she said. + +“No what? You won't like me? Is that it?” + +Hilma, blinking at the napkin through her tears, nodded to say, Yes, +that was it. Annixter hesitated a moment, frowning, harassed and +perplexed. + +“You don't like me at all, hey?” + +At length Hilma found her speech. In her low voice, lower and more +velvety than ever, she said: + +“No--I don't like you at all.” + +Then, as the tears suddenly overpowered her, she dashed a hand across +her eyes, and ran from the room and out of doors. + +Annixter stood for a moment thoughtful, his protruding lower lip thrust +out, his hands in his pocket. + +“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. + +“Get out--YOU!” roared Annixter in a tempest of wrath. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +All through the meal Presley had been wondering over a certain change he +observed in his friend. He looked at him again. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +He paused, his eyes shining with excitement. Presley leaned forward +toward him, motionless with intense absorption. + +“Well--and last night,” he prompted. + +Vanamee stirred in his seat, his glance fell, he drummed an instant upon +the table. + +“Last night,” he answered, “there was--there was a change. The Answer +was--” he drew a deep breath--“nearer.” + +“You are sure?” + +The other smiled with absolute certainty. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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----” + +Suddenly the tension broke. With a sharp cry and a violent uncertain +gesture of the hand Vanamee came to himself. + +“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: + +“'That which thou sowest is not quickened except it die,'... and she, +Angele... died.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Presley hesitated for a moment, then he asked: + +“Shall you go back to the garden again? Make the test again?” “I don't +know.” + +“Strange enough,” commented Presley, wondering. + +Vanamee sank back in his chair, his eyes growing vacant again: + +“Strange enough,” he murmured. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Was it for licorice to make her licorice water?” inquired Dyke gravely. + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Dyke. “I made her tell me what she was going to get +before she went, and it was licorice.” + +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.” + +“I see,” commented Presley, “you mean the little tad to understand 'the +situation' early.” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Then, ignoring the fact that it was he, himself, who had called the +young men to him, he added: + +“Well, this is my busy day. Sorry I can't stop and talk to you longer.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“And the buckskin with sixty dollars' worth of saddle gone, too,” he +groaned. “Oh, ain't it sweet?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Annixter, with recollections of the stolen buckskin in his mind, cried +out sharply: + +“Who's there?” + +There was no answer. In a second his pistol was in his hand. + +“Who's there? Quick, speak up or I'll shoot.” + +“No, no, no, don't shoot,” cried an answering voice. “Oh, be careful. +It's I--Hilma Tree.” + +Annixter slid the pistol into his pocket with a great qualm of +apprehension. He came forward and met Hilma in the doorway. + +“Good Lord,” he murmured, “that sure did give me a start. If I HAD +shot----” + +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. + +There was a moment's awkward silence, then Hilma explained: + +“I--I came back to look for my hat. I thought I left it here this +afternoon.” + +“And I was looking for my hat,” cried Annixter. “Funny enough, hey?” + +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: + +“Well, Miss Hilma, hate me as much as ever?” + +“Oh, no, sir,” she answered, “I never said I hated you.” + +“Well,--dislike me, then; I know you said that.” + +“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.” + +“You mean you shouldn't have said you didn't like me?” asked Annixter. +“Why?” + +“Well, well,--I don't--I don't DISlike anybody,” admitted Hilma. + +“Then I can take it that you don't dislike ME? Is that it?” + +“I don't dislike anybody,” persisted Hilma. + +“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.” + +Hilma lifted her eyes inquiringly to his. In her words was an +unmistakable ring of absolute sincerity. Innocently she inquired: + +“Why?” + +Annixter was struck speechless. In the face of such candour, such +perfect ingenuousness, he was at a loss for any words. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Oh, then,” returned Hilma, “you needn't bother. No, I don't dislike +you.” + +“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?” + +Hilma paused for a moment, glancing vaguely out of the doorway toward +the lighted window of the dairy-house, her head tilted. + +“I don't know that I ever thought about that,” she said. + +“Well, think about it now,” insisted Annixter. + +“But I never thought about liking anybody particularly,” she observed. +“It's because I like everybody, don't you see?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Do you understand?” he queried. + +“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----” + +“Delaney, hey?” demanded Annixter abruptly. “You and he were pretty good +friends, were you?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Good-bye, sir.” + +Annixter returned to the ranch house, his teeth clenched, enraged, his +face flushed. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Two quarts and a half and a cupful of chartreuse.” + +“Rot, rot, I know better. Champagne straight and a dash of brandy.” + +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. + +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. + +“I'm busy, I'm very busy,” returned the young man, continuing on his +way, still frowning and paring the stump of candle. + +“Two quarts 'n' a half. Two quarts 'n' a half.” + +“Ah, yes, in a way, that's so; and then, again, in a way, it ISN'T. I +know better.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +The men who were lighting the lanterns were obliged to intervene before +he could be placated. + +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. + +“Why, the brand----” + +“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.” + +“Please step aside, gentlemen,” said young Vacca, who was still making +the rounds of the floor. + +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?” + +“I'm busy, I'm very busy.” The young man pushed by with grave +preoccupation. + +“Two quarts 'n' a half. Two quarts 'n' a half.” + +“I know better. That's all rot.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Annixter drew a long breath: + +“Good,” he muttered, “the thing is under way at last.” + +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. + +“I managed--I schemed--I kept dark--I lay low----” + +But Annixter refused to listen. + +“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.” + +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. + +“That affair outside,” he observed, “will take care of itself, but +here's a little orphan child that gets lonesome without company.” + +Annixter began ladling the punch, filling the glasses. + +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: + +“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. + +“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. + +“It's the chartreuse that's lacking,” commented Caraher, lowering at +Annixter. The other flared up on the instant. + +“Rot, rot. I know better. In some punches it goes; and then, again, in +others it don't.” + +But it was left to Hooven to launch the successful phrase: + +“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?” + +Fertiliser! The others roared with laughter. + +“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.” + +“Eh? What--wh--I--I don't understand. Your hair? Yes, I'll promise. How +did you lose it?” + +“It was bit off.” + +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: + +“Yes--I know--but--but what bit it off?” + +“Ah,” vociferated Osterman, “that's JUST what you promised not to ask.” + +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. + +“Vertilizer, hey? Dots some fine joke, hey? You bedt.” + +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. + +“Hello. It's Presley. Come in, come in, Pres.” + +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. + +“Any friend of Pres is my friend,” he declared. + +But when the two had entered and had exchanged greetings, Presley drew +Annixter aside. + +“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?” + +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. + +“All right,” he said, “that's all right. Don't tell anybody else. You +might scare the girls off. Get in and drink.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But the leader of the orchestra, with a great gesture of his violin bow, +cried out: + +“All take partners for the lancers and promenade around the hall!” + +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: + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +There was a pause. The others waited for the rest of the story. + +“And afterwards?” prompted Annixter. + +“Afterwards? Nothing afterwards. I never saw her again. Her name was +Celestine.” + +The company raised a chorus of derision, and Osterman cried ironically: + +“Say! THAT'S a pretty good one! Tell us another.” + +The old man laughed with the rest, believing he had made another hit. He +called Osterman to him, whispering in his ear: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Having a good time, Miss Hilma?” he demanded, pausing for a moment. + +“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!” + +“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. + +“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?” + +Hilma consented. + +“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?” + +Annixter fulminated a vigorous protest. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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? + +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: + +“Dance! Oh, you don't know how I love it! I didn't know myself. I could +dance all night and never stop once!” + +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: + +“Want to dance now?” + +“Oh, yes!” she returned. + +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. + +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. + +“Now,” he muttered, “we'll try again.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Get back, get away to one side. The fool MIGHT shoot.” + +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: + +“You, too!” + +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. + +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: + +“Get back, I tell you. Don't you see he's got a gun? Haven't I enough on +my hands without you?” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Hand over that horse, Delaney,” said Annixter, without raising his +voice, “and clear out.” + +The other affected to be overwhelmed with infinite astonishment, his +eyes staring. He peered down from the saddle. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Oh,” he observed carelessly, “it's not my SHOOTING that ever worried +ME, m'son.” + +The crowd gaped with delight. There was a great wagging of heads. + +“Well, I guess not.” + +“No, sir, not much.” + +“Ah, no, you bet not.” + +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. + +“Oh, don't say anything about it,” he murmured. “I only did what any man +would have done in my place.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +And the old man, never doubting, his eyes starting, wagged his head in +amazement. + +“Oh, yes,” cried Caraher, the length of the table, “that's a pretty good +one. Tell us another.” + +“That reminds me of a story,” hazarded old Broderson uncertainly; “once +when I was a lad in Ukiah, fifty years.” + +“Oh, yes,” cried half a dozen voices, “THAT'S a pretty good one. Tell us +another.” + +“Eh--wh--what?” murmured Broderson, looking about him. “I--I don't know. +It was Ukiah. You--you--you mix me all up.” + +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. + +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. + +But suddenly old Broderson rose to his feet. + +“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.” + +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. + +Annixter shouted: + +“Nice eye, Santa Claus.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Well, where did YOU come from?” he demanded. + +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. + +“Message for you, sir. Will you sign?” + +He held the book to Annixter, who signed the receipt, wondering. + +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. + +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. + +Still puzzled, Annixter distributed the envelopes, muttering to himself: + +“What's up now?” + +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. + +Magnus Derrick, who sat next to Annixter, was the first to receive his +letter. With a word of excuse he opened it. + +“Read it, read it, Governor,” shouted a half-dozen voices. “No secrets, +you know. Everything above board here to-night.” + +Magnus cast a glance at the contents of the letter, then rose to his +feet and read: + + + Magnus Derrick, + Bonneville, Tulare Co., Cal. + + + 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. + +In the midst of the profound silence that followed, Osterman was heard +to exclaim grimly: + +“THAT'S a pretty good one. Tell us another.” + +But for a long moment this was the only remark. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +The roar subsided to intermittent clamour, in the pauses of which the +sounds of music and dancing made themselves audible once more. + +“S. Behrman again,” vociferated Harran Derrick. + +“Chose his moment well,” muttered Annixter. “Hits his hardest when we're +all rounded up having a good time.” + +“Gentlemen, this is ruin.” + +“What's to be done now?” + +“FIGHT! My God! do you think we are going to stand this? Do you think we +CAN?” + +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. + +“Fight! How fight? What ARE you going to do?” + +“If there's a law in this land” + +“If there is, it is in Shelgrim's pocket. Who owns the courts in +California? Ain't it Shelgrim?” + +“God damn him.” + +“Well, how long are you going to stand it? How long before you'll settle +up accounts with six inches of plugged gas-pipe?” + +“And our contracts, the solemn pledges of the corporation to sell to us +first of all----” + +“And now the land is for sale to anybody.” + +“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.” + +“And I six thousand, and now that I have, the Railroad grabs it.” + +“And the system of irrigating ditches that Derrick and I have been +laying out. There's thousands of dollars in that!” + +“I'll fight this out till I've spent every cent of my money.” + +“Where? In the courts that the company owns?” + +“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.” + +“Nor I.” + +“Nor I.” + +“Nor I.” + +“This is the last. Legal means first; if those fail--the shotgun.” + +“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.” + +At length Annixter made himself heard: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“The League! The League!” + +“Now, to-night, this moment; sign our names before we leave.” + +“He's right. Organisation! The League!” + +“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.” + +The Governor's name was received with a storm of cheers. The harness +room reechoed with shouts of: + +“Derrick! Derrick!” + +“Magnus for President!” + +“Derrick, our natural leader.” + +“Derrick, Derrick, Derrick for President.” + +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--” + +But he was allowed to proceed no farther. A storm of protest developed. +There were shouts of: + +“No, no. The League to-night and Derrick for President.” + +“We have been moderate too long.” + +“The League first, principles afterward.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Now, Magnus Derrick.” + +“Gentlemen,” began the Governor, once more rising, “I beg of you to +allow me further consideration. Gentlemen--” + +He was interrupted by renewed shouting. + +“No, no, now or never. Sign, join the League.” + +“Don't leave us. We look to you to help.” + +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. + +“No, no,” she murmured; “no, don't sign.” + +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. + +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. + +“No, no,” implored Annie Derrick. “No, Magnus, don't sign.” + +“He must,” declared Harran, shouting in her ear to make himself heard, +“he must. Don't you understand?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At once the homeward movement began. Every one was worn out. Some of the +ranchers' daughters had gone to sleep against their mothers' shoulders. + +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. + +A fine, drizzling rain was falling, and the lamps began to show dim in a +vague haze of orange light. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Presley and Vanamee stood looking at the deserted barn. There was a long +silence. Then Presley said: + +“Well... what do you think of it all?” + +“I think,” answered Vanamee slowly, “I think that there was a dance in +Brussels the night before Waterloo.” + + + + + +BOOK II + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +“I have the honour to acknowledge herewith your favour of the 14th +instant, and in reply would state----” + +“Please find enclosed draft upon New Orleans to be applied as per our +understanding----” + +“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----” + +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. + +“That's all for the present,” he said at length. + +Without reply, the typewriter rose and withdrew, thrusting her pencil +into the coil of her hair, closing the door behind her, softly, +discreetly. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As Lyman turned from the window, about to resume his work, the office +boy appeared at the door. + +“The man from the lithograph company, sir,” announced the boy. + +“Well, what does he want?” demanded Lyman, adding, however, upon the +instant: “Show him in.” + +A young man entered, carrying a great bundle, which he deposited on a +chair, with a gasp of relief, exclaiming, all out of breath: + +“From the Standard Lithograph Company.” + +“What is?” + +“Don't know,” replied the other. “Maps, I guess.” + +“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: + +“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.” + +The young man departed with the package and Lyman, spreading out the map +upon the table, remained for some time studying it thoughtfully. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In the end, and after much ostentatious opposition on the part of the +railroad heelers, Lyman was nominated and subsequently elected. + +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? + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +Both Lyman and Darrell were pledged to an average ten per cent. cut of +the grain rates throughout the entire State. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Well, well, we shall know in a few hours now,” remarked Magnus. + +“Oh,” exclaimed Lyman, surprised, “it is for this morning, then. Why +aren't you at the court?” + +“It seemed undignified, boy,” answered the Governor. “We shall know soon +enough.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“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?” + +Lyman crossed his legs and settled himself in his office chair. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“And suppose the next commission is a railroad board, and reverses all +our figures?” + +The one-time mining king, the most redoubtable poker player of Calaveras +County, permitted himself a momentary twinkle of his eyes. + +“By then it will be too late. We will, all of us, have made our fortunes +by then.” + +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. + +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.” + +Lyman, however, was obviously uneasy, willing to change the subject. He +rose to his feet, pulling down his cuffs. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Why the devil are you so chummy with him, then?” observed Harran when +Hartrath had gone away. + +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. + +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: + +“Why, isn't that Mr. Cedarquist?” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +The manufacturer, Cedarquist, fixed the artist with a glance of +melancholy interest. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +Cedarquist looked after him with contemplative interest. Then, turning +to Magnus, excused himself for the acridity of his words. + +“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. + +“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.” + +The others, absorbed, attentive, approved, nodding their heads in +silence as the manufacturer finished. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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: + +“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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“I declare, I had forgotten about it. Why, this is Ladies' Day, of +course.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“My wife may come, and my daughters,” said the manufacturer. + +“Ah,” murmured Presley, “so much the better. I was going to give myself +the pleasure of calling upon your daughters, Mr. Cedarquist, this +afternoon.” + +“You can save your carfare, Pres,” said Cedarquist, “you will see them +here.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Ah! Millet, perhaps, but not Corot.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“How long have you known you had this power?” + +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. + +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. + +“You two should have so much in common,” she explained. + +Presley shook the flaccid hand of the artist, murmuring +conventionalities, while Mrs. Cedarquist hastened to say: + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Leonine!” she murmured-- “leonine! Like Samson of old.” + +However, abruptly bestirring herself, she exclaimed a second later: + +“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.” + +“Possibly it is to his interest,” murmured Presley. “The fairs and +festivals bring people to the city over his railroad.” + +But the others turned on him, expostulating. + +“Ah, you Philistine,” declared Mrs. Cedarquist. “And this from YOU!, +Presley; to attribute such base motives----” + +“If the poets become materialised, Mr. Presley,” declared Hartrath, +“what can we say to the people?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +The others laughed good-humouredly, protesting, nevertheless, and Mrs. +Cedarquist shook her finger in warning at the artist and exclaimed: + +“The Philistines be upon thee, Samson!” + +“By the way,” observed Hartrath, willing to change the subject, “I hear +you are on the Famine Relief Committee. Does your work progress?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Pres, let's get out of this,” he said. “Come into the wine room and I +will shake you for a glass of sherry.” + +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. + +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. + +“Harran,” said the Governor, with decision, “there is a deal, there, in +what Cedarquist says. Our wheat to China, hey, boy?” + +“It is certainly worth thinking of, sir.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I believe it's worth looking into, Governor,” asserted Harran. + +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. + +With this vision still expanding before the eye of his mind, Magnus, +with Harran at his elbow, prepared to depart. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“.... 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.” + +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. + +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: + +“I've won. I've won.” + +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. + +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: + +“Not a city, Presley, not a city, but a Midway Plaisance.” + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Hello, it's you, is it, Miss Hilma?” he exclaimed, getting down from +the buckskin, and allowing her to drink. + +Hilma nodded, scrambling to her feet, dusting her skirt with nervous +pats of both hands. + +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. + +“Miss Hilma,” he said abruptly, “never you marry a ranchman. He's never +out of trouble.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Oh, no, sir,” protested Hilma, still breathless. “Oh, no, indeed not.” + +“Well, what then?” + +Hilma made a little uncertain movement of ignorance. + +“I don't know what.” + +“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.” + +“Fight?” + +“Yes, fight.” + +“Fight like--like you and Mr. Delaney that time with--oh, dear--with +guns?” + +“I don't know,” grumbled Annixter vaguely. “What do YOU think?” + +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.” + +“Shall we clear out, then? Shall we let Delaney have possession, and S. +Behrman, and all that lot? Shall we give in to them?” + +“Never, never,” she exclaimed, her great eyes flashing. + +“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?” + +“N-no,” she murmured. “No, I shouldn't like that. There's mamma and----” + +“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.” + +“Right. I thought you wouldn't be keen on him.” + +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. + +“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?” + +Hilma, standing up before him, retied a knot in her handkerchief bundle +with elaborate precaution, blinking at it through her tears. + +“What do you say, Miss Hilma?” Annixter repeated. “How about that? What +do you say?” + +Just above a whisper, Hilma murmured: + +“I--I don't know.” + +“Don't know what? Don't you think we could hit it off together?” + +“I don't know.” + +“I know we could, Hilma. I don't mean to scare you. What are you crying +for?” “I don't know.” + +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?” + +“I don't know.” + +“Like what, Hilma?” he insisted. + +“Like--like this?” she questioned. With a movement of infinite +tenderness and affection she slid her arms around his neck, still crying +a little. + +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. + +“What do you say? Is it a go?” demanded Annixter jovially. + +“I thought I hated you all the time,” she said, and the velvety +huskiness of her voice never sounded so sweet to him. + +“And I thought it was that crockery smashing goat of a lout of a +cow-puncher.” + +“Delaney? The idea! Oh, dear! I think it must always have been you.” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“Then what?” + +“I don't know--I haven't thought--that way long enough to know.” + +“But you said you thought it must have been me always.” + +“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.” + +Annixter took her in his arms. He was speechless. No words that he had +at his command seemed adequate. All he could say was: + +“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.” + +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. + +“Well, now, Hilma, what are we going to do?” + +“Do?” she repeated. “Why, must we do anything? Oh, isn't this enough?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Annixter heard and his face grew troubled. + +“Hum,” he said, “I see.” + +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. + +“Isn't that best?” said Hilma, glancing at him. + +“I don't know,” he muttered gloomily. + +“Well, then, let's not. Let's come right back to Quien Sabe without +going to Monterey. Anything that you want I want.” + +“I hadn't thought of it in just that way,” he observed. + +“In what way, then?” + +“Can't we--can't we wait about this marrying business?” + +“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?” + +“Say what?” + +“Our marriage, I mean.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed, with a long, deep breath, and again “Oh!” the back +of her hand against her lips. + +It was a quick gasp of a veritable physical anguish. Her eyes brimmed +over. Annixter rose, looking at her. + +“Well?” he said, awkwardly, “Well?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Hello, hello,” he said, as his mother pulled his ear to arouse him; +“morning, mamma.” + +“It's time,” she said, “after five already. Your breakfast is on the +stove.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Come on 'n have a drink.” + +“Well, I don't care if I do.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“How's Sidney getting along?” the other asked, while wrapping up the +package. + +Dyke's enthusiasm had made of his little girl a celebrity throughout +Bonneville. + +The ex-engineer promptly became voluble, assertive, doggedly emphatic. + +“Smartest little tad in all Tulare County, and more fun! A regular whole +show in herself.” + +“And the hops?” inquired the other. + +“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?” + +“Then what'll you do?” + +“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?” + +“I suppose you'll stay right by hops now?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Oh, you'll get your cars,” murmured the other. + +“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?” + +The other looked up. + +“A cent and a half! Say FOUR cents and a half and maybe I'll talk +business with you.” + +“Four cents and a half,” returned Dyke, “I don't see it. Why, the +regular rate is only two cents.” + +“No, it isn't,” answered the clerk, looking him gravely in the eye, +“it's five cents.” + +“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.” + +“That was last fall,” observed the clerk. There was a silence. Dyke shot +a glance of suspicion at the other. Then, reassured, he remarked: + +“You look it up. You'll see I'm right.” + +S. Behrman came forward and shook hands politely with the ex-engineer. + +“Anything I can do for you, Mr. Dyke?” + +Dyke explained. When he had done speaking, the clerk turned to S. +Behrman and observed, respectfully: + +“Our regular rate on hops is five cents.” + +“Yes,” answered S. Behrman, pausing to reflect; “yes, Mr. Dyke, that's +right--five cents.” + +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” + +“See for yourself,” said S. Behrman. He indicated an item under the head +of “Miscellany.” + +“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.” + +In the list that was printed below, Dyke saw that the rate for hops +between Bonneville or Guadalajara and San Francisco was five cents. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +S. Behrman and the clerk watched him from the other side of the counter. + +“The rate is five cents,” declared the clerk doggedly. + +“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?” + +The other, raised a shoulder. + +“We don't force you to ship. You can do as you like. The rate is five +cents.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“What's the price of hops got to do with you?” + +“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.” + +Dyke stared in blank astonishment. For the moment, the audacity of +the affair was what most appealed to him. He forgot its personal +application. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Yes, what's your rule? What's your basis?” demanded Dyke, turning +swiftly to him. + +S. Behrman emphasised each word of his reply with a tap of one +forefinger on the counter before him: + +“All--the--traffic--will--bear.” + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +“Where does this go?” inquired the man. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“You needn't think,” observed the clerk, “that just because you are +dealing with the Railroad you are going to work us.” + +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. + +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. + +“Say,” he hazarded, “how about this? I make out---- + +“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. + +Dyke moved away and stood for a moment in the centre of the room, +staring at the figures on the envelope. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +There was a stoop to his massive shoulders. His great arms dangled +loosely at his sides, the palms of his hands open. + +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. + +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? + +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! + +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. + +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.” + +“Poor fool,” commented Annixter, turning away. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I don't see,” he muttered, “just what I am going to do.” + +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. + +“Hello, Captain.” + +Dyke looked up, nodding his head listlessly. + +“Hello, Caraher,” he answered. + +“Well,” continued the saloonkeeper, coming forward a step, “what's the +news in town?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Tell us all about it, Dyke,” urged Caraher. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I wonder what he will do now?” observed Harran when his first outburst +of indignation had subsided. + +“Nothing,” declared Annixter. “He's stuck.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“He was at Caraher's, was he?” demanded Annixter. + +“Yes.” + +“Drinking, hey?” + +“I think so. Yes, I saw a bottle.” + +“Drinking at Caraher's,” exclaimed Annixter, rancorously; “I can see HIS +finish.” + +There was a silence. It seemed as if nothing more was to be said. They +paused, looking thoughtfully on the ground. + +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. + +“I see his finish,” repeated Annixter. “Exit Dyke, and score another +tally for S. Behrman, Shelgrim and Co.” + +He moved away impatiently, loosening the tie-rope with which the +buckskin was fastened. He swung himself up. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“What's that?” Annixter exclaimed. “When did they go? Did all of them +go, all three?” + +“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?” + +“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?” + +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. + +“Gone, by the Lord. Gone, by the Lord. By the Lord Harry, she's cleared +out.” + +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. + +“Gone, by the Lord,” he exclaimed. “By the Lord, she's cleared out.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The little seed, long since planted, gathering strength quietly, had at +last germinated. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Do you know where Vanamee is to-day?” he asked the latter. Phelps put +his chin in the air. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Vanamee, I have been writing again.” + +Vanamee turned his lean ascetic face toward him, his black eyes fixed +attentively. + +“I know,” he said, “your journal.” + +“No, this is a poem. You remember, I told you about it once. 'The +Toilers,' I called it.” + +“Oh, verse! Well, I am glad you have gone back to it. It is your natural +vehicle.” + +“You remember the poem?” asked Presley. “It was unfinished.” + +“Yes, I remember it. There was better promise in it than anything you +ever wrote. Now, I suppose, you have finished it.” + +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. + +“What have you been doing lately?” he demanded. Presley, wondering, told +of his various comings and goings. + +“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.” + +“Thank you,” exclaimed Presley fervidly. “I had begun to mistrust +myself.” + +“Now,” observed Vanamee, “I presume you will rush it into print. To have +formulated a great thought, simply to have accomplished, is not enough.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +But Presley would hear no further. + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Going? Where to at this time of night?” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +It was the same night in which Annixter out-watched the stars, coming, +at last, to himself. + +As the hours passed, the two men, far apart, ignoring each other, waited +for the Manifestation,--Annixter on the ranch, Vanamee in the garden. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Come to me,” he murmured. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Vanamee started up, coming, as it were, to himself, looking wildly about +him. Sarria was there. + +“I saw her,” said the priest. “It was Angele, the little girl, your +Angele's daughter. She is like her mother.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Oh, Death, where is thy sting? Oh, Grave, where is thy victory?” + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +While Harran rang up Central in town, Mrs. Dyke told Presley and Magnus +of the lamentable change in Dyke. + +“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. + +“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.” + +Harran came out on the porch, from the telephone, and she interrupted +herself, fixing her eyes eagerly upon him. + +“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.” + +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. + +There was nothing maudlin about Dyke's drunkenness. In him the alcohol +merely roused the spirit of evil, vengeful, reckless. + +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: + +“Caraher is right. There is only one thing they listen to, and that's +dynamite.” + +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. + +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: + +“Governor, you look all frazeled out. Anything wrong these days?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Well,” insinuated Osterman, “what are you dallying 'round 'Frisco so +much for?” + +“Cat fur, to make kitten-breeches,” retorted Annixter with oracular +vagueness. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Oh,” she said, at last, “oh--I didn't know.” + +“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?” + +“Yes--I am well,” she faltered. + +“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.” + +Hilma looked at the goldfishes through her tears. + +“Have you got anything to say to me, Hilma?” he asked, after a while. + +“I don't know what you want me to say,” she murmured. + +“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.” + +“Well--I forgive you,” she hazarded. + +“That will do for a starter,” he answered. “But that's not IT.” + +“Then, I don't know what.” + +“Shall I say it for you?” + +She hesitated a long minute, then: + +“You mightn't say it right,” she replied. + +“Trust me for that. Shall I say it for you, Hilma?” + +“I don't know what you'll say.” + +“I'll say what you are thinking of. Shall I say it?” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“I think,” he said, “we are a couple of softies.” + +“No, no,” she insisted. “I want to cry and want you to cry, too. Oh, +dear, I haven't a handkerchief.” + +“Here, take mine.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At last everything had been bought, all arrangements made, Hilma's +trunks packed with her new dresses, and the tickets to Bonneville +bought. + +“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?” + +“But we reach Bonneville at SUCH an hour,” protested Hilma. “Five in the +morning!” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Come on,” he cried, when, at length, he espied the others. “We've no +more time.” + +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. + +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. + +The porters began taking up the steps that stood by the vestibule of +each sleeping-car. + +“Well, have a good time, daughter,” observed her father; “and come up to +see us whenever you can.” + +From beyond the enclosure of the depot's reverberating roof came the +measured clang of a bell. + +“I guess we're off,” cried Annixter. “Good-bye, Mrs. Tree.” + +“Remember your promise, Hilma,” her mother hastened to exclaim, “to +write every Sunday afternoon.” + +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. + +“Well,” she said. + +“Well,” echoed Annixter, “happy?” for the tears rose in her eyes. + +She nodded energetically, smiling at him bravely. + +“You look a little pale,” he declared, frowning uneasily; “feel well?” + +“Pretty well.” + +Promptly he was seized with uneasiness. “But not ALL well, hey? Is that +it?” + +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. + +“Now you're going to be sick,” he cried anxiously. + +“No, no,” she protested, “not a bit.” + +“But you said you didn't feel very well. Where is it you feel sick?” + +“I don't know. I'm not sick. Oh, dear me, why will you bother?” + +“Headache?” + +“Not the least.” + +“You feel tired, then. That's it. No wonder, the way rushed you 'round +to-day.” + +“Dear, I'm NOT tired, and I'm NOT sick, and I'm all RIGHT.” + +“No, no; I can tell. I think we'd best have the berth made up and you +lie down.” + +“That would be perfectly ridiculous.” + +“Well, where is it you feel sick? Show me; put your hand on the place. +Want to eat something?” + +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. + +“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----” + +“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?” + +He scrutinised her face distressfully. + +“Now, don't I look the picture of health?” she challenged. + +“In a way you do,” he began, “and then again----” + +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. + +“I won't listen, I won't listen, I won't listen,” she cried. + +“But, just the same----” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Oh, Lord! Oh-h-h LORD!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“What's the next stop, Captain?” inquired Annixter, coming up. “Have we +reached Fresno yet?” + +“Just passed it,” the other responded, looking at Annixter over his +spectacles. + +“What's the next stop?” + +“Goshen. We will be there in about forty-five minutes.” + +“Fair black night, isn't it?” + +“Black as a pocket. Let's see, you're the party in upper and lower 9.” + +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. + +“Hello, hello,” he exclaimed, “what's all up now?” + +“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.” + +He disappeared, carrying his lantern with him. + +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. + +“What was that?” + +“Anything wrong?” + +“What's up, anyways?” + +Hilma was just waking as Annixter pushed the curtain aside. + +“Oh, I was so frightened. What's the matter, dear?” she exclaimed. + +“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.” + +But with a final shriek of the Westinghouse appliance, the train came to +a definite halt. + +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. + +“Well, we've sure stopped,” observed one of the drummers. + +“What is it?” asked Hilma again. “Are you sure there's nothing wrong?” + +“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: + +“Yes, on the other side.” + +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. + +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: + +“There sure isn't any station anywheres about and no siding. Bet you +they have had an accident of some kind.” + +“Ask the porter.” + +“I did. He don't know.” + +“Maybe they stopped to take on wood or water, or something.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Say, that's SHOOTING. By God, boys, they're shooting. Say, this is a +hold-up.” + +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. + +Hilma said nothing, only catching Annixter's hand, looking squarely into +his eyes. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Oh, oh, oh, it's terrible. Oh, if they only won't hurt me.” + +But the lady with the children looked out from her berth, smiled +reassuringly, and said: + +“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?” + +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. + +“Say, I'm going out there,” suddenly declared one of the drummers, +flourishing a pocket revolver. + +His friend caught his arm. + +“Don't make a fool of yourself, Max,” he said. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Well, that's to be thought of,” said the other, allowing himself to be +pacified, but still holding his pistol. + +“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. + +“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.” + +However, the drummer had got the window up and had leaned out before the +others could interfere and draw him away. + +“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.” + +In spite of their precautions, one after another, his friends looked +out. Sure enough, the train was without a locomotive. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Shooting again.” + +“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.” + +“That must be it. Yes, sure, that's just what they are doing.” + +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. + +“Is there a doctor in this car?” he asked. + +Promptly the passengers surrounded him, voluble with questions. But he +was in a bad temper. + +“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.” + +“Did they shoot him--kill him, do you mean?” + +“Is he hurt bad?” + +“Did the men get away?” + +“Oh, shut up, will you all?” exclaimed the conductor. + +“What do I know? Is there a DOCTOR in this car, that's what I want to +know?” + +The well-dressed young man stepped forward. + +“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.” + +He went out, followed by the young doctor. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +“Well, how long are we going to stick here now?” began one of the +drummers. “Wonder if they hurt the engine with their dynamite?” + +“Oh, I know they will come through the car and rob us,” wailed the +school-teachers. + +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. + +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. + +“I say,” he asked of the drummer named Max, “I say, my friend, what +place is this?” + +The others roared with derision. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“The fellow? Wasn't there four of them?” + +“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. + +“While he was doing this, a brakeman--you remember that brakeman that +came through here once or twice--had a red mustache.” + +“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.” + +“And the express messenger, all this time?” + +“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.” + +“He got away, did he?” + +“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.” + +“Dyke, by the Lord!” exclaimed Annixter. + +“That's the name,” said the young doctor. + +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. + +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. + +“Can I have your version of the affair, Mr. Annixter?” + +Annixter turned on him abruptly. + +“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.” + +There was a murmur of approval from the crowd that stood around, and +Genslinger, with an angry shrug of one shoulder, took himself away. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“It's the posse,” said young Vacca. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Oh, maybe it's a wedding present,” exclaimed Hilma, her eyes sparkling. + +“Well, maybe it is,” returned her husband. “Here, m' son, help me in +with this.” + +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. + +“Oh, hurry, hurry,” cried Hilma, dancing around him. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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. + +“Why--what--what--” murmured Hilma blankly. + +“Well, I told you not to mind,” said Annixter. “It isn't anything. Let's +look through the rooms.” + +“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?” + +She caught his arm, looking with intense eagerness into his face. She +half understood already. Annixter saw that. + +“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.” + +“And I thought,” cried Hilma, drawing back fearfully from the case of +rifles, “and I thought it was a wedding present.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +His wife looked up at him joyfully. Here was the new Annixter, +certainly. + +“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?” + +Hilma put down the plates and came around the table and kissed him +without a word. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Is there any news?” + +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: + +“Is there any news?” + +“Where is Sidney, Mrs. Dyke?” asked Hilma for the fourth time. “Is she +well? Is she taken care of?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“I hope S. Behrman is satisfied with all this,” he muttered. “I hope he +is satisfied now, damn his soul!” + +All at once an idea occurred to him. He turned about and reentered the +room. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“You bet it is, Hilma,” he told her. + +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. + +“He said it was important,” added Louisa Vacca. + +“Maybe they have news from Washington,” suggested Hilma. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Mr. Broderson, my son, Lyman, my eldest son. Mr. Annixter, my son, +Lyman.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Good deal of backing and filling about the reading of a column of +figures,” muttered Annixter to the man at his elbow. + +Lyman “awaited the Committee's decision.” He sat down, touching the ends +of his mustache. + +“Oh, play ball,” growled Annixter. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“We have reduced grain rates by ten per cent. all over the State,” + rejoined Lyman. “Here are copies of the new schedule.” + +He drew them from his valise and passed them around the table. + +“You see,” he observed, “the rate between Mayfield and Oakland, for +instance, has been reduced by twenty-five cents a ton.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Why, rot,” cried Annixter, “no one ever ships wheat that way.” + +“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.” + +“Where not a carload of wheat is shipped in a year,” commented Gethings +of the San Pablo. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“The Railroad, if you come to that,” returned Lyman, “has already lodged +a protest against the new rate.” + +Annixter uttered a derisive shout. + +“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?” + +“Yes, what did we elect you for?” demanded Osterman and Gethings, also +getting to their feet. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Lyman!” + +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. + +“Lyman, what does this mean?” + +The other spread out his hands. + +“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.” + +“Why did you not lower rates in the valley of the San Joaquin?” + +“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----” + +“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.” + +“You'll know, sir--” began Lyman. + +“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.” + +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. + +“What have you to say, then?” cried Harran, who, until now, had not +spoken. + +“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----” + +“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.” + +There was a concerted outburst at the words. All the men in the room +were on their feet, gesticulating and vociferating. + +“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” cried Magnus, “are we schoolboys, are we +ruffians of the street?” + +“We're a set of fool farmers and we've been betrayed,” cried Osterman. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Have you, sir?” demanded Magnus. + +The Governor's head was in a whirl; a sensation, almost of faintness, +had seized upon him. Was it possible? Was it possible? + +“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. + +“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.” + +“There is nothing to explain.” + +“You have not reduced rates in the San Joaquin? You have not reduced +rates between Bonneville and tidewater?” + +“I repeat, sir, what I said before. An average ten per cent. cut----” + +“Lyman, answer me, yes or no. Have you reduced the Bonneville rate?” + +“It could not be done so soon. Give us time. We----” + +“Yes or no! By God, sir, do you dare equivocate with me? Yes or no; have +you reduced the Bonneville rate?” + +“No.” + +“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?” + +Lyman, whiter than ever, turned furious upon his brother. + +“Don't you dare put that question to me again.” + +“No, I won't,” cried Harran, “because I'll TELL you to your villain's +face that you WERE paid to do it.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“How much were you paid? How much were you paid?” vociferated Harran. + +“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. + +“You know the Commission acted in good faith,” retorted Lyman. “You know +that all was fair and above board.” + +“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. + +But Gethings, the older man, intervened, pulling Annixter back, crying: + +“Stop, this won't do. Not before his father.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +He went out, slamming the door. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +About an hour later, the two reached the ranch house, but as Harran rode +up the driveway, he uttered an exclamation. + +“Hello,” he said, “something is up. That's Genslinger's buckboard.” + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +“The cost of maintaining a number of small holdings,” said Magnus, +indifferently, “is, of course, greater than if they were all under one +management.” + +“That may be, that may be,” rejoined the other. + +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. + +“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.” + +“I should prefer not to be interviewed on the subject, Mr. Genslinger,” + said Magnus. + +“Oh, no, oh, no. Lord love you, Governor, I don't want to interview you. +We all know how you stand.” + +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. + +“About the present Railroad Commission,” he remarked. “That was an +interesting campaign you conducted in Sacramento and San Francisco.” + +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? + +“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.” + +“The campaign was not without its interest,” admitted Magnus. + +“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?” + +“Do you know what you are doing, sir?” Magnus burst forth. “Do you know +what you are insinuating, here, in my own house?” + +“Why, Governor,” returned the editor, blandly, “I'm not INSINUATING +anything. I'm talking about what I KNOW.” + +“It's a lie.” + +Genslinger rubbed his chin reflectively. + +“Well,” he answered, “you can have a chance to prove it before the Grand +Jury, if you want to.” + +“My character is known all over the State,” blustered Magnus. “My +politics are pure politics. My----” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Ten thousand?” + +“Yes. Say five thousand down, and the balance within sixty days.” + +Magnus, for the moment blind to what Genslinger had in mind, turned on +him in astonishment. + +“Why, man, what security could you give me for such an amount?” + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +He went out, closing the door behind him, and in a moment, Magnus heard +the wheels of his buckboard grating on the driveway. + +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.” + +The letter closed with renewed protestations of confidence. + +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. + +“This is piling up,” he muttered, looking blankly at the opposite wall. +“My God, this is piling up. What am I to do?” + +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? + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“How is the wheat looking?” asked Presley. + +“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.” + +“Have you got any mail?” said Presley, rising. “I'm going into town.” + +Harran shook his head, and took himself away, and Presley went down to +the stable-corral to get his pony. + +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. + +“Good morning, Governor,” called Presley. “Aren't you up pretty early?” + +“Good morning, Pres, my boy.” The Governor came forward and, putting his +hand on the pony's withers, walked along by his side. + +“Going to town, Pres?” he asked. + +“Yes, sir. Can I do anything for you, Governor?” + +Magnus drew a sealed envelope from his pocket. + +“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.” + +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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Come on in, Pres,” he cried. “Nobody's ready yet. You're hours ahead of +time.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I thought you said ten o'clock,” observed Presley, sitting down on the +edge of the bed. + +“Well, I did, but----” + +“But, then again, in a way, you didn't, hey?” his friend interrupted. + +Annixter grunted good-humouredly, and turned to strop his razor. Presley +looked with suspicious disfavour at his suspenders. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Well, so do I,” declared Presley. He hastened to change the subject. + +“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.” + +“Oh, rot, Pres,” muttered Annixter, turning abruptly to his shaving. + +“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.” + +“Oh, pshaw, you make me sick.” + +“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.” + +Annixter turned around abruptly, his face flushing under its lather. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Annixter stared as Presley laid the box on the edge of the washstand. + +“Old fool,” he remarked, “what in hell did you do that for?” + +“Oh, just for fun.” + +“I suppose they're rotten stinkodoras, or you wouldn't give 'em away.” + +“This cringing gratitude--” Presley began. + +“Shut up,” shouted Annixter, and the incident was closed. + +Annixter resumed his shaving, and Presley lit a cigarette. + +“Any news from Washington?” he queried. + +“Nothing that's any good,” grunted Annixter. “Hello,” he added, raising +his head, “there's somebody in a hurry for sure.” + +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. + +“Runaway,” exclaimed Presley. + +Annixter, with thoughts of the Railroad, and the “Jumping” of the ranch, +flung his hand to his hip pocket. + +“What is it, Vacca?” he cried. + +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.” + +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: + +“Annixter, Annixter, Annixter!” + +It was Dyke's voice, and the next instant he shot into view in the open +square in front of the house. + +“Oh, my God!” cried Presley. + +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. + +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. + +“Annixter,” he shouted, and again, rolling his sunken eyes, “Annixter, +Annixter!” + +“Here, here,” cried Annixter. + +The other turned, levelling his pistol. + +“Give me a horse, give me a horse, quick, do you hear? Give me a horse, +or I'll shoot.” + +“Steady, steady. That won't do. You know me, Dyke. We're friends here.” + +The other lowered his weapon. + +“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.” + +“Come on, come on,” shouted Annixter, dashing stablewards, his +suspenders flying. + +“Here's a horse.” + +“Mine?” exclaimed Presley. “He wouldn't carry you a mile.” + +Annixter was already far ahead, trumpeting orders. + +“The buckskin,” he yelled. “Get her out, Billy. Where's the stable-man? +Get out that buckskin. Get out that saddle.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“Water,” returned Dyke. “They've watched every spring. I'm killed with +thirst.” + +“There's the hydrant. Quick now.” + +“I got as far as the Kern River, but they turned me back,” he said +between breaths as he drank. + +“Don't stop to talk.” + +“My mother, and the little tad----” + +“I'm taking care of them. They're stopping with me.” + +Here? + +“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.” + +“God bless you, Annixter. Where's the little tad? Is she well, Annixter, +and the mother? Tell them----” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Well?” demanded Annixter from the ground. The others cocked their heads +to listen. + +“I see him; I see him!” shouted Vacca. “He's going like the devil. He's +headed for Guadalajara.” + +“Look back, up the road, toward the Mission. Anything there?” + +The answer came down in a shout of apprehension. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“That was Delaney's gang,” exclaimed Annixter. “I saw him.” + +“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.” + +“By the Lord, they aren't far behind,” declared Annixter. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +“Out of the cab,” he shouted. “Both of you. Quick, or I'll kill you +both.” + +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. + +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. + +The posse had seen everything. + +“Stuck. Curse the luck!” vociferated the cow-Puncher. + +But the sheriff was already out of the saddle and into the telegraph +office. + +“There's a derailing switch between here and Pixley, isn't there?” he +cried. + +“Yes.” + +“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. + +“Name of the State of California,” shouted the sheriff to the bewildered +engineer. “Cut off from your train.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“If we should meet another train coming up on this track----” protested +the frightened engineer. + +“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. + +“The switch ain't much further on,” clamoured the engineer. “You can see +Pixley now.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“He's stopped. He's broke down. Watch, now, and see if he jumps off.” + +“Broke NOTHING. HE'S COMING BACK. Ready, now, he's got to pass us.” + +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. + +“He's coming. He's coming--look out, there's a shot. He's shooting +already.” + +A bright, white sliver of wood leaped into the air from the sooty window +sill of the cab. + +“Fire on him! Fire on him!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At Guadalajara, Delaney and the sheriff descended from the freight +engine. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“The engine passed me on the tracks further up, and empty,” said S. +Behrman. “Boys, I think he left her here.” + +But before anyone could answer, the bloodhounds gave tongue again, as +they picked up the scent. + +“That's him,” cried S. Behrman. “Get on, boys.” + +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. + +“What a day,” he murmured. “What a day.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +“Look! Look! There he is! Quick, there he goes!” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“You're under arrest, Dyke,” cried the sheriff. “It's not the least use +to fight. The whole country is up.” + +Dyke fired again, the shot splintering the foreleg of the horse the +sheriff rode. + +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. + +“Dyke,” called the sheriff again, “for the last time, I summon you to +surrender.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I've got YOU, anyway,” he shouted, as he ran forward. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“By God, he'll get away yet.” + +S. Behrman watched the fight complacently. + +“That all may show obstinacy,” he commented, “but it don't show common +sense.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Delaney and S. Behrman found themselves in the rear of the cavalcade as +it moved off. The cow-puncher turned to his chief: + +“Well, captain,” he said, still panting, as he bound up his forehead; +“well--we GOT him.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“The marshals won't allow you to shoot, Bismarck,” observed Presley, +looking at Minna. + +Hooven doubled up with merriment. + +“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?” + +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. + +“I hope that Hooven girl won't go to the bad,” Presley said to Harran. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“Oh, I say, get a move on, somebody.” + +“ALL aboard.” + +“Say, I'll take root here pretty soon.” + +Some took malicious pleasure in starting false alarms. + +“Ah, HERE we go.” + +“Off, at last.” + +“We're off.” + +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. + +“Hey, come back here.” + +“Oh, he's easy.” + +“Don't be in a hurry, Grandpa.” + +“Say, you want to drive all the rabbits yourself.” + +Later on, a certain group of these fellows started a huge “josh.” + +“Say, that's what we're waiting for, the 'do-funny.'” + +“The do-funny?” + +“Sure, you can't drive rabbits without the 'do-funny.'” + +“What's the do-funny?” + +“Oh, say, she don't know what the do-funny is. We can't start without +it, sure. Pete went back to get it.” + +“Oh, you're joking me, there's no such thing.” + +“Well, aren't we WAITING for it?” + +“Oh, look, look,” cried some women in a covered rig. “See, they are +starting already 'way over there.” + +In fact, it did appear as if the far extremity of the line was in +motion. Dust rose in the air above it. + +“They ARE starting. Why don't we start?” + +“No, they've stopped. False alarm.” + +“They've not, either. Why don't we move?” + +But as one or two began to move off, the nearest marshal shouted +wrathfully: + +“Get back there, get back there.” + +“Well, they've started over there.” + +“Get back, I tell you.” + +“Where's the 'do-funny?'” + +“Say, we're going to miss it all. They've all started over there.” + +A lieutenant came galloping along in front of the line, shouting: + +“Here, what's the matter here? Why don't you start?” + +There was a great shout. Everybody simultaneously uttered a prolonged +“Oh-h.” + +“We're off.” + +“Here we go for sure this time.” + +“Remember to keep the alignment,” roared the lieutenant. “Don't go too +fast.” + +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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Hilma looked from the carry-all, scanning the open plain in front of the +advancing line of the drive. + +“Where are the rabbits?” she asked of Annixter. “I don't see any at +all.” + +“They are way ahead of us yet,” he said. “Here, take the glasses.” + +He passed her his field glasses, and she adjusted them. + +“Oh, yes,” she cried, “I see. I can see five or six, but oh, so far +off.” + +“The beggars run 'way ahead, at first.” + +“I should say so. See them run,--little specks. Every now and then they +sit up, their ears straight up, in the air.” + +“Here, look, Hilma, there goes one close by.” + +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. + +“Oh, a big fellow.” + +“Hi, yonder's another.” + +“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. + +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. + +“Don't let him get through; don t let him get through.” + +“Look out for him, there he goes.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Come, just have a lock in here,” called Annixter. + +Hilma, descending from the carry-all and joined by Presley and Harran, +approached and looked over the high board fence. + +“Oh, did you ever see anything like that?” she exclaimed. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Everything all right, Buck?” inquired Osterman, coming up to where +Annixter, Hilma and Mrs. Derrick were sitting down to their lunch. + +“Yes, yes, everything right. But we've no cork-screw.” + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +Young Vacca came running and panting up the hill after them, calling for +Annixter. + +“Well, well, what is it?” + +“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.” + +“Hello, what's up now?” muttered Annixter, as they turned back. + +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. + +“What's all up?” demanded Annixter, as he and Harran, followed by +Presley, drew near. + +“There's hell to pay,” exclaimed Osterman under his breath. “Read that. +Vanamee just brought it.” + +He handed Annixter a sheet of note paper, and turned again to the +cinching of his saddle. + +“We've got to be quick,” he cried. “They've stolen a march on us.” + +Annixter read the note, Harran and Presley looking over his shoulder. + +“Ah, it's them, is it,” exclaimed Annixter. + +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.” + +Annixter turned about, his lips white. Already Presley and Harran had +run to their horses. + +“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.” + +Hooven ran up as Annixter disappeared. His little eyes were blazing, he +was dragging his horse with him. + +“Say, dose fellers come, hey? Me, I'm alretty, see I hev der guhn.” + +“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.” + +She put her arms around his neck. + +“You're going?” she demanded. + +“I must. Don't be frightened. It will be all right. Go to Derrick's +and--good-bye.” + +She said never a word. She looked once long into his eyes, then kissed +him on the mouth. + +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? + +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. + +“Best keep out of this, Pres,” cried Annixter. + +“Are we ready?” exclaimed Gethings. + +“Ready, ready, we're all here.” + +“ALL. Is this all of us?” cried Annixter. “Where are the six hundred men +who were going to rise when this happened?” + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +The riders dismounted, hardly less exhausted than their horses. + +“Why, where's all the men?” Annixter demanded of Magnus. + +“Broderson is here and Cutter,” replied the Governor, “no one else. I +thought YOU would bring more men with you.” + +“There are only nine of us.” + +“And the six hundred Leaguers who were going to rise when this +happened!” exclaimed Garnett, bitterly. + +“Rot the League,” cried Annixter. “It's gone to pot--went to pieces at +the first touch.” + +“We have been taken by surprise, gentlemen, after all,” said Magnus. +“Totally off our guard. But there are eleven of us. It is enough.” + +“Well, what's the game? Has the marshal come? How many men are with +him?” + +“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.” + +“Where are they now?” + +“Cutter is watching them from the Long Trestle. They returned to +Guadalajara. They are there now.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Is anybody on the lookout on the Upper Road?” + +“Cutter. He is on the Long Trestle.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +There were murmurs of assent. + +“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.” + +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? + +“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?” + +The others agreed unanimously and promptly; and old Broderson, tugging +uneasily at his long beard, added: + +“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.” + +“There's a team coming up the road from Los Muertos,” announced Presley +from the door. + +“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.” + +“Is the team going towards Guadalajara?” enquired Garnett, getting up +and coming to the door. + +“Yes, it's a Portuguese, one of the garden truck men.” + +“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.” + +“I'll turn him back,” said Presley. + +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. + +“Martial law on Los Muertos, isn't it?” observed Osterman. “Steady all,” + he exclaimed as he turned about, “here comes Harran.” + +Harran rode up at a gallop. The others surrounded him. + +“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.” + +“Better call in Gethings and Cutter right away,” said Annixter. “We'll +need all our men.” + +“I'll call them in,” Presley volunteered at once. “Can I have the +buckskin? My pony is about done up.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“Where's Hooven?” enquired Cutter. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Think he'll take a shot at them on his own account?” + +“Oh, no, he wouldn't do that.” + +“Maybe they took him prisoner.” + +“Well, that's to be thought of, too.” + +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. + +“Hello, hello, there's something.” + +“Remember, we are not to fire first.” + +“Perhaps that's Hooven; I can't see. Is it? There only seems to be one +horse.” + +“Too much dust for one horse.” + +Annixter, who had taken his field glasses from Harran, adjusted them to +his eyes. + +“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.” + +The tension was relaxed. The men drew long breaths, settling back in +their places. + +“Do we let him go on, Governor?” + +“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.” + +The cart approached at a lively trot. + +“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.” + +The Leaguers roused themselves again. Osterman laid his hand on his +revolver. + +“No,” called Annixter, in another instant, “no, there's only one man in +it.” + +The cart came up, and Cutter and Phelps, clambering from the ditch, +stopped it as it arrived in front of the party. + +“Hey--what--what?” exclaimed the young butcher, pulling up. “Is that +bridge broke?” + +But at the idea of being held, the boy protested at top voice, badly +frightened, bewildered, not knowing what was to happen next. + +“No, no, I got my meat to deliver. Say, you let me go. Say, I ain't got +nothing to do with you.” + +He tugged at the reins, trying to turn the cart about. Cutter, with his +jack-knife, parted the reins just back of the bit. + +“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?” + +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. + +“That's them, all right,” muttered Annixter. “They're coming by this +road, sure.” + +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. + +“Well, what the devil,” demanded Osterman, “has become of Bismarck?” + +In fact, the butcher had seen nothing of Hooven. The minutes were +passing, and still he failed to appear. + +“What's he up to, anyways?” + +“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.” + +Five minutes passed, then ten. The road towards Guadalajara lay empty, +baking and white under the sun. + +“Well, the marshal and S. Behrman don't seem to be in any hurry, +either.” + +“Shall I go forward and reconnoitre, Governor?” asked Harran. + +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: + +“Here comes Hooven.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“All right, get down in here and keep quiet, Hooven. Don't fire +unless----” + +“Here they are.” + +A half-dozen voices uttered the cry at once. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Remember our agreement, gentlemen,” cried Magnus, in a warning voice. +“Mr. Osterman, I must ask you to let down the hammer of your weapon.” + +No one answered. In absolute quiet, standing motionless in their places, +the Leaguers watched the approach of the marshal. + +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. + +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. + +Steadily the distance between the Leaguers and the posse diminished. + +“Don't let them get too close, Governor,” whispered Harran. + +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. + +Magnus cried aloud: + +“Halt where you are.” + +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. + +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: + +“I only know my duty, Mr. Derrick.” + +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. + +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: + +“The statement is a lie and no one knows it better than yourself.” + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“They ought to come back,” declared Annixter. + +“Somebody ought to tell them that those fellows are creeping up.” + +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. + +“They ought to come back,” cried Osterman. “We couldn't shoot now if +anything should happen, for fear of hitting them.” + +“Well, it sounds as though something were going to happen pretty soon.” + +They could hear Gethings and Delaney wrangling furiously; another deputy +joined in. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Governor,” shouted Harran, “come on back. You can't do anything.” + +Still the wrangle continued, and one of the deputies, advancing a little +from out the group, cried out: + +“Keep back there! Keep back there, you!” + +“Go to hell, will you?” shouted Harran on the instant. “You're on my +land.” + +“Oh, come back here, Harran,” called Osterman. “That ain't going to do +any good.” + +“There--listen,” suddenly exclaimed Harran. “The Governor is calling us. +Come on; I'm going.” + +Osterman got out of the ditch and came forward, catching Harran by the +arm and pulling him back. + +“He didn't call. Don't get excited. You'll ruin everything. Get back +into the ditch again.” + +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. + +“Keep back, you,” cried the deputy again. + +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. + +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. + +Garnett had not yet risen when Hooven raised a great shout: + +“HOCH, DER KAISER! HOCH, DER VATERLAND!” + +With the words, he dropped to one knee, and sighting his rifle +carefully, fired into the group of men around the buggy. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +On their way to Derrick's ranch house, Hilma and Mrs. Derrick heard the +sounds of distant firing. + +“Stop!” cried Hilma, laying her hand upon young Vacca's arm. “Stop the +horses. Listen, what was that?” + +The carry-all came to a halt and from far away across the rustling wheat +came the faint rattle of rifles and revolvers. + +“Say,” cried Vacca, rolling his eyes, “oh, say, they're fighting over +there.” + +Mrs. Derrick put her hands over her face. + +“Fighting,” she cried, “oh, oh, it's terrible. Magnus is there--and +Harran.” + +“Where do you think it is?” demanded Hilma. “That's over toward +Hooven's.” + +“I'm going. Turn back. Drive to Hooven's, quick.” + +“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.” + +“Yes, yes, let's go home,” cried Mrs. Derrick, “I'm afraid. Oh, Hilma, +I'm afraid.” + +“Come with me to Hooven's then.” + +“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.” + +“Sure,” repeated young Vacca. + +“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.” + +Grumbling, Vacca turned the carry-all about and drove across the open +fields till he reached the road to Guadalajara, just below the Mission. + +“Hurry!” cried Hilma. + +The horses started forward under the touch of the whip. The ranch houses +of Quien Sabe came in sight. + +“Do you want to stop at the house?” inquired Vacca over his shoulder. + +“No, no; oh, go faster--make the horses run.” + +They dashed through the houses of the Home ranch. + +“Oh, oh,” cried Hilma suddenly, “look, look there. Look what they have +done.” + +Vacca pulled the horses up, for the road in front of Annixter's house +was blocked. + +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. + +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. + +“Oh,” she cried, a sob catching her throat, “oh, how could they do it?” + But other fears intruded; other greater terrors impended. + +“Go on,” she cried to Vacca, “go on quickly.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Hilma sprang from the carry-all. + +“Come,” she said to Mrs. Derrick. + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, what has happened; oh, what has happened?” moaned Mrs. Derrick. + +“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. + +The throng gave way before the two women, parting to right and left +without a word. + +“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?” + +“Don't go in, Mrs. Derrick,” said Presley, coming forward, “don't go +in.” + +“Where is my husband?” demanded Hilma. + +Presley turned away and steadied himself against the jamb of the door. + +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. + +“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. + +Garnett turned a white face to her. + +“Where is my husband?” + +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. + +On hearing that his wife was outside, Magnus came quickly forward. She +threw herself into his arms. + +“Tell me, tell me,” she cried, “is Harran--is----” + +“We don't know yet,” he answered. “Oh, Annie----” + +Then suddenly the Governor checked himself. He, the indomitable, could +not break down now. + +“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.” + +She pressed forward, but he held her back. + +“No, don't see him now. Go into the next room. Garnett, take care of +her.” + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, Harrie, Harrie,” called Mrs. Derrick, catching at one of his hands. + +The doctor shook his head. + +“He is unconscious, Mrs. Derrick.” + +“Where was he--where is--the--the----” + +“Through the lungs.” + +“Will he get well? Tell me the truth.” + +“I don't know. Mrs. Derrick.” + +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: + +“Harrie, Harrie, oh, my son, my little boy.” + +In the outside room, Presley came and went, doing what he could to be of +service, sick with horror, trembling from head to foot. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +When the worst anguish was over and he could find breath to speak, his +first words had been: + +“Were any of the others badly hurt?” + +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. + +“It's Delaney,” said Cutter. “It seems that when he was shot he crawled +off into the wheat. They are looking for him there.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I guess there ain't much fight left in him,” another answered. “Look at +the wheat here.” + +“Lord! He's bled like a stuck pig.” + +“Here's his hat,” abruptly exclaimed the leader of the party. “He can't +be far off. Let's call him.” + +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. + +“Here he is!” + +“Good Lord! Sure, that's him.” + +“Poor fellow, poor fellow.” + +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. + +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. + +“Is he dead?” inquired those in the rear. + +“I don't know.” + +“Well, put your hand on his heart.” “No! I--I don't want to.” + +“What you afraid of?” + +“Well, I just don't want to touch him, that's all. It's bad luck. YOU +feel his heart.” + +“You can't always tell by that.” + +“How can you tell, then? Pshaw, you fellows make me sick. Here, let me +get there. I'll do it.” + +There was a long pause, as the other bent down and laid his hand on the +cow-puncher's breast. + +“Well?” + +“I can't tell. Sometimes I think I feel it beat and sometimes I don't. I +never saw a dead man before.” + +“Well, you can't tell by the heart.” + +“What's the good of talking so blame much. Dead or not, let's carry him +back to the house.” + +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. + +“What did I tell you?” exclaimed one of the group. + +“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.” + +But all at once there was a commotion. The wagon containing Mrs. Hooven, +Minna, and little Hilda drove up. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Slow, slow, take it easy, gentlemen.” + +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. + +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. + +“Here it is, here it is,” exclaimed the man who had been sent to the +house. + +“I won't need it,” answered the doctor, “he's dying now.” + +At the words a great hush widened throughout the throng near at hand. +Some men took off their hats. + +“Stand back,” protested the doctor quietly, “stand back, good people, +please.” + +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. + +“Will somebody go home with the body?” he asked. Gethings stepped +forward and took his place by the driver. The carry-all drove away. + +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. + +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. + +“How is he?” Presley whispered. + +“He won't live,” the other responded. + +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. + +“He is dead, Mr. Derrick,” the surgeon replied. + +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. + +“God help me and forgive me,” he groaned. + +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. + +“Is he--is he--” began the saloon-keeper. + +“Yes, he's dead,” cried Presley. “They're all dead, murdered, shot down, +dead, dead, all of them. Whose turn is next?” + +“That's the way they killed my wife, Presley.” + +“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!” + +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. + +The bodies of Delaney and Christian had already been carried to +Guadalajara and thence taken by train to Bonneville. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Though,” he warned them, “it is precarious hospitality at the best.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +Presley beat his forehead with his clenched fist as he rode on. + +“No,” he cried, “no, kill him, kill him, kill him with my hands.” + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +The speaker sat down amidst loud applause from the Leaguers and less +pronounced demonstrations on the part of the audience. + +A second Leaguer took his place, a tall, clumsy man, half-rancher, +half-politician. + +“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.” + +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: + +“I have just received sad news. Our friend and fellow-citizen, Mr. +Osterman, died this morning between eleven and twelve o'clock.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +Disappointed, bewildered, ashamed, he made his way slowly from the Opera +House and stood on the steps outside, thoughtful, his head bent. + +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. + +Meanwhile, in the Opera House, a great commotion had occurred. Magnus +Derrick had appeared. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This one, still unalterably devoted to Magnus, acquainted him briefly +with the tenor of the speeches that had been made. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Gentlemen of the League,” he began, “citizens of Bonneville” + +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: + +“How about the bribery of those two delegates at Sacramento? Tell us +about that. That's what we want to hear about.” + +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: + +“Put 'em out, put 'em out.” + +“Order, order,” called Garnett, pounding with his gavel. The whole Opera +House was in an uproar. + +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.” + +“Put 'em out, put 'em out.” + +“Briber, briber--Magnus Derrick, unconvicted briber! Put him out.” + +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: + +“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.” + +But at this, the man who had raised the first shout leaned over the +balcony rail, and, his face flaming with wrath, shouted: + +“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.” + +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. + +Genslinger, after pocketing the Governor's hush money, had “sold him +out.” + +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. + +Keast faced the audience. + +“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!” + +“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. + +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?” + +“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.” + +“A lot of benefit we got out of the Ranchers' Commission,” retorted the +other. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +But before Magnus could reply, Garnett turned to Keast. + +“Well, that's what we want him to do, and he won't do it.” + +“Yes, yes,” cried the half-dozen men who crowded around Magnus, “yes, +that's what we want him to do.” + +Keast turned to Magnus. + +“Why, what's all this, Governor?” he exclaimed. “You've got to answer +that. Hey? why don't you give 'em the lie?” + +“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.” + +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? + +“Well, how about this?” demanded Garnett suddenly. “It is a lie, isn't +it? That Commission was elected honestly, wasn't it?” + +“How dare you, sir!” Magnus burst out. “How dare you question me--call +me to account! Please understand, sir, that I tolerate----” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Was the Commission honestly elected?” insisted Garnett. “Were the +delegates--did you bribe the delegates?” + +“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.” + +“Oh, hell! Oh, my God!” exclaimed Keast, sitting swiftly down upon the +ragged sofa. + +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: + +“I see. Well, that's what I was trying to get at. Yes, I see.” + +“Well,” said Gethings at length, bestirring himself, “I guess I'LL go +home.” + +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. + +“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.” + +He went out, shutting the door. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +“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.” + +Presley accepted the wine and sank into the depths of a great leather +chair near by. + +“Sick?” he answered. “Yes, I have been sick. I'm sick now. I'm gone to +pieces, sir.” + +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?” + +“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.” + +“Well, I can easily suppose it,” answered Cedarquist gravely, “after all +you have been through.” + +Presley closed his eyes--they were sunken in circles of dark brown +flesh--and pressed a thin hand to the back of his head. + +“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.” + +“Poor, poor Derrick,” murmured Cedarquist. “Tell me about him, Pres. How +does he take it? What is he going to do?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“If it had only killed him,” continued Presley; “but that is the worst +of it.” + +“How the worst?” + +“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.” + +“But he will have to leave Los Muertos now, of course?” + +“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.” + +“You need looking after yourself, Pres.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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--” + +“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.” + +“That would do very well. Thank you, sir.” + +But Cedarquist was still interested in the land troubles of the +Bonneville farmers, and took the first occasion to ask: + +“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.” + +“No doubt, the road made over their title in the property to him,” + observed Cedarquist, “as a reward of his services.” + +“No doubt,” murmured Presley wearily. He rose to go. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Thank you, sir. Till Friday at seven, then.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The landlady recollected the Hoovens perfectly. + +“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----” + +“Well, do you know where they went? Did you hear what address they had +their trunk expressed to?” + +“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.” + +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?” + +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? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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. + +“Anywhere between half-past six and seven,” the other answered, adding, +“Very often he comes back in the evening.” + +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. + +But the next instant Presley set his teeth. + +“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.” + +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: + +“Mr. Shelgrim will see you, sir.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“Tentell has a family, wife and three children. How much do we pay him?” + +“One hundred and thirty.” + +“Let's double that, or say two hundred and fifty. Let's see how that +will do.” + +“Why--of course--if you say so, but really, Mr. Shelgrim” + +“Well, we'll try that, anyhow.” + +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: + +“Well, sir.” + +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. + +“You,” he said, again facing about, “you are the young man who wrote the +poem called 'The Toilers.'” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I've seen the picture called 'The Toilers,'” continued Shelgrim, “and +of the two, I like the picture better than the poem.” + +“The picture is by a master,” Presley hastened to interpose. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“I had never looked at it in just that light,” repeated Presley. “There +is a great deal in what you say.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“The Railroad's ranch LEASED to Mr. Derrick,” observed Shelgrim. + +Presley spread out his hands with a helpless, resigned gesture. + +“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.” + +“I believe,” answered Presley, “I am persuaded----” He hesitated, +searching for his words. + +“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.” + +“But--but,” faltered Presley, “you are the head, you control the road.” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But none the less, Presley had not been mistaken. The girl whom he had +tried to follow had been indeed Minna Hooven. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Oh, I ain't going to be bothered,” shrilled the other. “How do I know?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“What shall I do, what shall I do, oh, what shall I do, now?” + +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. + +On the corner of California and Dupont streets, she stood a long moment, +pondering. + +“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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Well, this place is only for men,” said the man, looking up from the +lamp. + +“Oh,” said Minna, “oh--I--I didn't know.” + +She looked at him stupidly, and he, with equal stupidity, returned the +gaze. Thus, for a long moment, they held each other's eyes. + +“I--I didn't know,” repeated Minna. + +“Yes, it's for men,” repeated the other. She slowly descended the +stairs, and once more came out upon the streets. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +The group turned and fixed her--so evidently a country girl--with a +supercilious indifference. + +“Well, you might try,” said one of them. “Got good references?” + +“References?” repeated Minna blankly. She did not know what this meant. + +“Oh, Mrs. Field ain't the kind to stick about references,” spoke up the +other, “she's that soft. Why, anybody could work her.” + +“I'll go there,” said Minna. “Have you the address?” It was told to her. + +“Lorin,” she murmured. “Is that out of town?” + +“Well, it's across the Bay.” + +“Across the Bay.” + +“Um. You're from the country, ain't you?” + +“Yes. How--how do I get there? Is it far?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Her heart beating, her breath failing, she rang the bell set squarely in +the middle of the front door. + +The lady of the house herself, an elderly lady, with pleasant, kindly +face, opened the door. Minna stated her errand. + +“But I have already engaged a girl,” she said. + +“Oh,” murmured Minna, striving with all her might to maintain +appearances. “Oh--I thought perhaps--” She turned away. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“Yes, ma'am.” + +“Well, I'll give you the address. She lives up in North Berkeley.” + +She turned back into the house a moment, and returned, handing Minna a +card. + +“That's where she lives--careful not to BLOT it, child, the ink's wet +yet--you had better see her.” + +“Is it far? Could I walk there?” + +“My, no; you better take the electric cars, about six blocks above +here.” + +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. + +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. + +“I MUST, I MUST do something, oh, anything. I must have something to +eat.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +“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?” + +“I don't know where mamma is,” answered Minna. “We got separated, and I +never have been able to find her again.” + +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. + +“Well, but--but how are you getting on?” he demanded. + +Minna laughed scornfully. + +“I?” she cried. “Oh, I'VE gone to hell. It was either that or +starvation.” + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Have I blundered?” Presley hastened to exclaim. “Did not Mr. Cedarquist +mention Friday evening?” + +“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!” + +Once settled in the cool gloom of the coupe, odorous of leather and +upholstery, Mrs. Cedarquist exclaimed: + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +He entered, collecting his wits for the introductions and presentations +that he foresaw impended. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Gerard came forward. + +“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.” + +The footman appeared at her elbow. + +“Dinner is served, madame,” he announced. + +***** + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Do you want to get arrested, hey?” he demanded. “Do you want me to lock +you up? Say, do you, speak up?” + +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. + +“Mammy, I'm tired,” Hilda complained. + +Her mother picked her up. + +“Mammy, where're we gowun, mammy?” + +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? + +She could not stand still. There was no place to sit down; but one thing +was left, walk. + +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. + +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. + +Hilda fretted incessantly. + +“Mammy, where're we gowun? Mammy, I'm tired.” Then, at last, for the +first time, that plaint that stabbed the mother's heart: + +“Mammy, I'm hungry.” + +“Be qui-ut, den,” said Mrs. Hooven. “Bretty soon we'll hev der subber.” + +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? + +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. + +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. + +“Say, Meest'r; say, blease----” + +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. + +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: + +“Mammy, I'm hungry.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A policeman came into view. She woke Hilda, and carrying her in her +arms, took herself away. + +“Mammy,” began Hilda as soon as she was well awake; “Mammy, I'm hungry. +I want mein breakfest.” + +“Sure, sure, soon now, leedle tochter.” + +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! + +“Mammy, I'm hungry.” + +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. + +“Mammy, I'm hungry,” protested Hilda again. + +She made up her mind. What, though, was she to say? In what words did +beggars ask for assistance? + +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. + +“Say, den, blease hellup a boor womun.” + +The gentleman passed on. + +“Perhaps he doand hear me,” she murmured. + +Two well-dressed women advanced, chattering gayly. + +“Say, say, den, blease hellup a boor womun.” + +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. + +The next person to whom she applied was a young girl of about eighteen, +very prettily dressed. + +“Say, say, den, blease hellup a boor womun.” + +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. + +In the end, she found a dime, and dropped it into Mrs. Hooven's palm. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“Gome, den, leedle girl,” she said, rising and taking Hilda's hand. +“Gome, den, we go vind subber, hey?” + +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). + +“Say, say, den, blease hellup a boor womun.” + +“Mammy, mammy, I'm hungry.” + +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. + +***** + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +“This is from your own vineyard, is it not?” asked Julian Lambert. “I +think I recognise the bouquet.” + +He strove to maintain an attitude of fin gourmet, unable to refrain from +comment upon the courses as they succeeded one another. + +Little Honora Gerard turned to Presley: + +“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. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +***** + +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. + +“Mammy,” whimpered Hilda. “I'm tired, carry me.” + +Using all her strength, Mrs. Hooven picked her up and moved on +aimlessly. + +Then again that terrible cry, the cry of the hungry child appealing to +the helpless mother: + +“Mammy, I'm hungry.” + +“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.” + +“When do we have those bread'n milk again, Mammy?” + +“To-morrow--soon--py-and-py, Hilda. I doand know what pecome oaf us now, +what pecome oaf my leedle babby.” + +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. + +“Say, say, den, Meest'r, blease hellup a boor womun.” + +The other hurried on. + +***** + +The fish course was grenadins of bass and small salmon, the latter +stuffed, and cooked in white wine and mushroom liquor. + +“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?” + +“I am very glad,” murmured Presley. + +“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.” + +“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.'” + +“How very clever that is,” said Mrs. Gerard. + +Mrs. Cedarquist tapped the table with her fan in mild applause. + +“Brilliant, brilliant,” she murmured, “epigrammatical.” + +“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.” + +***** + +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. + +“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.” + +But it could not be eaten. Decayed, dirty, all but rotting, the stomach +turned from the refuse, nauseated. + +“No, no,” cried Hilda, “that's not good. I can't eat it. Oh, Mammy, +please gif me those bread'n milk.” + +***** + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +***** + +At ten o'clock Mrs. Hooven fell. + +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. + +“Ach, Mammy, did you hurt yourself?” asked Hilda. + +“No, no.” + +“Is that house where we get those bread'n milk?” + +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. + +“No, no, dere aindt no braid end miluk, leedle tochter.” + +Hilda once more began to sob. + +“Ach, Mammy, please, PLEASE, I want it. I'm hungry.” + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Vair we go now?” demanded Hilda. + +“No places. Mommer's soh tiredt. We stop heir, leedle while, end rest.” + +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. + +Hilda's fingers touched a leaf from the bush and instinctively closed +upon it and carried it to her mouth. + +“Mammy,” she said, “I'm eating those leaf. Is those good?” + +Her mother did not reply. + +“You going to sleep, Mammy?” inquired Hilda, touching her face. + +Mrs. Hooven roused herself a little. + +“Hey? Vat you say? Asleep? Yais, I guess I wass asleep.” + +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. + +***** + +“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.” + +“And this asparagus--since Mr. Lambert has set the bad example,” + observed Mrs. Cedarquist, “so delicate, such an exquisite flavour. How +do you manage?” + +“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.” + +“Nor I,” exclaimed Julian Lambert, who posed as an epicure. “I can tell +to an hour just how long asparagus has been picked.” + +“Fancy eating ordinary market asparagus,” said Mrs. Gerard, “that has +been fingered by Heaven knows how many hands.” + +***** + +“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.” + +Feebly Hilda shook her by the shoulder. At last Mrs. Hooven's lips +stirred. Putting her head down, Hilda distinguished the whispered words: + +“I'm sick. Go to schleep....Sick....Noddings to eat.” + +***** + +The dessert was a wonderful preparation of alternate layers of biscuit +glaces, ice cream, and candied chestnuts. + +“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.” + +“And you should know, shouldn't you?” returned the young lady. + +***** + +“Mammy, mammy, wake up,” cried Hilda. “Don't sleep so. I'm frightenedt.” + +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. + +“I'll take the little girl,” she said to the police officer. + +“But the mother, can you save her? Is she too far gone?” + +“I've sent for a doctor,” replied the other. + +***** + +Just before the ladies left the table, young Lambert raised his glass of +Madeira. Turning towards the wife of the Railroad King, he said: + +“My best compliments for a delightful dinner.” + +***** + +The doctor who had been bending over Mrs. Hooven, rose. + +“It's no use,” he said; “she has been dead some time--exhaustion from +starvation.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +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?” + +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. + +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. + +“What's the matter, Billy?” demanded S. Behrman reining up. + +The engineer turned about. + +“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.” + +S. Behrman nodded to say that was all right, and added a question. + +“How is she going?” + +“Anywheres from twenty-five to thirty sacks to the acre right along +here; nothing the matter with THAT I guess.” + +“Nothing in the world, Bill.” + +One of the sack sewers interposed: + +“For the last half hour we've been throwing off three bags to the +minute.” + +“That's good, that's good.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“How is the grain elevator at Port Costa getting on, sir?” + +“Finished,” replied S. Behrman. + +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. + +“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.” + +“A ship load!” + +“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.” + +“Hadn't I better take a run up,” observed the superintendent, “and keep +an eye on things?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Well, what brings you down here again, Mr. Presley?” he observed. “I +thought we had seen the last of you.” + +“I came down to say good-bye to my friends,” answered Presley shortly. + +“Going away?” + +“Yes--to India.” + +“Well, upon my word. For your health, hey?” + +“Yes.” + +“You LOOK knocked up,” asserted the other. “By the way,” he added, “I +suppose you've heard the news?” + +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. + +“What news do you mean?” he asked. + +“About Dyke. He has been convicted. The judge sentenced him for life.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“Why there?” + +“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.” + +“He will go with you, then,” Presley said, “that will be some comfort to +you at least.” + +“I don't know,” she said slowly, “you have not seen Magnus lately.” + +“Is he--how do you mean? Isn't he any better?” + +“Would you like to see him? He is in the office. You can go right in.” + +Presley rose. He hesitated a moment, then: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“Ah,” he said at length, “Presley...yes.” + +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.” + +“Going away...yes, why it's Presley. Good-day, Presley.” + +“Good-day, Governor. I'm going away. I've come to say good-bye.” + +“Good-bye?” Magnus bent his brows, “what are you saying good-bye for?” + +“I'm going away, sir.” + +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: + +“How are you getting on, Governor?” + +Magnus looked up slowly. + +“Why it's Presley,” he said. “How do you do, Presley.” + +“Are you getting on all right, sir?” + +“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?” + +“Well, you are going away, too, your wife tells me.” + +“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?” + +“Los Muertos,” put in Presley. + +“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.” + +“Well, I hope you will be better soon, Governor.” + +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. + +S. Behrman saluted both men affably and sat down near the desk, drawing +the links of his heavy watch chain through his fat fingers. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Yes, yes,” he said quickly, “you can send your men here. I will be gone +by to-morrow.” + +“I don't want to seem to hurry you, Governor.” “No, you will not hurry +me. I am ready to go now.” + +“Anything I can do for you, Governor?” + +“Nothing.” + +“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?” + +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? + +“What do you say?” he repeated. “Will you try the place?” + +“You--you INSIST?” inquired the Governor. + +“Oh, I'm not insisting on anything,” cried S. Behrman. “I'm offering you +a place, that's all. Will you take it?” + +“Yes, yes, I'll take it.” + +“You'll come over to our side?” + +“Yes, I'll come over.” + +“You'll have to turn 'railroad,' understand?” + +“I'll turn railroad.” + +“Guess there may be times when you'll have to take orders from me.” + +“I'll take orders from you.” + +“You'll have to be loyal to railroad, you know. No funny business.” + +“I'll be loyal to the railroad.” + +“You would like the place then?” + +“Yes.” + +S. Behrman turned from Magnus, who at once resumed his seat and began +again to sort his papers. + +“Well, Presley,” said the railroad agent: “I guess I won't see you +again.” + +“I hope not,” answered the other. + +“Tut, tut, Presley, you know you can't make me angry.” + +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. + +Presley looked at the man a moment before replying. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“It was.” + +“Well, that don't show any common sense, Presley,” returned S. Behrman +with perfect aplomb. “What could you have gained by killing me?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +She sat down upon the sofa. + +“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?” + +“No,” she answered, “nothing. Papa is doing well. We are living here +now.” + +“You are well?” + +She made a little helpless gesture with both her hands, smiling very +sadly. + +“As you see,” she answered. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Are you,” he asked her, “are you so unhappy, Hilma, that you can look +forward to no more brightness in your life?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I think I see,” she answered, “and I never thought about it in that +light before.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +They talked a little longer, and at length Presley rose. + +“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.” + +“Yes,” answered Hilma. “Yes, I will.” + +There was a pause. There seemed to be nothing more for either of them to +say. Presley held out his hand. + +“Good-bye,” she said, as she gave him hers. + +He carried it to his lips. + +“Good-bye,” he answered. “Good-bye and may God bless you.” + +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. + +“And you, Mrs. Dyke,” he asked as he took her hand, “in this break-up of +everything, where do you go?” + +“To the city,” she answered, “to San Francisco. I have a sister there +who will look after the little tad.” + +“But you, how about yourself, Mrs. Dyke?” + +She answered him in a quiet voice, monotonous, expressionless: + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Good-bye,” he said, holding out his hand. + +“Good-bye.” + +“Good-bye, Sidney.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +There was a long pause. Presley, his mind full of new thoughts, held his +peace, and Vanamee added at length: + +“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.” + +He rose suddenly. The friends clasped each other's hands. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I love you, I love you,” she murmured. + +***** + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +He went aboard by a very steep gangway and found the mate on the quarter +deck. S. Behrman introduced himself. + +“Well,” he added, “how are you getting on?” + +“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.” + +“I'll have a look 'round, I believe,” returned S. Behrman. + +“Right--oh,” answered the mate with a nod. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Hell,” he muttered, “here's a fix.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +He sprang up trembling and made for another corner. + +“By God,” he cried, “by God, I must think of something pretty quick!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +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. + +He sent his trunks aboard and at once hurried to Cedarquist's office to +say good-bye. He found the manufacturer in excellent spirits. + +“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.” + +“Yes, yes,” answered Presley. “Well, he knows his business best.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Good-bye, sir.” + +“Get fat yourself while you're about it, Presley,” he observed, as the +two stood up and shook hands. + +“There shouldn't be any lack of food on a wheat ship. Bread enough, +surely.” + +“Little monotonous, though. 'Man cannot live by bread alone.' Well, +you're really off. Good-bye.” + +“Good-bye, sir.” + +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: + +“Vote for Lyman Derrick, Regular Republican Nominee for Governor of +California.” + +***** + +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: + +“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.” + +“I see,” answered Presley, “I see. Thanks. I am glad to know that.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + + +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 268-0.txt or 268-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/268/ + +Produced by John Hamm + +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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