CHAPTER X
COMING EVENTS
Knowles had gone with Gowan to cut out and drive back the stray cattlebelonging to the adjoining range. They returned during the regularsupper hour. The cowman washed quickly and hastened in to the table.Gowan, however, loitered just outside the door, fastening andrefastening his neckerchief. He entered the dining-room while Isobelwas in the midst of telling her father about the snake.
"Did you hear, Kid?" she asked, when she finished her vivid account.
"Yes, Miss Chuckie. I was slicking-up close 'longside the door. Iheard all you told," he replied as he took his seat at the corner nextto the animated girl. "We shore have got one mighty lucky tenderfooton this range."
"Indeed, yes!" exclaimed Ashton. "Had not Miss Chuckie chanced to bepassing as the monster rattled--You know, she says that she might nothave heeded it but for your killing the other snake yesterday. Thatput her on the alert."
The puncher stared across the table at the city man with a coldlyspeculative gaze. "You shore are a lucky tenderfoot," he repeated."'Tain't every fellow gets that close to a rattler this time of yearand comes out of it as easy as you have. All I can see is you're kindof pale yet around the gills."
Ashton held up his bandaged left hand. "Ah, but I have also thismemento of the occasion. It is far from a pleasant one, I assureyou."
"Feels 'most as bad as a bee sting, don't it?" ironically condoled thepuncher.
"What I can't make out," interposed Knowles, "is how that rattler gotup into Mr. Ashton's bunk."
Gowan again stared across at the tenderfoot, this time with unblinkingsolemnity. "Can't say, Mr. Knowles," he replied. "Except it might bethat desperado guide of his came around in the night and brought himMr. Rattler for bedfellow."
"Oh, Kid!" remonstrated Isobel. "It's not a joking matter!"
"No, you're dead right, Miss Chuckie," he agreed. "There shore ain'tany joke about it."
"Ah, but perhaps I can make one," gayly dissented Ashton. "Had you notinterfered, Miss Chuckie, the poor snake would have taken one bite,and then curled up and died. I'm so charged with nicotine, you know."
Neither Isobel nor the puncher smiled at this ancient witticism. ButKnowles burst into a hearty laugh, which was caught up and reenforcedby the hitherto silent haymakers.
"By--James! Ashton, you'll do!" declared the cowman, wiping his eyes."When a tenderfoot can let off a joke like that on himself it's a suresign he's getting acclimated. Yes, you'll make a puncher, some day."
Ashton smiled with gratification, and looked at Isobel in eager-eyedappeal for the confirmation of the statement. She smiled and nodded.
Upon his return from his remarkable ride to town she had assured himthat he need not worry. Her present kindly look and the words of herfather might have been expected to remove his last doubts. Such infact was the result for the remainder of the evening.
But that night the new employe must have given much anxious thought tothe question of his future and his great need to "make good." Theliveliness of his concern was shown by his behavior during the nexttwo weeks. His zeal for work astonished Knowles quite as much as hisefforts to be agreeable to his fellow employes gratified Miss Isobel.He charmed the Japanese cook with his praise of the cooking, heflattered the haymakers with his interest in their opinions. Towardsthe girl and her father he was impeccably respectful.
Within ten days he was "Lafe" to everybody except Gowan and the Jap.The latter addressed him as "Mistah Lafe"; Gowan kept to thenoncommittal "Ashton." The puncher had become more taciturn than ever,but missed none of the home evenings in the parlor. He watched Ashtonwith catlike closeness when Isobel was present, and seemed puzzledthat the interloper refrained from courting her.
"Don't savvy that tenderfoot," he remarked one day to Knowles. "Allhis talk about his dad being a multimillionaire--Acted like it at thestart-off. Came down to this candidate-for-office way of comportinghimself. It ain't natural."
"Not when he's on the same range with Chuckie?" queried the cowman,his eyes twinkling. "Why don't you ever go into Stockchute and paintthe town red?"
"That's another thing," insisted Gowan. "He started in with MissChuckie brash as all hell. Now he acts towards her like I feel."
"That's natural. He soon found out she's a lady."
"No, it ain't natural, Mr. Knowles--not in him, it ain't. Nor it ain'tnatural for him to be so all-fired polite to everybody, nor hispestering you to find work for him."
"And it's not natural for a tenderfoot to gentle a hawss like Rocketthe way he's done already," rallied Knowles. "That crazy hawss followshim about like a dog."
"Yes; Ashton feeds him sugar, like he does the rest of you," rejoinedthe puncher. "It ain't natural in his brand of tenderfoot--Bound toride out, if there's any riding to do; bound to fuss and stew aroundthe corral; bound to help with the haying; bound to help haul thewater; bound to practice with his rope every moment he ain't doingsomething else. Can't tell me there ain't a nigger in that woodpile."
"Now, don't go to hunting out any more mares' nests, Kid," admonishedKnowles. "He's just a busted millionaire, that's all; and he's provinghe realizes it. Guess the smash scared him. He's afraid he can't makegood. Chuckie says he thinks I'll turn him adrift if he doesn't hustleenough to earn his salt."
"Why not fire him anyway? You don't need him, and you won't need him,"argued the puncher.
"Well, he helps keep Chuckie entertained. With you and him both on theplace, she might conclude to stay over the winter, this year."
Gowan's mouth straightened to a thin slit. "Better send her to Denverright off."
"Look here, Kid," reproved the cowman. "You've had your chance, andyou've got it yet. I've never interfered with you, and I'm not goingto with him. It's for Chuckie to pick the winner. Like as not it'll besome man in town, for all I know. She has the say. Whether he wears aderby or a sombrero, she's to have her own choice. I don't care ifhe's a millionaire or a busted millionaire or a bronco buster,provided he's a man, and provided I'm sure he'll treat her right."
Gowan lapsed into a sullen silence.
Mounted as before on Rocket, Ashton had already made a second trip toStockchute for mail, returning almost as quickly as on his wild firstride. Monday of his third week at the ranch he was sent on his thirdtrip. As before, he started at dawn. But this time he did not comeracing back early enough for a belated noon meal as he had on each ofthe previous occasions.
By mid-afternoon Isobel began to grow uneasy. Remarkable as had beenthe efforts of his new rider's training, there was the not improbablechance that Rocket had reverted to his ugly tricks. She shuddered asshe pictured the battered corpse of the city man dragging over therocks and through the brush, with a foot twisted fast in one of thenarrow iron stirrups.
Her father and Gowan were off on their usual work of inspecting thebunches of cattle scattered about the range. The other men were asbusy as ever mowing more hay and hauling in that which was cured. Shewas alone at the ranch with the Jap. At four o'clock she saddled herbest horse and rode out towards Dry Fork. She hoped to sight Ashtonfrom the divide. But there was no sign of any horseman out on thewide stretch of sagebrush flats.
She rode down to Dry Fork, crossed over the sandy channel, and startedon at a gallop along the half-beaten road that wound away through thesagebrush towards the distant Split Peak. An hour found her nearingthe pinyon clad hills on the far side of Dry Mesa, with still no signof Ashton.
By this time she had worked herself into a fever of excitement anddread. Her relief was correspondingly great when at last she saw himcoming towards her around the bend of the nearest hill. But his horsewas walking and he was bent over in the saddle as if injured orgreatly fatigued. Puzzled and again apprehensive, she urged her ponyto sprinting speed.
When he heard the approaching hoofs Ashton looked up as if startled.But he did not wave to her or raise his sombrero. As she came racingup she scrutinized his dejected figure for wounds or bruises. Therewas nothing to indicate that he had been e
ither shot or thrown. Hissullen look when she drew up beside him not unnaturally changed heranxiety to vexation.
"What made you so slow?" she queried. "You know how eager I am for themail each time. You might as well have ridden your own hawss."
"It--has come," he muttered.
"What?" she demanded.
"The letter from him."
"Him?" echoed the girl, trying hard to cover her confusion with a lookof surprise.
His dejection deepened as he observed her heightened color and thelight in her eyes. "Yes, from him," he mumbled.
"Oh, you mean Mr. Blake, I suppose," she replied. Lightly as shespoke, she could not suppress the quiver of eagerness in her voice."If you will kindly give it to me now."
He drew out a letter, not from among the other mail in his pouch, butfrom his pocket. Her look of surprise showed that she was struck withthe oddness of this. She was too excited, however, to consider whatmight be its meaning. She tore open the letter and read it swiftly.Her sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks when she looked up served onlyto increase Ashton's gloom.
"So the fellow is coming," he groaned. "What else could I haveexpected?"
The girl held out the open letter to him. It was in typewriting,addressed from Chicago, and read:--
Dear Madam:
In reply to your letter of inquiry regarding an inspection to determine the feasibility of irrigating certain lands in your vicinity--my fee for personal inspection and opinion would be $50. per day and expenses, if I came as consulting engineer. However, I am about to make a trip to Colorado. If you can furnish good ranch fare for my wife, son, and self as guests, will look over your situation without charge. Wife wishes to rough-it, but must have milk and eggs. Will leave servants in car at Stockchute, where we shall expect a conveyance to meet us Thursday, the 25th inst., if terms agreeable.
Respectfully yours, THOMAS BLAKE.
Ashton crumpled the letter in his clenched hand as he had crumpled theletter from his father's lawyers.
"He is coming! he really is coming!" he gasped. "Thursday--only threedays! Genevieve too!"
"And his son!" cried Isobel, too excited to heed the dismay in hercompanion's look and tone. "He and his family, too, as my guests!"
"Yes," said Ashton bitterly. "And what of it when he floods you offyour cattle range? By another year or two, the irrigation farmers willbe settling all over this mesa, thick as flies."
"Oh, no; it is probable that Mr. Blake will find there is no chance towater Dry Mesa," she replied, in a tone strangely nonchalantconsidering her former expressions of apprehension. She drew thecrumpled letter from his relaxing fingers, and smoothed it out for asecond reading.
"'Wife, son, and self,'" she quoted. "Son? How old is he?"
"I don't know. They've been married nearly two years," mutteredAshton.
"Then it's a baby!--oh! oh! how lovely!" shrieked the girl. "And itsmamma wants to rough it! She shall have every egg and chicken on theplace--and gallons of cream! We shall take the skim milk."
Still Ashton failed to enthuse. "To them that have, shall be given,and from him who has lost millions shall be taken all that's left!" hegibed.
"No, we'll still have the skim milk," she bantered, refusing to noticehis cynical bitterness.
"I'm a day laborer!" he went on, still more bitterly. "I'm afraid oflosing even my skim milk--And two weeks ago I thought myself certainof three times the millions that he will get when her father dies!"
"No use crying over spilt milk, or spilt cream, either!" she replied.
The note of sympathetic concern under her raillery brought a glimmerof hopefulness into his moody eyes.
"If I did not think your father will drive me away!" he murmured.
"Why should he?" she asked.
"Because when Blake comes--" Ashton paused and shifted to a question."Will you tell your father about their coming?"
"Of course. I did not tell him about writing, because it would onlyhave increased his suspense. But now--Let's hurry back!"
A cut of her quirt set her pony into a lope. Rocket needed no urging.He followed and maintained a position close behind the galloping ponywithout breaking out of his rangy trot. Occasionally Isobel flung backa gay remark over her shoulder. Ashton did not respond. He rode afterher, silent and depressed, his eyes fixed longingly on her gracefulform, ever fleeing forward before him as he advanced.
Once clear of the sagebrush, she drew rein for him to come up. Theyrode side by side across Dry Fork and over the divide. When theystopped at the corral she would have unsaddled her pony had he notbegged leave to do her the service. As reward, she waited until hecould accompany her to the house.
They found her father and Gowan resting in the cool porch after aparticularly hard day's ride. The puncher was strumming soft melodieson a guitar. Knowles was peering at his report of the ReclamationService, held to windward of a belching cloud of pipe smoke. Hisdaughter darted to him regardless of the offending incense.
"Oh, Daddy!" she cried. "What do you think! Mr. Blake is coming tovisit us!"
"Blake?" repeated the cowman, staring blankly over his pipe.
"Yes, Mr. Blake, the engineer--the great Thomas Blake of the ZaribaDam."
"By--James!" swore Gowan, dropping his guitar and springing up toconfront Ashton with deadly menace in his cold eyes. "This is whatcomes of nursing scotched rattlers! This here tenderfoot skunk hasbeen foreriding for that engineer! I warned you, Mr. Knowles! I toldyou he had sent for him to come out here and cut up our range with hisdamned irrigation schemes!"
"I send for Blake--I?" protested Ashton. He burst into a discordantlaugh.
"Laugh, will you?" said Gowan, dropping his hand to his hip.
The girl flung herself before him. "Stop! stop, Kid! Are you locoed?He had nothing to do with it. I myself sent for Mr. Blake."
"_You!_" cried Gowan.
The cowman slowly stood up, his eyes fixed on the girl in anincredulous stare. "Chuckie," he half whispered, "you couldn't ha'done it. You're--you're dreaming, honey!"
"No. Listen, Daddy! It's been growing on you so--your fear that we'lllose our range. I thought if Mr. Blake came and told you it can't bedone--Don't you see?"
"What if he finds it can?" huskily demanded Knowles.
"He can't. I'm sure he can't. If he builds a reservoir, where could heget enough water to fill it? The watershed above us is too small. Hecouldn't impound more than three thousand acre feet of flood watersat the utmost."
"How about the whole river going to waste, down in Deep Canyon?"queried her father.
"Heavens, Mr. Knowles! How would he ever get a drop of water out ofthat awful chasm?" exclaimed Ashton. "I looked down into it. The riveris thousands of feet down. It must be way below the level of DryMesa."
"I'm not so sure about that," replied the cowman. "Holes are mightydeceiving."
"Well, what if it ain't so deep as the mesa?" argued Gowan, for oncehalf in accord with Ashton. "It shore is deep enough, ain't it? Evenallowing that this man Blake is the biggest engineer in the U.S.,how's he going to pump that water up over the rim of the canyon? Thedevil himself couldn't do it."
"If I am mistaken regarding the depth, that is, if the river really ishigher than the mesa," remarked Ashton, "there is the possibility thatit might be tapped by a tunnel through the side of High Mesa. But evenif it is possible, it still is quite out of the question. The costwould be prohibitive."
"You see, Daddy!" exclaimed Isobel. "Lafe knows. He's an engineerhimself."
"How's that?" growled her father, frowning heavily at Ashton. "Younever told me you're an engineer."
"I told Miss Chuckie the first day I met her," explained Ashton. "Eversince then I've been so busy trying to be something else--"
"Shore you have!" jeered Gowan.
"But about Mr. Blake, Daddy?" interposed Isobel. "I'm certain he'llfind that no irrigation project is possible; and if _he
_ says so, youwill be able to give up worrying about it."
"So that's your idea," he replied. "Of course, honey, you meant well.But he's a pretty big man, according to all the reports. What if he--"The cowman stopped, unable to state the calamity he dreaded.
"Yes, what if?" bravely declared his daughter. "Isn't it best to knowthe worst, and have it over?"
"Well--I don't know but what you're right, honey."
"It's your say, Mr. Knowles," put in Gowan. "If you want thetenderfeet on your range, all right. If you don't, I'll engage to headback any bunch of engineers agoing, and I don't care whether they'redogies or longhorns."
"There is to be no surveying party," explained Isobel. "Mr. Blake iscoming to visit us with his wife and baby. Here is his letter."
"Hey?" ejaculated Knowles. He read the letter with frowningdeliberation, and passed it on to Gowan. "Well, he seems to be squareenough. Guess we'll have to send over for him, honey, long as youasked him to come."
"Oh, you will, Daddy!" she cried. She gave him a delicious kiss andcuddled against his shoulder coaxingly. "You'll let me go over in thebuckboard for them, won't you?"
"Kind of early in the season for you to begin hankering after cityfolks," he sought to tease her.
"But think of the baby!" she exclaimed as excitedly as a little girlover the prospect of a doll. "A baby on our ranch! I simply must seeit at the earliest possible moment! Besides, it will look better forour hospitality for me to meet Mrs. Blake at the train, sinceshe--That's something I meant to ask you, Lafe. What does Mr. Blakemean by saying they will leave the servants in the car?"
"I presume they are traveling in Mr. Leslie's private car, and willhave it sidetracked at Stockchute," answered Ashton.
"_Whee-ew!_" ejaculated Knowles. "Private car! And we're supposed tofeed them!"
"It is just because of the change we will give them that they arecoming out here," surmised Isobel. "Look at the letter again. Mr.Blake expressly writes that his wife wishes to rough-it. Of course shecannot know what real roughing-it means. But if she is coming to uswithout a maid, we shall like her as much as--as Mr. Blake."