Chapter XXV
In the Open
There came that night a crisis. Half expected it had always been, andyet after the familiar fashion of supreme moments it burst upon themwith the suddenness of an explosion. Howard and Helen were sittingsilent upon the cabin doorstep, watching the first stars. In Sanchia'snear-by tent a candle was burning; they could now and then see hershadow as she moved restlessly about. Longstreet had been out all day,prospecting.
The first intimation the two star-gazers had of any eventful happeningwas borne to them by Longstreet's voice, calling cheerily out of thedarkness below the cliffs. His words were simply 'Hello, everybody!'but the whoop from afar was of a joy scarcely less than delirious.Sanchia ran out of her tent, toppling over her candle; both Helen andHoward sprang up.
'He has found it!' cried Helen. 'Look at that woman. She is like aspider.'
Longstreet came on down the trail jauntily. Sanchia, first to reachhim, passed her arm through his and held resolutely to his side. Asthey came close and into the lamp-light from the cabin door their twofaces hid nothing of their two emotions. Longstreet's was one ofwhole-hearted triumph; Sanchia's of shrewdness and determination.
'Now,' cried Longstreet ringingly, 'who says that I didn't know what Iwas talking about!' It was a challenge of the victor, not a merequestion.
Before any other reply came Sanchia's answer.
'Dear friend,' she told him hurriedly, 'I always had faith in you.When others doubted, I was sure. And now I rejoice in your happinessas----'
'Papa!' warned Helen. She ran forward to him. 'Remember and becareful!'
Longstreet went into the cabin. The others followed him. Sanchia didnot release his arm, though she saw and understood what lay in Helen'slook and Howard's. The main issue had arrived and Sanchia meant tomake the most of it.
Longstreet put down his short-handled pick. Howard noted the act andobserved, though the impression at the time was relegated to the outerfringes of his concentrated thought, that the rough head of theinstrument and even a portion of the handle looked rusty. Longstreetremoved from his shoulders his canvas specimen-bag. Plainly, it washeavy; there were a number of samples in it, some as small as robins'eggs, one the size of a man's two fists. He was lifting the bag todump its contents out upon the table when suddenly Howard pushed bySanchia and snatched the thing from Longstreet's hands. Longstreetstared at him in astonishment; Sanchia caught at his coat.
'Just a minute,' said Howard hastily. Even Helen wondered as he turnedand bolted out through the door and sped up the trail toward thespring. Longstreet looked from the departing figure to his daughterand then to Sanchia, frankly bewildered. Then all went to the door.In a moment, Howard returned, the bag hanging limp over his arm, histwo hands filled with the fragments of rock which glistened in thelamp-light.
'I washed them off,' he said lightly. 'If there really is gold here wecan see it better with all the loose dirt off, can't we?' He put themdown on the table and stood back, watching Sanchia keenly.
The fine restraint which, in her many encounters with the unexpected,Sanchia had been trained so long and so well to maintain, was gone nowin a flash. Her eyes shone; a rich colour flooded her face; she couldnot stop her involuntary action until she had literally thrown herselfupon the bits of quartz, snatching them up. For they were streaked andseamed and pitted with gold, such ore as she had never seen. Theavarice gleaming in her eyes for that one instant during which she wasthrown off her guard was akin to a light of madness.
But she had herself in hand immediately; she was as one who had slippedslightly upon a polished floor but had caught herself gracefully fromfalling. She thrust the rock into Longstreet's hands; she smiled uponhim; she made use of her old familiar gesture of laying her hand uponhis arm, as she hardly more than whispered:
'Dear friend--and wonderful man--I am glad for your sake, sotremendously glad. For now you have vindicated yourself before theworld. Now you have shown them all'--and in her flashing glanceSanchia managed to include both Alan and Helen sweepingly with aninvisible horde whose bitter tongues had been as so many dogs yelpingat the excellent Longstreet's heels--'now you have shown them all thatyou are the man I have always contended you were.' She crowded hersmile fuller of what she sought to convey than even she had ever riskedbefore as she murmured at the end, her tones dropping away like dyingmusic: 'This is a happy hour in the life of Sanchia Murray!'
'There's truth there, if nowhere else,' cried Helen pointedly. 'Papa,if you have stumbled on a real gold mine at last, aren't you wiseenough this time to keep still about it?'
'That word "stumbled," my dear,' Longstreet told her with greatdignity, 'is extremely offensive to me at a moment like this. It is aword which you have employed in this same connexion before to-day, yetit is one to which I have always objected. In that sure progress whichmarks the path a scientific brain has followed, there are no chancesteps. Surely my own daughter, after the evidence I have alreadygiven----'
'That isn't the point,' said Helen hurriedly. 'The only thing thatcounts now is that you mustn't go shouting of it from the housetops.'
'Am I shouting, my dear? Am I seeking the housetops?' His dignityswelled. Also, it was clearly read in his unusually mild eyes thatHelen, in her excitement with her ill-chosen words, had hurt him.Sanchia Murray, for one, who was older and of wider worldly experiencethan Longstreet's other companions of the moment, and who surely knewas much of human nature, saw something else in his clouded look. Itwas an incipient but fast-growing stubbornness. Therefore Sanchiaclosed her lips and watched keenly for developments.
'There's a good old pops,' Helen cajoled. She slipped between him andSanchia, sending Howard a meaning look. She made use of certain of thewidow's own sort of weapon, putting her two round arms about herfather's neck. Before he quite understood what was happening to him,she had managed to get him through the door which led to her room atthe rear, and to close the door after them and set her back to it.Forthwith her cajolery was done with, and taking him by the twoshoulders Helen looked severely into his wondering eyes.
She began speaking to him swiftly, but her voice lowered. She hadmarked how Sanchia had sought to follow, how Howard had put his hand onher arm and Sanchia had shown her teeth. The woman was in fightingmood, and Helen from the beginning was a little afraid of what shemight succeed in doing.
'Papa,' she said, 'anyone can see what that woman is after. She robbedyou once, and anyone can see that too. You are a dear old innocentthing and she is artful and deceitful. You are not safe for a minutein her hands; you must stay right in here until Mr. Howard and I cansend her away.'
She felt Longstreet's body stiffen under her hands.
'If you mean, my dear, that your father is a mere child; that he cannotbe trusted to know what is best; that you, a chit of a youngster, knowmore of human nature than does he, a man of years and experience;that----'
'Oh, dear!' cried Helen. 'You are wonderful, pops, in your way. Youare the best papa in the world. But, after all, you are just a baby inthe claws--or hands of a designing creature like that hideous Sanchia.And----'
'And, my dear,' maintained Longstreet belligerently, the stubbornnessnow rampant in his soul, 'you are mistaken, that is all. You and Idisagree upon one point; you condemn Mrs. Murray outright, because ofcertain purely circumstantial evidence against her. That is the way ofhot-headed youth. I, being mature, even-minded and clear-eyed,maintain that one accused must be given every opportunity to provehimself innocent. When you say that Mrs. Murray is untrustworthy----'
'I could _pinch_ you!' cried Helen. 'If she robs you again I--I----'She could think of no threat of punishment sufficient unto the crime.Suddenly she pulled the door open. 'Come in here,' she called to Alan.And as he obeyed, leaving the baffled Sanchia without, Helen saidswiftly: 'See if you can't talk reason into papa. I'll keep _her_ outthere.' And she in turn passed out, again closing the door.
'You little vixen!' San
chia's cheeks were red with anger as, Helen'smanoeuvre complete, the girl stood regarding her with defiant eyes.Sanchia's hands clenched and the resultant impression given forth byher whole demeanour was that upon occasion the little widow might beswept into such passionate rage that she was prone to resort to primal,physical violence. Helen, though her own cheeks burned, smiled loftilyand made no answer.
From beyond the closed door came Alan's eager voice. Sanchia bentforward, straining her ears to hear; Helen, the light of battle flaringsteadily higher in her eyes, began suddenly to sing, the same littlebroken snatches of song which not so long ago had irritated herimpatient lover and which now confused the words spoken beyond the doorand which made Sanchia furious.
'Stand aside,' commanded Sanchia. 'I am going in.'
Helen stood firm. Then she saw that Sanchia meant what she said. And,on the table near the discarded pick, she saw Longstreet's bigrevolver. She made a quick step forward, snatched it up in both handsand pointed it directly at Sanchia's heaving breast. Now the colourwent out of Helen's face and it grew very white, while her eyesdarkened.
'If you move a step toward that door,' she threatened, 'I am going toshoot!'
Sanchia sneered. Then she paused. And finally she laughedcontemptuously.
'You little fool,' she whispered back, cautious that no syllable mightenter the adjoining room. 'I don't need to go rushing in there, afterall. And you know it. That stuff,' and she glanced briefly at therock on the table, 'got into my blood for a second. I'll take my timenow; and I'll get what I want.'
As they stood in silence, Helen making no answer, they heard what themen were saying.
'--just this if nothing more,' came the end of Howard's entreaty.'Don't tell Sanchia.'
Promptly came the angry answer:
'Mind your own business, young man! And, until you are asked foradvice, hold your tongue!' At the end of the command the door snappedopen and Longstreet popped into the room.
Sanchia, her cool poise regained, made no step toward him but contentedherself by a slow comprehensive and sympathetic smile. Howard camequickly to Helen, stooped to her and whispered:
'I can't do a thing with him. But come outside with me a second; Ithink I know what to do.'
She flung down the heavy gun and went with him. Ten paces from thecabin they stopped together.
'Did you glimpse the specimens before I ran out to the spring withthem?' he asked sharply. She shook her head, her eyes round.
'Do you have any idea,' he hurried on, 'just where your father has beenprospecting lately?'
'Yes, I went with him for a walk two or three times during the lastweek. He----'
But he interrupted.
'Has he shown any interest in a flat-topped hill about three milesback? Where there is a lot of red dirt? They call it Red Dirt Hill.'
'Yes!' Her tone quickened. 'That is why----'
They had no time for complete sentences.
'I saw the red dirt on his pick first; then on the rock. That is why Iwashed it off, hoping that she had not seen. It's more than a fairgamble, Helen, that your father's claim is on Red Hill.'
Her hand was on his arm now; she did not know, but through all otherconsiderations to him this fact thrilled pleasurably. He put his ownhand over hers.
'If Sanchia saw, too?'
'I don't think that she did. Nor am I half sure that it would meananything to her. I know every foot of these hills; she doesn't. We'llgo in now and see what we can do. If your father does give itaway--well, then we'll play our hunch and try to beat her to it.'
But though they had been out so brief a time, already Sanchia met themat the door. Her eyes were on fire; her slight body seemed to dilatewith a joy swelling in her heart; she looked the embodiment of all thatwas triumphant. Behind her, rubbing his two hands together, andlooking like a wilful and victorious child, was Longstreet. Sanchiaran by them. In her hands, tight-clutched, was the finest specimen.
'You haven't told her, papa! Oh, you haven't told her!'
'And what if I have?' he snapped. 'Am I not a man grown that I am notto----'
Again no time for more than a broken sentence.
'Will you tell us?' demanded Howard.
'In due time,' came the cool rejoinder. 'When I am ready. I shouldhave told you to-night, had you trusted to me. Now I shall not tellyou a word about it until to-morrow.'
They knew that Sanchia was going for her horse. Here was no time forone to allow his way to be cluttered up with trifles. Howard turnedand ran to his own horse. They lost sight of him in the dark; theyheard pounding hoofs as he raced after Sanchia and by her; they heardher scream out angrily at him as she was the first to grasp hispurpose. And presently at the cabin door was Howard again, calling toHelen. She ran out. He was mounted and led two horses, her own andSanchia's white mare.
'Hurry!' he called. 'We'll play my hunch and beat her to it yet.'
Helen understood and scrambled wildly into her own saddle. She heardSanchia calling; she could even hear the woman running back towardthem. Then her horse jumped under her, she clutched at the horn of hersaddle to save herself from falling, and she and Howard were racing uptrail, Sanchia's mare led after them, Sanchia's voice screaming behindthem.
They skirted the base of the cliffs for half a mile. Then Howardturned Sanchia's horse loose, driving the animal down into a darkravine where there would be no finding it in the night-time.
'It's only a chance,' he said, 'but then that's better than justsitting and sucking our thumbs. We take the up-trail here.'
They came out upon the tablelands above Bear Valley. There was betterlight here; the trail was less narrow and steep; they could look downand see the light in the cabin.
Later they were to know just what had been Sanchia Murray's quick replyto their move. And then they were to know, too, where Jim Courtot'shang-out had been during these last weeks in which he had seemed tovanish. Sanchia, with a golden labour before her, had promptly turnedto her 'right hand.' On foot, since there was no other way, andrunning until she was breathless and spent, she hurried across thenarrow valley, climbed the low hills at its eastern edge, and plungeddown into the ravine which was the head of Dry Gulch. Up the fartherside she clambered, again running, panting and sobbing with theexertion she put upon herself, until she came to another brokencliff-ridge. There she had stood calling. And, from a hidden hole inthe rocks, giving entrance to a cave, like a wolf from its lair, therehad come at her calling Jim Courtot.