Chapter XX
Two Friends and a Girl
Howard and Carr rode down into the darkening valley side by side. Thesilence of the coming dusk was no deeper than that silence which hadcrept about them while the three stood upon the cliff's edge.Longstreet's laugh had whipped up the colour into Helen's cheeks andhad lighted a battle fire in her eyes. She had whisked away from themand gone straight back to the cabin, meaning to save her father fromhis own artlessness and from the snare of a designing widow. She hadremembered to call out a breathless 'Good-night' without turning herhead. They had taken their dismissal together, understanding Helen'stortured mood. Each man grave and taciturn, like two automatons theybuckled on their spurs, mounted and reined toward the trail.
Then Howard had said merely: 'Come down to the ranch-house, John. Iwant to talk with you.' And Carr had nodded and acquiesced.Thereafter they were silent again for a long time.
The coming of night is a time of vague veilings, of grotesquetransformations, of remoulding and steeping in new dyes.Matter-of-fact objects, clear-cut during the day, assume fantasticshapes; a bush may appear a crouching mountain cat; a rock maymasquerade as a mastodon. This is an hour of uncertainties. Anddoubtings and questionings and uncertainties were other shadow shapesthronging the demesnes of two men's souls. Silence and dim duskwithout, dim dusk and silence within.
Once Howard, the lighter spirited of the two, sought to laugh theconstraint away.
'Something seems to have come over us, John,' he said. But as he spokehe knew that what he should have said was that something had comebetween them. Further, he knew that Carr would have amended his wordsthus in his own mind and that that was why he did not reply. Herecalled vividly how they three had stood on the cliff, he on Helen'sleft, John on her right. He and John were friends; in the desert landsfriendship is sacred. Further, it is mighty, stalwart, godly, and allbut indomitable. They had shared together, fought together. Onefriend would do to the uttermost for the other, would die for him. Hewould rush into the other's fight, asking no questions, and if he wentdown the chill of coming death would be warmed by the glow of conscioussacrifice. The friendship of Howard and Carr had stood the many testsof time. But only now had the supreme test come. Until to-day, eitherof them in the generousness of his spirit would have stepped gladlyaside for the other. But now? A girl is not a cup of water that oneman, dying of thirst, may say of her to his friend: 'Take her.' Theirfriendship was not changed; simply it was no longer the greatest thingin life. The love of a man for a man, though it be strengthened by tenthousand ties, is less than the love of a man for his chosen mate,though to the other eyes and minds that love may be inexplicable. Setany Damon and Pythias upon an isolated desert island, then into theirlives bring the soft eyes of a girl, and inevitably the day will dawnwhen those eyes will look upon the death of a friendship. Thisknowledge had at last become a part of the understandings of AlanHoward and John Carr.
'You are going East, John?' asked Howard when at length his spiritsought a second time to shake off the oppression of the hour.
Even these words came with something of an effort. He tried to speaknaturally. But behind his words were troops of confused thoughts; Carrwas going East, and had said nothing to him; if Carr left, what then ofHelen? Carr had tried to persuade the Longstreets to go with him.
And to Carr the query sounded more careless, more lightly casual thanHoward had intended. His own thoughts were quick to respond though hisreply came after a noticeable hesitation. Alan did not appear to carewhether he went away or remained; he had not asked if this were to be abrief absence or an indefinite sojourn.
'Yes,' Carr's answer at last was short and blunt; 'I have businessthere.'
Carr thought that if Alan were interested he would ask naturally, asone friend had always asked the other, to know more. Howard thoughtthat if Carr cared to speak of his own personal affairs he would do so.Hence, while both waited, neither spoke. Perhaps both were hurt.Certainly the constraint between them thickened and deepened in stepwith the engulfing night; they could not see each other's faces, theycould not glimpse each other's souls. Both were baffled and into thetemper of each came a growing irritation. One thing alone theyappeared to have in common--the desire to come to the end of the ride.Their spurs dipped and they raced along wordlessly.
When Howard dismounted at the home corrals and began unsaddling, Carrrode on to the house.
'You're going to stay all night, John,' Howard called after him. 'Putyour horse in the barn.'
But Carr swung down at the yard gate and tied his horse there.
'Can't this time,' he said. 'I'll have to ride on, Al.'
Thus each made his pretence, less to his friend than to himself, thateverything was all right. They sought to be natural and failed, andknew that they had failed. Carr waited for Howard, smoking at thegate; Howard hastened up to the house and went in. He struck a match,lighted the table lamp and filled the pipe lying beside it. Carrtossed his hat to the table and sat down. Their eyes roved about thefamiliar room. Here were countless traces of both men; Carr had livedhere, Howard lived here now. Helen had been here, and she too had leftsomething to mark her passing. They both saw it. It was only abluebird's feather, but Alan had set it in a place of conspicuousnessjust above the fireplace. Even into a room which had been home toeach, which they had held must always be home to both, something ofHelen came like a little ghost.
'You'll have use for some money about now,' said Howard abruptly. Hedrew out the table drawer; inside were scraps of paper, a fountain-pen,a cheque-book and some old stubs. 'Time's up for a payment, too. Isold a pretty fair string the other day.'
'I could use a little cash,' Carr admitted carelessly. 'I've got inpretty deep with the Quigley mining outfit. I made Longstreet aproposition--I am a trifle short, I guess,' he concluded lamely.
'I see,' responded Howard, whereas he saw nothing at all very clearly.He busied himself with his pen, shook it savagely, opened hischeque-book. 'Ten thousand this trip, wasn't it?'
Carr hesitated.
'I had figured on twelve five,' he said. 'Wasn't that the amount duenow?'
Howard hunted through the back of the drawer and finally found a littlememorandum book. He turned through the pages upon which he hadscribbled notes of purchases of cattle and horses and of ranchequipment, passed on to a tabulation of his men's wages, and finallystopped at a page devoted to his agreement with his friend.
'Here you are,' he said when he had found it. 'Ten thousand, due onthe eleventh of the month. I'm pretty near a week late on it, John,'he smiled.
Carr however had his own note-book with him; readily he found his ownentry.
'I've set it down here as twelve thousand five hundred,' he saidquietly. 'You remember we talked over a couple of methods of payment,Al. But,' and he snapped the rubber band about his book and dropped itinto his pocket, 'what's the odds? Let it go at ten.'
'No,' said Howard. 'Not if you've counted on more.' A flush ran upinto his face and his eyes were inscrutable. He was conscious of beingin the absurd mood to note trifles; John had come with his memoranda,John had meant to ask him for the money. 'I'd just as lief paytwenty-five hundred extra now as at any time.' And with lowered headand sputtering pen he wrote the cheque.
'I don't want to inconvenience you, Al,' Carr accepted the cheque withcertain reluctance. 'Sure it's all right?'
'Sure,' said Howard emphatically. He tossed the pen and book into thedrawer. Now the awkwardness of the silence upon them was more markedthan ever before. Carr tarried only a few minutes, during which bothmen were ill at ease. Only an expressionless 'So long!' passed betweenthem when he got up to go. They might see each other again before Carrwent East; they might not. Howard went back to his chair at the table,staring moodily at the bluebird feather.
Nothing of the instinct of a clerk had ever filtered into the habits ofAlan Howard. His system of books was simple. He set down in one placeth
e amounts which came in; in another place those expended. He addedand subtracted. He deposited his money in the bank and checked it out.He must bank more when the last was gone. That was about all. It wasseldom that he knew just how far his assets were above his liabilitiesor below. But to-night he knew that he had strained his account. Hehad counted on paying ten thousand and had paid twelve thousand fivehundred. He turned first to his cheque-book, which had not beenbalanced for a couple of months. No adept at figures he spilled muchink, scratched out many calculations and went through them again, grewhot and exasperated and finally before he got anywhere was in a mood todamn everything that came under his hand. It was midnight when he hadassembled upon one sheet of paper an approximately truthful statementof his financial condition. And then he sat back limply and lifted hiseyebrows and whistled.
Within something less than thirty days he must take up a note whichPony Lee held for a thousand dollars; Pony would want the money and hadsaid as much when he had advanced it. Then there were the calves, duewithin the week, from French Valley; Tony Vaca was rushing them, wasselling at a very low figure and would want his money on the nail.Well, he must have it. That was another seven hundred dollars. Therewas another note held by Engle, down in San Juan. The banker mightextend it; he might not. It was for fifteen hundred dollars, and wouldfall due within sixty days. On top of this were the running expenses:the ranch was working full-handed, the men would want their wages aweek from Saturday: this was Tuesday. He turned to their accounts;three or four of them had not drawn down last month. They would allwant their money when next pay-day came. He estimated the amount. Inthe neighbourhood of seven hundred dollars. He totalled all of theseforthcoming payments. The aggregate was close to four thousanddollars. And his cheque-book, balanced to date, indicated that he hadoverdrawn to make the payment to Carr. He could have paid the tenthousand and have had something over two thousand in cold cash to runon; now he had not enough in the San Juan bank to make his own chequegood.
'If Carr had only been satisfied with the ten thousand,' he muttered.'Or if he had given me warning ahead that he wanted the extratwenty-five hundred. Now what?'
None of these issues were clouded, and in due time he decided upon allpoints. He gave up all thought of bed, made himself a pot of coffeeand sat up all night, devoting himself to details. The cheque he hadgiven Carr must be honoured; hence he must ride to-morrow to San Juanto see Engle, the banker. He was only a few hundred dollars shortthere and Engle would help him to balance the account. The fifteenhundred he owed the bank on his personal note could no doubt beextended if necessary. There remained the money for the calves, thethousand due Pony Lee and another thousand to pay his men and for suchnecessities as would arise. All of this he would talk over with Engle.It might be that the bank would take a mortgage on his equity in DesertValley and advance a considerable sum on it.
But he must not forget that the present crisis was not all to beconsidered. Another year would bring the time of another payment toCarr. In the meantime the ranch must be operated, it must be made topay. He had already planned on asking extensions from Engle; but itdid not enter his thought now to ask John Carr to wait.
'I've got my work cut out for me,' said Howard grimly. 'I've got towork like hell, that's all. I've got to carve down expenses, fire menI can manage without, be on the job all the time to buy in stock cheapwherever it can be got and unload for a quick turnover and some readycash. I've got to go in for more hay and wheat another season; theprice is up and going higher. And real soon, the chances are, I've gotto sell some more cows.'
Before dawn he was at the men's bunk-house. He woke Chuck Evans andtold him to hurry into his clothes and come up to the house. WhenChuck came the two men sat down at the table, pencil and paper inHoward's hand, Chuck's eyes keen upon his employer's set face.
'I'm right down to cases, Chuck,' said Howard bluntly. 'I am in up tomy neck, and that's all there is to it. As soon as I get through withyou I am off to San Juan to see if there is any real money left in theworld. I'll be back as soon as I can. But you get busy while I'mgone. First thing, here are five men you will have to give their time.Tell them why; tell them there's always a job open for them here whenI've got the cash for pay-day. Then you and what's left will get yournecks into your collars and go to it, long hours and hard work until wepull out. Get the boys out this morning for another round-up. Bringin every hoof and tail that will size up for a decent sale. If you canget time, ride down to San Ramon and see if there's a chance to sell astring of mules to the road gang. That's about all this time; look forme back in two or three days.'
'All right, Al,' said Evans. 'So long.' He went to the door andpaused. He wanted to say something and didn't know just what to say orhow to say it. So he coughed and said again, 'Well, so long, Al,' andwent out.
In the first flush of the dawn Howard rode away toward San Juan. Heturned in the saddle and looked back toward the Last Ridge country. Hefancied that he could make out the Longstreet cabin even when he knewthat his lover's desire was tricking his sense. He thought of Helen;she would be sleeping now. He would not see her for several days. Hethought of John Carr; Carr would see her every day until he was forcedto go East. Carr had not confided in him when he expected to leave.His eyes left the uplands lingeringly and wandered across the sweepingfields of Desert Valley. He straightened in the saddle and his lungsfilled and expanded. The valley was his, his to work for, to struggleand plan for, to make over as he would have it--to hold for Helen. ForHelen loved it no less than he loved it. And he loved Helen.
'. . . One should be loyal to one's friends.' He held to thatstoutly, insistent and stubborn to play his part. Something had comeover him and Carr, or between them; but none the less he obstinatelysought to refuse to harbour thoughts which came again and again andwhich always angered him with himself. There was the suspicion: 'Carrwas unfair in seeking to take Helen and her father away with him to theEast.' He told himself that that was Carr's right if Carr held it so.There came the accusation: 'Carr had been hard on him last night.' Hetold himself that it was easily granted that they had misunderstoodeach other when, long ago, they had arranged for the payments; further,that no doubt Carr, too, was hard up for cash. The thought suggesteditself: 'Carr had no right to berate him for allowing Sanchia to rideto the Longstreet cabin.' Carr had spoken quickly, unthinkingly, andthey all were under stress. He would play fair and give a man hisdue--and his thoughts switched to Helen and Carr was forgotten and,with a half-smile on his lips, he rode on through the brighteningmorning, dreaming of the ranch that should be when Helen came with himto ride and their hands found each other and she whispered: 'I love itand--it is ours!'
John Engle, the banker of San Juan, was something more than a banker.Not only was he a fine, upstanding, broad-minded man; he was a man, nolonger in the first flush of youth, who had made himself what he wasand who from forty-five vividly recalled twenty-five. He had learnedcaution, but he had known what it was to plunge head-first into deepwaters. That now, a man established, he no longer had to take longchances, was due largely to the successes met in long chances takenwhen all of life lay before him, inviting. When now Alan Howard cameto him in his office at the bank and put his case before himstraightforwardly and without evasion or reservation, he came to theone man in the world who because of his position and his charactercould best help him.
'Take it slow, Alan,' said Engle quietly. 'I can give you the wholeday, if necessary. I've got to know just where you stand and justwhich way you are headed before I can get anywhere.'
He drew out his pad and very methodically began to set down figures asthe cattleman talked. Finally:
'It's the bank's money, not my own, that I'll be advancing you, youknow. I am pretty well sewed up personally as usual. Consequently,while I can see you over a few of the immediate bumps in your trail, Ican't give you all that you'll want. But I fancy you can get acrosswith it.' His keen eyes took fresh
stock of the cattleman, marking theassertive strength, the clean build, the erect carriage, the hardhands, the lean jaw and finally the steady eyes which always met hisown. The personal equation always counts, perhaps with the banker morethan most men imagine, and John Engle found no sign of anydeterioration in the security offered by Alan Howard's personality.'It's a good thing, anyway,' he went on, with the first hint of atwinkle in his regard, 'for a youngster like you to have to scrapthings out after the old fashion. Not married yet, are you?'
'No,' said Alan.
Engle laughed.
'But hoping to be? Well, it's time. That's a good ballast for a man.Now, I've got this pretty straight, let's have your plans. You hope toswing the ranch all right, or you wouldn't be calling on me. You're indeep already and, of course, if it's a human possibility you've got toswing it. What do you figure to do?'
Howard during his long ride had considered his problem from all angles,and now, leaning forward eagerly, told in detail what he had decided.Engle, a rancher himself with broad experience, nodded now and then,asked his few pertinent questions, made an occasional suggestion. Thenhe rose to his feet and put out his hand.
'Drop in and see us when you're in town and have the time,' he saidcordially. 'Mrs. Engle was speaking of you only the other day. You'llwant to be on your way now. I'll let you have five thousand on yourequity and let the other fifteen hundred ride with it, making one notefor sixty-five hundred. I think that if you work things right and holddown expenses and make the sales and purchases and other sales you havein mind, you'll get away with your deal. Just the same, my boy,' andfor an instant there came into his eyes the fighting look which hadbeen there frequently in the day when he fought out his own battles,'you've got a man's-sized job on your hands.'
'I know it,' said Alan. And when, the proper papers signed, he saidgood-bye, his eyes brightened and he said directly: 'It's a greatthing, John Engle, to have a man's-sized man to talk things over with.'
From his window Engle musingly watched the tall form go out to thehorse at the hitching-post and swing up into the saddle.
'Now what's happened between him and John Carr?' he asked himself. Andwithout hesitation he answered his own question: 'A girl, I suppose.Well, she ought to be a real girl to do that.'
Howard, riding joyously back toward Desert Valley, thought first ofHelen. But not even Helen could hold all of his thoughts when atlength his horse's hoofs fell again upon the rim of Desert Valley Land.Upon the bordering hills of the southern edge of the valley he drewrein and sat, lost in thought. He saw herds feeding, and they were hisherds and he himself did not know their exact number. He must know;the game was swiftly becoming one where pawns count. He saw a manriding; it was his man, whom he must direct and pay. He saw waterrunning in one of his larger creeks, and thought how it too must bemade to work for him. Yonder were colts running wild; there were morethan he required at present. They must be broken; they could be sold.He looked across empty acres, rich pasture lands void of grazing stock.A slow, thoughtful frown gathered in his eyes; he must somehow putstock into them, stock to be bought skilfully and sold skilfully. Allof this glorious sweep of country stretching to the four corners of thecompass was his, his very own, if he were man enough to go on with thework to which he had somewhat lightly set his hand. He had loved italways, since first he had come here as John Carr's guest. He lovedit now with a mounting passion. It flashed over him that when, at somefar-distant time, he should die, this was the one spot upon God's greatearth where he should want his ashes scattered on the little wind whichcame down from the hills. It was a part of him and he a part of it.And as he loved it and yearned for it utterly, so did Helen love it.
'It is going to be mine and yours, my dear.' He spoke aloud, his voicestern with his determination. 'For us to have and to hold.'
And because of the thought and the knowledge of what lay ahead of him,he knew that for the present he must forego that to which he had lookedforward all day. He must for a little postpone a ride to see Helen.For already he foresaw the calls upon his time; short-handed, it was tobe work for him from long before day until long after dark. As hestarted down the hill into the valley he saw a herd of cattle comingfrom the north. He had a round-up on his hands to begin with, and itwas already beginning.