CHAPTER VII
TEMPTATION AT HEART'S DESIRE
_Showing how Paradise was lost through the Strange Performance of aCraven Adam_
The hotel of Uncle Jim Brothers, to which Dan Anderson led Mr.Ellsworth, was a long, low adobe, earthen roofed. The window-paneswere very small, where any still remained. The interior of the hotelconsisted of a long dining room, a kitchen, a room where Uncle Jimslept, and a very few other rooms, guest chambers where any man mightrest if very weary from one cause or another. The front door wasalways open. The hotel of Uncle Jim Brothers, not being civilized bututterly barbaric, was anchorage for the Dead Broke, in a way bothhotel and bank.
There was in Heart's Desire, at least before this coming of EasternCapital, only three hundred dollars in the total and combinedcirculating medium. That was all the money there was. No one couldbe richer than three hundred dollars, for that was the limit of allwealth, as was very well known. To many this may seem a restrictingand narrowing feature; but, as a matter of fact, three hundred dollarsis not only plenty of money for one man to have, but it is plenty fora whole town to have, as any man of Heart's Desire could have told you.
A stranger dropping into that hostelry, and taking a glance behind thefront door, might have thought that he was in an armory or some placedevoted to the sale of firearms. There were many nails driven intothe wooden window-facings, the door-jambs, and elsewhere, and allthese nails held specimens of weapons. Excellent weapons they were,too, as good and smooth-running six-shooters as ever came out ofColt's factory; and Winchesters which, if they showed fore-endsbruised by saddle-tree and stocks dented by rough use among the hills,none the less were very clean about the barrels and the locks. Attimes there were dozens of these guns and rifles to be seen on thewall at Uncle Jim's hotel. The visible supply fluctuated somewhat.Any observer of industrial economics might have discovered it to moveup or down in unison with the current amount visible of thecirculating medium.
Uncle Jim never asked cash or security of any man. If a man paid,very well. If he did not pay, it would have been unkind to ask him,for assuredly he would have paid if he could, as Uncle Jim very wellknew. And if he could not pay, none the less he needed to eat, asUncle Jim also knew very well. There were no printed rules orregulations in Uncle Jim's hotel. There was no hotel register. Therewere no questions ever asked. Uncle Jim felt that his mission, hisduty, was to feed men. For the rest, he often had to do his owncooking, for Mexicans are very undependable; and if a man is busy inthe kitchen, how can he attend to the desk? Indeed, there was nodesk. The front door was always open, the tables were always spread.
That any man should take advantage of this state of affairs wassomething never dreamed in Heart's Desire. Yet one day a sensitiveyoung man, fresh from the States, who had blundered, God knows how,down into Heart's Desire, and who was at that time reduced to a blueshirt, a pair of overalls, one law book, one six-shooter, and onedime, slipped into the hotel of Uncle Jim Brothers, since by that timehe was very hungry. He sat on the edge of the bench and dared not askfor food; yet his eyes spoke clearly enough for Uncle Jim. The lattersaid naught, but presently returned with a large beefsteak whichactually sputtered and frizzled with butter, a thing undreamed! "Get'round this," said Uncle Jim, "and you'll feel better." The young man"got 'round" the beefsteak. Perhaps it was the feeling about thebutter, which of itself was a thing unusual. At any rate, as he wentout, he quietly hung up his six-shooter behind the door. This actmeant, of course, that for the time he was legally dead; he no longerexisted. The six-shooter hung there for nearly four months, and UncleJim said nothing of pay, and the meals were regular and good. Theintention of every man in that little valley to do "about what wasright" was silently and fully evidenced. That a man would give up hisgun was proof enough of that. So this became the custom of the place,the unwritten law. When by any chance a man got hold of enough of thethree hundred dollars to settle his bill with Uncle Jim, he walked in,handed over the cash, and without comment of his own or of any oneelse, took down his gun from behind the door, and then walked off downthe street with his head and his chest much higher in the air. It isastonishing how much business, how much safe and valid business, canbe done in a community with three hundred dollars and a good generalsupply of six-shooters.
On this particular day in question, thanks to certain perniciousactivity of Johnny Hudgens, junior partner at the Lone Star, on thenight previous, nearly all the six-shooters of Heart's Desire werehanging behind the door of Uncle Jim Brothers, pending the arrival ofbetter days. The financial situation stood thus: Johnny Hudgens hadall the three hundred dollars, and Uncle Jim Brothers had all theguns. Temporarily, male Heart's Desire did not exist.
Certainly, there could have been no time more unhappy than this todisplay the charms of the community to the critical eyes of the manwho--as the rapid word spread to all--had come to look into thegold-mines on Baxter side of the valley, and the new coal-fields upPatos way; and who, moreover, so said swift rumor, was the real headand front of the railroad heading northward from El Paso! Humiliated,Heart's Desire stepped aside and let its chosen representative, DanAnderson, do the talking.
"I didn't know you had a militia company here, Mr. Anderson," saidEllsworth, as they entered Uncle Jim's hotel. "Lately organized?" Heswept an inquiring hand toward the array behind the door.
"That? Oh, that's not the arsenal," replied Dan Anderson; "that's theclearing-house. If a man's broke, he just hangs up his gun, you know.I don't know that I can just explain everything in this country to youright at once, sir. You see, it's different. Now, out here, asix-shooter is part of a man's clothes. That's why the fellows stayout. They're ashamed--don't feel properly dressed, you know."
"Not much law and order, eh?"
"Not much law, but plenty of order, and not the least pretence aboutit."
"The courts--"
"No courts at all, or at least within sixty miles. Why, we haven'teven a town organization--not a town officer. There was never even atown-site plat filed."
Mr. Ellsworth turned on him suddenly. "Where's your titles?" he asked.
"We haven't needed any, so far. Now that you've come, with talk of arailroad and all that--"
"Oh, well, you know, that's just talk. I'm not responsible for that."
"I hope you like canned tomatoes," said Dan Anderson, "or, if youdon't, that you're very fond of beefsteak. There won't be much elsetill Tom Osby gets back from Las Vegas with a load of freight. TomOsby's our common carrier. I hope the new railroad will do as well."
Mr. Ellsworth was a gentleman, and a very hungry one, so there was noquarrel over the tomatoes, which were Special XXX, nor over thebeefsteak, which might have been worse. An hour later he went out onthe street with his host, whose conduct thus far, he was forced toadmit, had been irreproachable. They strolled up the rambling street,past many straggling buildings, and at length paused before the littlebuilding, made of sun-dried brick, and plastered with mud, where DanAnderson had his residence and his law office.
"You'll excuse me, Mr. Ellsworth," said that young gentleman, "forbringing you here, but the truth is I thought you might be thirsty andmight get poisoned. You have to do these things gradually, till youget immune. Now, under my bed, I've got a bottle which never has beenopened and which ought to be safe. I don't bother corks a great deal,only when we are welcoming distinguished guests."
"It's just a little soon after dinner," demurred Ellsworth, "but,ahem! That dust--yes, I believe I will."
There was a dignity about Dan Anderson now which left Ellsworthdistinctly uncomfortable. The latter felt himself in some fashion ata disadvantage before this penniless adventurer, this young man whomonce he had not cared to have as a regular visitor at his own homeback in the far-off East.
"You don't mean to tell me, young man," he spoke after a long periodof silence, "that this is the way you live?"
"Certainly," said Dan Anderson. "I know I'm extravagant.
I don'tneed a place as good as this, but I always was sort of sensuous, youknow." Ellsworth looked at him without any comprehension, from him tothe bed with blankets, and the bare table. "Come in," said DanAnderson, "and sit down. Better sit on the chair, I reckon. One legof the bed is sort of dicky."
"So this is the way you live?" repeated Ellsworth to Dan Anderson, whowas now on his hands and knees and searching under the bed. "Now,about my daughter--is there any hotel--are there any women?"
"Three, from Kansas," said Dan Anderson. "That is, three real ones.All the female earth, Mr. Ellsworth, comes from Kansas, same as allthe baled hay. Oh, yes, here she is!"
He had been speaking with his voice somewhat muffled under the bed,but now emerged, bearing a dusty bottle in his hand.
Mr. Ellsworth looked at him a bit keenly; for, after all, he was not abad judge of men. "How long has that bottle been there?" asked he,abruptly.
"Oh, a couple of years, maybe."
"And you've never opened it?"
"No, why should I? You hadn't come yet. Of course, I knew you'd bealong some day. I kept it to drink to your very good health, Mr.Ellsworth--the health of the man who told me not to come around hishouse--told me I was an unsettled ne'er-do-well, and not suitablecompany for his--why, I don't think I have any corkscrew at all." Hisvoice was slow, but harder now in quality.
Ellsworth sat on the chair, the bottle in his hand hanging between hisknees. He looked at Dan Anderson steadily. "You've got me guessingin a good many ways," he said; "I don't know why you came here--"
"No?"
"Nor how you live, nor what encouragement or prospects you find here.For instance, about how much did you make last year in your business?"
"My law practice? Oh, you mean down at the county-seat? There is nolaw court here. How much did the boys pay me?"
"Yes."
"Two hundred and sixty-eight dollars and seventy-five cents."
"What?"
"Oh, I know it's a heap of money; but I made it."
"Enough for tobacco money!"
"Sir," said Dan Anderson, "more. I ate frequent. Why, sir, did youever stop to think that our total circulating medium here is onlythree hundred dollars? I had almost all of it one time or another.Now, not doubting your intentions in the least, did you ever come thatnear to corralling the whole visible supply of cash in your own town?Moreover, I am attorney for the men who own the coal-mines. I'm thelawyer for both the gold mills. We've got one or two mines here, andI'm in. Besides, I've just got the law business from Pitzer Chisum,down on the Seven Rivers, He's got maybe a hundred thousand head ofcattle. Now, I'm going to rob Pitzer, because he needs it. He's gotmoney scandalous."
Mr. Ellsworth put the bottle down on the floor, and sat up on thechair with his hands in his pockets, wondering. "But why?" hedemanded sternly, "why? What are you doing out here? Why have youthrown away your life? Come--you're a bright young man, and you--"
"Friend," said Dan Anderson, with a sudden cold quality in his voice,"I think that'll about do. I am no brighter than I was a few yearsago."
"But this is no place to live."
"Why isn't it? It takes a man to live here. Do you reckon you couldqualify?" The older man raised his head with a snort, but DanAnderson stood looking at him calmly. "Now let me tell you onething," said he. "If you heard of our coal-mines here through me, atleast I didn't ask you to come out here, and I didn't ask you to bringanybody along with you. I've played fair with you. You don't comehere to do me any favor, do you?"
"Oh, well,"--began the other.
"Then you think there might be something here, after all?"
"What is there here?"
"A very great deal. There's just as much here as there is anywhereelse in the world."
Mr. Ellsworth arose and stepped to the door. For a moment he stoodlooking out at the twilight. He turned suddenly to the young man."I'll tell you," said he. "There's something to you--I don't knowwhat. Drop all this. Come on back. I'll think it over--I'll giveyou a place in my office."
"You'd give me _what_? Did you ever stop to think that you can'tgive me _anything_?"
Surprise sat on his visitor's face. "_Nada_!" cried Dan Anderson."Me go back there and work on a salary for you? Me check my immortalsoul on your hat-rack? Me live scared of my life, like all the restof the slaves in that infernal system of living, that hell? If Ishould do that, I'd be giving you some license for the opinion of meyou once expressed, before you really knew me."
"But what have you got out here?" repeated the other, stupidly.
Dan Anderson made no answer, except a sweep of his hand to themountains, and an unconscious swell of the broad chest beneath hisblue shirt.
"What made you come?" insisted Mr. Ellsworth, feeling around for theneck of the bottle, which had been forgotten.
"You know almighty well why I came. But let that go. Let's say Icame for the express purpose of handling your local interests when youbuy our coal-mines and try to get a railroad somewhere near our valleyif you have luck later. I'm going to be your kind and loving partnerin that deal, and I'll soak you the limit in everything I do for you.You watch me. I'm going to stay here, and I'm going to work all Iwant to. When I don't want to, there isn't any living mortal soulthat's going to crack a whip over me and tell me I've got to."
"Things seem rather strange," began Mr. Ellsworth. "You talk asthough I were obliged to put money into these mines."
"Of course you will. You can't help it. You never saw a betteropportunity for investment in all your life. But now let me tell youanother thing, which I oughtn't to tell you if I served you right.You go slow while you're here. There is plenty of gold in thisvalley. There isn't a fellow in this settlement who hasn't got aquart glass fruit-jar full of gold nuggets and dust under his bed, andwho isn't just waiting and pining to show it to some stranger likeyourself. You're Glad Tidings in this town. You couldn't walkto-morrow if you took all the free samples of solid gold the boyswould offer you. You'd get dizzy looking down prospect holes. Youwouldn't know where you were; and when you came to; you'd own aboutfifty gold-mines, with all the dips, spurs, and angles, and all thevariations of the magnetic needle to wit and aforesaid. Now, Ioughtn't to take care of you. I don't owe you a thing on earth. Butbecause you brought--well, because--anyhow, I'm _going_ to take careof you, while you're here, and see that you get a square deal."
"By the way, my daughter--" said Mr. Ellsworth, sitting up uneasily.
"Never mind," said Dan Anderson, gently. "Miss Constance is allright. They'll take care of her just as well as I'll take care ofyou. Everybody will be more sociable by about noon to-morrow. Thewhole town's scared yet."
"I don't see anything very terrible about me," said Mr. Ellsworth.
"Oh, it isn't _you_," said Dan Anderson, calmly. "Nobody's afraid of_you_. It's your daughter--it's the woman. Don't you reckon Adamwas about the scaredest thing in the wide, wide world about the timeold Ma Eve set up her bakeshop under the spreading fig tree? I don'tknow that I make myself right plain--you see, it's sort of funny here.We aren't used to women any more."
"Oh, well, now, my dear sir, you see, my daughter--"
"I know all about her," said Dan Anderson, sharply.
"I don't doubt she thought I was a mere trifler. She couldn'tunderstand that it isn't right for a man to stick to anything untilhe's found the right thing to stick to. I don't blame her the leastbit in the world. She could only see what I _wasn't_ doing. I knewwhat I was _going_ to do, and I know it now." There was a gravityand certainty about Dan Anderson now that went through theself-consciousness of the man before him. Ellsworth looked at himintently. "We'll be here for a day or so," said he, "and meantime, itwill seem a little strange for my daughter, I suppose--"
"You don't need to tell me about anything," said Dan Anderson. "Ofcourse, her coming is a little inopportune. You see, Mr. Ellsworth,the morning stars are inopportune, and the sunrise every day, and thedew of
heaven."
Ellsworth looked at him half in terror, and in his discomfort murmuredsomething about going to look up his daughter.
"Now, that's mighty kind of you," said Dan Anderson. "But I know theway over there alone, and after I have taken you back to Uncle Jim's,I am going over there--alone. Wait till I get my coat. I don't wearit very often, but we'll just show you that we can dress up for theevening here, the same as they do in the States."
As Dan Anderson, his head bent down and his hands in his pockets,crossed the _arroyo_ alone, he met Curly coming the other way.Curly's brow was wrinkled, though he expressed a certain consciousnessof the importance of his position in society at the time.
"Say, man," said he, jerking his thumb toward the house, "that newgirl is the absolute limit. She dropped in just like we'd beenexpectin' her. I was some scared; but _she's_ just _folks_!"
Dan Anderson hardly heard him. He passed on into the house, where hehad long ago made himself easily at home with the women of the place.It was a half hour later that he spoke directly to the girl. "I wasjust thinking," said he, "that after all the dust and heat andeverything you might like to walk, for just a minute or so, over toour city park. Foliage, you know; avenues, flowers; sweetness andlight."
She looked at the man quietly, as if she failed to understand thehalf-cynical bitterness, the half-wistfulness in his voice, yet sherose and joined him. All human beings in Heart's Desire that eveningfell in with the plans of Dan Anderson without cavil and withoutpossible resistance.
A short distance up the _arroyo_, toward the old abandoned stampmill, there was a two-inch pipe of water which came down from thePatos spring, far up on the mountain side. At the end of this pipe,where the water was now going to waste, the Littlest Girl from Kansashad taken in charge the precious flow, and proposed a tiny garden ofher own. Here there were divers shrubs, among these a single rosebush, now blossomless. Dan Anderson broke off a leafy twig or so, andhanded them to Constance, who pinned them on her breast.
"This is our park," said he, very gravely; "I hope you have enjoyedyour stroll along the boulevard. I hope, also, that the entertainmentof the cow gentleman was not displeasing."
"Not a word!" she answered, her cheek flushing; "you shall not rail atthem. These people are genuine."
"I'm not apologizing," he said quickly; "there are just a few things afellow learns out here. One is not to apologize; and another is notto beg. Sit down." There were two white boulders beside which thetrickle of water rippled. Obeying him, she seated herself. PresentlyDan Anderson settled himself upon the other, and for a time they satin silence. The purple shadows had long ago deepened into halfdarkness, and as they looked up above the long, slow curve of oldCarrizo, there rose the burnished silver of the wondrous moon ofHeart's Desire. The bare and barren valley was softened and glorifiedinto a strange, half-ghostly beauty. The earth has few scenes morebeautiful than Heart's Desire at moonlight. These two sat and gazedfor a time.
"And so this is your world!" the girl spoke at length, more to herselfthan to him.
"Yes," he replied almost savagely, sweeping his hand toward themountain-rimmed horizon. "Yes, it's mine."
"It is very beautiful," she murmured softly.
"Yes," said Dan Anderson, "it's beautiful. Some time there'll be aman who'll learn something in such a place as this. I don't know butI've learned a little bit myself in the last few years."
"The years!" she whispered to herself.
"It seems forever," said he. "The time when a fellow's taking hismedicine always seems long, I reckon, I have almost forgotten my lifeof five years ago--almost, except a part of it. It's been anotherworld here. Nothing matters much, does it?"
Whether there was now bitterness or softness in his speech she couldnot tell, but she found no reproach for herself in word or tone.
"Look," said she at length, pointing down at the valley of Heart'sDesire, now bathed in the full flood of the unveiled moonlight."Look! It is unspeakable."
He looked at her face instead. "I've seen you right here," he said,"right at this very place, a thousand times. It's Eden. It's theGarden. It's the Beginning."
"It is the world," she whispered vaguely.
"Yes, yes--" Words burst from his lips beyond his power to control."It is Eden, it is Paradise, but a vacant Eden, a Paradise incomplete.Constance--"
The girl felt herself shiver at this sound of a voice which all toooften these past five years had come to her unbidden when she foundmoments of self-communion in her own restless and dissatisfied life.Walls had not shut it out, music had not drowned it, gayety had notserved to banish it. She had heard it in her subjective soul ofttimeswhen the shadows fell and the firelight flickered. Now, beneath alimitless sky, under a strange radiance, in a wild primeval world--inthis Eden which they two alone occupied--she heard him, the man whomin her heart she loved, speaking to her once more in very person, andspeaking that very thought which was in her own heart that hour. Herbosom rose tumultuously, her throat fluttered. Instinctively shewould have fled, but a hand on her shoulder pressed her back as shewould have arisen, and she obeyed--as she had always obeyed him--asshe always would.
"Paradise unfinished--" he whispered, his face close to hers. "Youknow what it is that's missing."
Ah! could not a woman also know the longing, the vacancy, the solitudeof an Eden incomplete! She turned to him trembling, her lips halfopen, as though to welcome a long-hoped-for draught of happiness.
Alas! it was not happiness, but misery that came; for ConstanceEllsworth now got taste of those bitter waters of life which arewithheld from none. There was a sound of a distant shout--the chancecall of some drunken reveller--far down the street, a tawdry,unimportant incident, but enough to break a spell, to destroy anillusion, to awaken a conscience for a man, if that phrase be just.Dan Anderson turned to look down the long street of Heart's Desire.It was as though the physical act restored him to another realm,another mental world. He started, and half shivered as his handdropped to his side. His face showed haggard even in the moonlight.
"My God! what am I saying?" he murmured to himself.
Then presently he drew himself up, smiling bitterly. "Some prominentcitizens of the place enjoying themselves," he said and nodded towardthe street. "Don't you think you'd like Heart's Desire?"
The moment of Eve--the woman's moment--the instant for her happinesswas past and gone! The light of the moon lay ghostly over all theworld, but there was no radiance, no joy nor comfort in it now.
The girl herself was silent. She sat looking out over the streetbelow, instinctively following Dan Anderson's gaze. Voices came tothem, clamorous, strident, coarse. There lay revealed all that wascrude, all that was savage, all that was unlovable and impossible ofHeart's Desire. It had been a dream, but it was a man's dream inwhich he had lived. For a woman--for her--for this sweet girl of agentler world, that dream could be nothing else than hideous. "Bejust! Be fair!" Dan Anderson's soul demanded of him; and as best hesaw justice and fairness to the woman he loved he answered for himself.
"Come," said the girl, gently, rousing herself from the lassitudewhich suddenly assailed her, "we must go in."
His face was averted as he walked beside her. There was no word thathe could say. Accord being gone from all the universe, he could notknow that in her heart, humbled and shamed as it was, she understoodand in some part forgave.
"It has been very beautiful to-night," she said, as he turned back atlength from the door of Curly's house.
Choking, he left her. As he stumbled blindly back, over the_arroyo_, there crossed on the heavens the long red line of ashooting star. Dully he watched it, and for him it was the flamingsword barring the gates of Eden.
Hours later--for sleep was not for him--Dan Anderson stood waiting forthe sun to rise over old Carrizo. Far off, along the pathway of themorn, lay his former home, the States, the East, the fight, thecombat, and the grovelling. "No, not for me; not there!" he said
,conviction coming to him once more.
He turned then and glanced down the single street of Heart's Desire, astreet as straggling and purposeless as his own misdirected life--awavering lane through the poor habitations of a Land of Oblivion.Longer he looked, and stronger the conviction grew. "No, no," hesaid, clenching his hand; "not here for her--not here!"