Desert Gold (28 page)

“Dad!” she cried.

“That'll do from you,” he replied, in a voice he had never used to her. “Get breakfast now, then pack to leave Forlorn River.”

“Leave Forlorn River!” whispered Nell, with a thin white hand stealing up to her breast. How changed the girl was! Belding reproached himself for his hardness, but did not speak his thought aloud. Nell was fading here, just as Mercedes had faded before the coming of Thorne.

Nell turned away to the west window and looked out across the desert toward the dim blue peaks in the distance. Belding watched her; likewise the Gales; and no one spoke. There ensued a long silence. Belding felt a lump rise in his throat. Nell laid her arm against the window frame, but gradually it dropped, and she was leaning with her face against the wood. A low sob broke from her. Elsie Gale went to her, embraced her, took the drooping head on her shoulder.

“We've come to be such friends,” she said. “I believe it'll be good for you to visit me in the city. Here—all day you look out across that awful lonely desert…. Come, Nell.”

Heavy steps sounded outside on the flagstones, then the door rattled under a strong knock. Belding opened it. The Chases, father and son, stood beyond the threshold.

“Good morning, Belding,” said the elder Chase. “We were routed out early by that big blast and came up to see what was wrong. All a blunder. The Greaser foreman was drunk yesterday, and his ignorant men made a mistake. Sorry if the blast bothered you.”

“Chase, I reckon that's the first of your blasts I was ever glad to hear,” replied Belding, in a way that made Chase look blank.

“So? Well, I'm glad you're glad,” he went on, evidently puzzled. “I was a little worried—you've always been so touchy—we never could get together. I hurried over, fearing maybe you might think the blast—you see, Belding—”

“I see this, Mr. Ben Chase,” interrupted Belding, in curt and ringing voice. “The blast
was
a mistake, the biggest you ever made in your life.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Chase.

“You'll have to excuse me for a while, unless you're dead set on having it out right now. Mr. Gale and his family are leaving, and my daughter is going with them. I'd rather you'd wait a little.”

“Nell going away!” exclaimed Radford Chase. He reminded Belding of an overgrown boy in disappointment.

“Yes. But—
Miss Burton
to you, young man—”

“Mr. Belding, I certainly would prefer a conference with you right now,” interposed the elder Chase, cutting short Belding's strange speech. “There are other matters—important matters to discuss. They've got to be settled. May we step in, sir?”

“No, you may not,” replied Belding, bluntly. “I'm sure particular who I invite into my house. But I'll go with you.”

Belding stepped out and closed the door. “Come away from the house so the women won't hear the—the talk.”

The elder Chase was purple with rage, yet seemed to be controlling it. The younger man looked black, sullen, impatient. He appeared not to have a thought of Belding. He was absolutely blind to the situation, as considered from Belding's point of view. Ben Chase found his voice about the time Belding halted under the trees out of earshot from the house.

“Sir, you've insulted me—my son. How dare you? I want you to understand that you're—”

“Chop that kind of talk with me, you——!” interrupted Belding. He had always been profane, and now he certainly did not choose his language. Chase turned livid, gasped, and seemed about to give way to fury. But something about Belding evidently exerted a powerful quieting influence. “If you talk sense I'll listen,” went on Belding.

Belding was frankly curious. He did not think any argument or inducement offered by Chase could change his mind on past dealings or his purpose of the present. But he believed by listening he might get some light on what had long puzzled him. The masterly effort Chase put forth to conquer his aroused passions gave Belding another idea of the character of this promoter.

“I want to make a last effort to propitiate you,” began Chase, in his quick, smooth voice. That was a singular change to Belding—the dropping instantly into an easy flow of speech. “You've had losses here, and naturally you're sore. I don't blame you. But you can't see this thing from my side of the fence. Business is business. In business the best man wins. The law upheld those transactions of mine the honesty of which you questioned. As to mining and water claims, you lost on this technical point—that you had nothing to prove you had held them for five years. Five years is the time necessary in law. A dozen men might claim the source of Forlorn River, but if they had no house or papers to prove their squatters' rights any man could go in and fight them for the water…. Now I want to run that main ditch along the river, through your farm. Can't we make a deal? I'm ready to be liberal—to meet you more than halfway. I'll give you an interest in the company. I think I've influence enough up at the Capitol to have you reinstated as inspector. A little reasonableness on your part will put you right again in Forlorn River, with a chance of growing rich. There's a big future here…. My interest, Belding, has become personal. Radford is in love with your stepdaughter. He wants to marry her. I'll admit now if I had foreseen this situation I wouldn't have pushed you so hard. But we can square the thing. Now let's get together not only in business, but in a family way. If my son's happiness depends upon having this girl, you may rest assured I'll do all I can to get her for him. I'll absolutely make good all your losses. Now what do you say?”

“No,” replied Belding. “Your money can't buy a right of way across my ranch. And Nell doesn't want your son. That settles that.”

“But you could persuade her.”

“I won't, that's all.”

“May I ask why?” Chase's voice was losing its suave quality but it was even swifter than before.

“Sure I don't mind your asking,” replied Belding, in slow deliberation. “I wouldn't do such a low-down trick. Besides, if I would, I'd want it to be a man I was persuading for. I know Greasers—I know a Yaqui I'd rather give Nell to than your son.”

Radford Chase began to roar in inarticulate rage. Belding paid no attention to him; indeed, he never glanced at the young man. The elder Chase checked a violent start. He plucked at the collar of his gray flannel shirt, opened it at the neck.

“My son's offer of marriage is an honor—more an honor, sir, than you perhaps are aware of.”

Belding made no reply. His steady gaze did not turn from the long lane that led down to the river. He waited coldly, sure of himself.

“Mrs. Belding's daughter has no right to the name of Burton,” snapped Chase. “Did you know that?”

“I did not,” replied Belding, quietly.

“Well, you know it now,” added Chase, bitingly.

“Sure you can prove what you say?” queried Belding, in the same cool, unemotional tone. It struck him strangely at the moment what little knowledge this man had of the West and of Western character.

“Prove it? Why, yes, I think so, enough to make the truth plain to any reasonable man. I come from Peoria—was born and raised there. I went to school with Nell Warren. That was your wife's maiden name. She was a beautiful, gay girl. All the fellows were in love with her. I knew Bob Burton well. He was a splendid fellow, but wild. Nobody ever knew for sure, but we all supposed he was engaged to marry Nell. He left Peoria, however, and soon after that the truth about Nell came out. She ran away. It was at least a couple of months before Burton showed up in Peoria. He did not stay long. Then for years nothing was heard of either of them. When word did come Nell was in Oklahoma, Burton was in Denver. There's a chance, of course, that Burton followed Nell and married her. That would account for Nell Warren taking the name of Burton. But it isn't likely. None of us ever heard of such a thing and wouldn't have believed it if we had. The affair seemed destined to end unfortunately. But Belding, while I'm at it, I want to say that Nell Warren was one of the sweetest, finest, truest girls in the world. If she drifted to the Southwest and kept her past a secret that was only natural. Certainly it should not be held against her. Why, she was only a child—a girl—seventeen—eighteen years old…. In a moment of amazement—when I recognized your wife as an old schoolmate—I blurted the thing out to Radford. You see now how little it matters to me when I ask your stepdaughter's hand in marriage for my son.”

Belding stood listening. The genuine emotion in Chase's voice was as strong as the ring of truth. Belding knew truth when he heard it. The revelation did not surprise him. Belding did not soften, for he divined that Chase's emotion was due to the probing of an old wound, the recalling of a past both happy and painful. Still, human nature was so strange that perhaps kindness and sympathy might yet have a place in this Chase's heart. Belding did not believe so, but he was willing to give Chase the benefit of the doubt.

“So you told my wife you'd respect her secret—keep her dishonor from husband and daughter?” demanded Belding, his dark gaze sweeping back from the lane.

“What! I—I—” stammered Chase.

“You made your son swear to be a man and die before he'd hint the thing to Nell?” went on Belding, and his voice rang louder.

Ben Chase had no answer. The red left his face. His son slunk back against the fence.

“I say you never held this secret over the heads of my wife and her daughter?” thundered Belding.

He had his answer in the gray faces, in the lips that fear made mute. Like a flash Belding saw the whole truth of Mrs. Belding's agony, the reason for her departure; he saw what had been driving Nell; and it seemed that all the dogs of hell were loosed within his heart. He struck out blindly, instinctively in his pain, and the blow sent Ben Chase staggering into the fence corner. Then he stretched forth a long arm and whirled Radford Chase back beside his father.

“I see it all now,” went on Belding, hoarsely. “You found the woman's weakness—her love for the girl. You found the girl's weakness—her pride and fear of shame. So you drove the one and hounded the other. God, what a base thing to do! To
tell
the girl was bad enough, but to
threaten
her with betrayal; there's no name for that!”

Belding's voice thickened, and he paused, breathing heavily. He stepped back a few paces; and this, an ominous action for an armed man of his kind, instead of adding to the fear of the Chases, seemed to relieve them. If there had been any pity in Belding's heart he would have felt it then.

“And now, gentlemen,” continued Belding, speaking low and with difficulty, “seeing I've turned down your proposition, I suppose you think you've no more call to keep your mouths shut?”

The elder Chase appeared fascinated by something he either saw or felt in Belding, and his gray face grew grayer. He put up a shaking hand. Then Radford Chase, livid and snarling, burst out: “I'll talk till I'm black in the face. You can't stop me!”

“You'll go black in the face, but it won't be from talking,” hissed Belding.

His big arm swept down, and when he threw it up the gun glittered in his hand. Simultaneously with the latter action pealed out a shrill, penetrating whistle.

The whistle of a horse! It froze Belding's arm aloft. For an instant he could not move even his eyes. The familiarity of that whistle was terrible in its power to rob him of strength. Then he heard the rapid, heavy pound of hoofs, and again the piercing whistle.

“Blanco Diablo!”
he cried, huskily.

He turned to see a huge white horse come thundering into the yard. A wild, gaunt, terrible horse; indeed, the loved Blanco Diablo. A bronzed, long-haired Indian bestrode him. More white horses galloped into the yard, pounded to a halt, whistling home. Belding saw a slim shadow of a girl who seemed all great black eyes.

Under the trees flashed Blanco Sol, as dazzling white, as beautiful as if he had never been lost in the desert. He slid to a halt, then plunged and stamped. His rider leaped, throwing the bridle. Belding saw a powerful, spare, ragged man, with dark, gaunt face and eyes of flame.

Then Nell came running from the house, her golden hair flying, her hands outstretched, her face wonderful.

“Dick! Dick! Oh-h-h, Dick!” she cried. Her voice seemed to quiver in Belding's heart.

Belding's eyes began to blur. He was not sure he saw clearly. Whose face was this now close before him—a long thin, shrunken face, haggard, tragic in its semblance of torture, almost of death? But the eyes were keen and kind. Belding thought wildly that they proved he was not dreaming.

“I shore am glad to see you all,” said a well-remembered voice in a slow, cool drawl.

Ladd, Lash, Thorne, Mercedes, they were all held tight in Belding's arms. Then he ran to Blanco Diablo. For once the great horse was gentle, quiet, glad. He remembered this kindest of masters and reached for him with warm, wet muzzle.

Dick Gale was standing bowed over Nell's slight form, almost hidden in his arms. Belding hugged them both. He was like a boy. He saw Ben Chase and his son slip away under the trees, but the circumstance meant nothing to him then.

“Dick! Dick!” he roared. “Is it you?…Say, who do you think's here—here, in Forlorn River?”

Gale gripped Belding with a hand as rough and hard as a file and as strong as a vise. But he did not speak a word. Belding thought Gale's eyes would haunt him forever.

It was then three more persons came upon the scene—Elsie Gale, running swiftly, her father assisting Mrs. Gale, who appeared about to faint.

“Belding! Who on earth's that?” cried Dick, hoarsely.

“Quién sabe,
my son,” replied Belding; and now his voice seemed a little shaky. “Nell, come here. Give him a chance.”

Belding slipped his arm round Nell, and whispered in her ear. “This'll be great!”

Elsie Gale's face was white and agitated, a face expressing extreme joy.

“Oh, Brother! Mama saw you—Papa saw you, and never knew you! But I knew you when you jumped quick—that way—off your horse. And now I don't know you. You wild man! You giant! You splendid barbarian!…Mama, Papa, hurry! It
is
Dick! Look at him. Just look at him! Oh-h, thank God!”

Belding turned away and drew Nell with him. In another second she and Mercedes were clasped in each other's arms. Then followed a time of joyful greetings all round.

The Yaqui stood leaning against a tree watching the welcoming home of the lost. No one seemed to think of him, until Belding, ever mindful of the needs of horses, put a hand on Blanco Diablo and called to Yaqui to bring the others. They led the string of whites down to the barn, freed them of wet and dusty saddles and packs, and turned them loose in the alfalfa, now breast-high. Diablo found his old spirit; Blanco Sol tossed his head and whistled his satisfaction; White Woman pranced to and fro; and presently they all settled down to quiet grazing. How good it was for Belding to see those white shapes against the rich background of green! His eyes glistened. It was a sight he had never expected to see again. He lingered there many moments when he wanted to hurry back to his rangers.

At last he tore himself away from watching Blanco Diablo and returned to the house. It was only to find that he might have spared himself the hurry. Jim and Ladd were lying on the beds that had not held them for so many months. Their slumber seemed as deep and quiet as death. Curiously Belding gazed down upon them. They had removed only boots and chaps. Their clothes were in tatters. Jim appeared little more than skin and bones, a long shape, dark and hard as iron. Ladd's appearance shocked Belding. The ranger looked an old man, blasted, shriveled, starved. Yet his gaunt face, though terrible in its records of tortures, had something fine and noble, even beautiful to Belding, in its strength, its victory.

Thorne and Mercedes had disappeared. The low murmur of voices came from Mrs. Gale's room, and Belding concluded that Dick was still with his family. No doubt he, also, would soon seek rest and sleep. Belding went through the patio and called in at Nell's door. She was there sitting by her window. The flush of happiness had not left her face, but she looked stunned, and a shadow of fear lay dark in her eyes. Belding had intended to talk. He wanted someone to listen to him. The expression in Nell's eyes, however, silenced him. He had forgotten. Nell read his thought in his face, and then she lost all her color and dropped her head. Belding entered, stood beside her with a hand on hers. He tried desperately hard to think of the right thing to say, and realized so long as he tried that he could not speak at all.

“Nell—Dick's back safe and sound,” he said, slowly. “That's the main thing. I wish you could have seen his eyes when he held you in his arms out there…. Of course, Dick's coming knocks out your trip East and changes plans generally. We haven't had the happiest time lately. But now it'll all be different. Dick's as true as a Yaqui. He'll chase that Chase fellow, don't mistake me…. Then Mother will be home soon. She'll straighten out this—this mystery. And Nell—however it turns out—I know Dick Gale will feel just the same as I feel. Brace up now, girl.”

Belding left the patio and traced thoughtful steps back toward the corrals. He realized the need of his wife. If she had been at home he would not have come so close to killing two men. Nell would never have fallen so low in spirit. Whatever the real truth of the tragedy of his wife's life, it would not make the slightest difference to him. What hurt him was the pain mother and daughter had suffered, were suffering still. Somehow he must put an end to that pain.

He found the Yaqui curled up in a corner of the barn in as deep a sleep as that of the rangers. Looking down at him, Belding felt again the rush of curious thrilling eagerness to learn all that had happened since the dark night when Yaqui had led the white horses away into the desert. Belding curbed his impatience and set to work upon tasks he had long neglected. Presently he was interrupted by Mr. Gale, who came out, beside himself with happiness and excitement. He flung a hundred questions at Belding and never gave him time to answer one, even if that had been possible. Finally, when Mr. Gale lost his breath, Belding got a word in. “See here, Mr. Gale, you know as much as I know. Dick's back. They're all back—a hard lot, starved, burned, torn to pieces, worked out to the limit I never saw in desert travelers, but they're alive—alive and well, man! Just wait. Just gamble I won't sleep or eat till I hear that story. But
they've
got to sleep and eat.

Belding gathered with growing amusement that besides the joy, excitement, anxiety, impatience expressed by Mr. Gale there was something else which Belding took for pride. It pleased him. Looking back, he remembered some of the things Dick had confessed his father thought of him. Belding's sympathy had always been with the boy. But he had learned to like the old man, to find him kind and wise, and to think that perhaps college and business had not brought out the best in Richard Gale. The West had done that, however, as it had for many a wild youngster; and Belding resolved to have a little fun at the expense of Mr. Gale. So he began by making a few remarks that appeared to rob Dick's father of both speech and breath.

“And don't mistake me,” concluded Belding, “just keep out of earshot when Laddy tells us the story of that desert trip, unless you're hankering to have your hair turn
pure
white and stand
curled
on end
and freeze
that way.”

 

About the middle of the forenoon on the following day the rangers hobbled out of the kitchen to the porch.

“I'm a sick man, I tell you,” Ladd was complaining, “an' I gotta be fed. Soup! Beef tea! That ain't so much as wind to me. I want about a barrel of bread an' butter, an' a whole platter of mashed potatoes with gravy an' green stuff—all kinds of green stuff—an' a whole big apple pie. Give me everythin' an' anythin' to eat but meat. Shore I never, never want to taste meat again, an' sight of a piece of sheep meat would jest about finish me…. Jim, you used to be a human bein' that stood up for Charlie Ladd.”

“Laddy, I'm lined up beside you with both guns,” replied Jim, plaintively. “Hungry? Say, the smell of breakfast in that kitchen made my mouth water so I near choked to death. I reckon we're gettin' most onhuman treatment.”

“But I'm a sick man,” protested Ladd, “an' I'm agoin' to fall over in a minute if somebody doesn't feed me. Nell, you
used
to be fond of me.”

“Oh, Laddy, I am yet,” replied Nell.

“Shore I don't believe it. Any girl with a tender heart just couldn't let a man starve under her eyes…. Look at Dick, there. I'll bet he's had something to eat, mebbe potatoes an' gravy, an' pie an'—”

“Laddy, Dick has had no more than I gave you—indeed, not nearly so much.”

“Shore he's had a lot of kisses then, for he hasn't hollered onct about this treatment.”

“Perhaps he has,” said Nell, with a blush; “and if you think that—they would help you to be reasonable I might—I'll—”

“Well, powerful fond as I am of you, just now kisses'll have to run second to bread an' butter.”

“Oh, Laddy, what a gallant speech!” laughed Nell. “I'm sorry, but I've Dad's orders.”

“Laddy,” interrupted Belding, “you've got to be broke in gradually to eating. Now you know that. You'd be the severest kind of a boss if you had some starved beggars on your hands.”

“But I'm sick—I'm dyin',” howled Ladd.

“You were never sick in your life, and if all the bullet holes I see in you couldn't kill you, why, you never will die.”

“Can I smoke?” queried Ladd, with sudden animation. “My Gawd, I used to smoke. Shore I've forgot. Nell, if you want to be reinstated in my gallery of angels, just find me a pipe an' tobacco.”

“I've hung onto my pipe,” said Jim, thoughtfully. “I reckon I had it empty in my mouth for seven years or so, wasn't it, Laddy? A long time! I can see the red lava an' the red haze, an' the red twilight creepin' up. It was hot an' some lonely. Then the wind, and always that awful silence! An' always Yaqui watchin' the west, an' Laddy with his checkers, an' Mercedes burnin' up, wastin' away to nothin' but eyes! It's all there—I'll never get rid—”

“Chop that kind of talk,” interrupted Belding, bluntly. “Tell us where Yaqui took you—what happened to Rojas—why you seemed lost for so long.”

“I reckon Laddy can tell all that best; but when it comes to Rojas's finish I'll tell what I seen, an' so'll Dick an' Thorne. Laddy missed Rojas's finish. Bar none, that was the—”

“I'm a sick man, but I can talk,” put in Ladd, “an' shore I don't want the whole story exaggerated none by Jim.”

Ladd filled the pipe Nell brought, puffed ecstatically at it, and settled himself upon the bench for a long talk. Nell glanced appealingly at Dick, who tried to slip away. Mercedes did go, and was followed by Thorne. Mr. Gale brought chairs, and in subdued excitement called his wife and daughter. Belding leaned forward, rendered all the more eager by Dick's reluctance to stay, the memory of the quick tragic change in the expression of Mercedes's beautiful eyes, by the strange gloomy cast stealing over Ladd's face.

The ranger talked for two hours—talked till his voice weakened to a husky whisper. At the conclusion of his story there was an impressive silence. Then Elsie Gale stood up, and with her hand on Dick's shoulder, her eyes bright and warm as sunlight, she showed the rangers what a woman thought of them and of the Yaqui. Nell clung to Dick, weeping silently. Mrs. Gale was overcome, and Mr. Gale, very white and quiet, helped her up to her room.

“The Indian! the Indian!” burst out Belding, his voice deep and rolling. “What did I tell you? Didn't I say he'd be a godsend? Remember what I said about Yaqui and some gory Aztec knife work? So he cut Rojas loose from that awful crater wall, foot by foot, finger by finger, slow and terrible? And Rojas didn't hang long on the
cholla
thorns? Thank the Lord for that!…Laddy, no story of Camino del Diablo can hold a candle to yours. The flight and the fight were jobs for men. But living through this long hot summer and coming out—that's a miracle. Only the Yaqui could have done it. The Yaqui! the Yaqui!”

“Shore. Charlie Ladd looks up at an Indian these days. But Beldin', as for the comin' out, don't forget the hosses. Without grand old Sol an' Diablo, who I don't hate no more, an' the other Blancos, we'd never have got here. Yaqui
an'
the hosses, that's my story!”

 

Early in the afternoon of the next day Belding encountered Dick at the water barrel.

“Belding, this is river water, and muddy at that,” said Dick. “Lord knows I'm not kicking. But I've dreamed some of our cool running spring, and I want a drink from it.”

“Never again, son. The spring's gone, faded, sunk, dry as dust.”

“Dry!” Gale slowly straightened. “We've had rains. The river's full. The spring ought to be overflowing. What's wrong? Why is it dry?”

“Dick, seeing you're interested, I may as well tell you that a big charge of nitroglycerin choked my spring.”

“Nitroglycerin?” echoed Gale. Then he gave a quick start. “My mind's been on home, Nell, my family. But all the same I felt something was wrong here with the ranch, with you, with Nell…. Belding, that ditch there is dry. The roses are dead. The little green in that grass has come with the rains. What's happened? The ranch's run down. Now I look around I see a change.”

“Some change, yes,” replied Belding, bitterly. “Listen, son.”

Briefly, but not the less forcibly for that, Belding related his story of the operations of the Chases.

Astonishment appeared to be Gale's first feeling. “Our water gone, our claims gone, our plans forestalled! Why, Belding, it's unbelievable. Forlorn River with promoters, business, railroad, bank, and whatnot!”

Suddenly he became fiery and suspicious. “These Chases—did they do all this on the level?”

“Barefaced robbery! Worse than a Greaser holdup,” replied Belding, grimly.

“You say the law upheld them?”

“Sure. Why, Ben Chase has a pull as strong as Diablo's on a downgrade. Dick, we're jobbed, outfigured, beat, tricked, and we can't do a thing.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Belding, most of all for Laddy,” said Gale, feelingly. “He's all in. He'll never ride again. He wanted to settle down here on the farm he thought he owned, grow grass and raise horses, and take it easy. Oh, but it's tough! Say, he doesn't know it yet. He was just telling me he'd like to go out and look the farm over. Who's going to tell him? What's he going to do when he finds out about this deal?