Chapter VI
The Youthful Heart
To both Helen and her father, tarrying at Desert Valley Ranch, thelong, still, hot days were fraught with much new interest. Life wasnew and golden, viewed from this fresh viewpoint. Helen had comehitherward from her city haunts with trepidation; even Longstreet,serenely optimistic regarding the ultimate crown of success to hislabour, was genuinely delighted. The days passed all too swiftly.
As can in no way be held reprehensible in one of her age and maidenlybeauty and charm, Helen's interest had to do primarily with men, twomen. They, quite as should be in this land of novelty, were unlike themen she had known. With each passing hour Helen came to see this moreclearly. She was a bright young woman, alert and with at least amodicum of scientific mental attitude inherited from the machinery ofher father's brain. Like any other healthy young animal, she wanted toknow whys and wherefores and the like.
The evening of their first day, alone in her room for an hour beforebed, she settled for herself the first difference between these men ofthe desert fringes and the men she had known at home. To begin with,she reviewed in mind her old acquaintances: there were a half-dozenprofessors, instructors, assistants who called infrequently on herfather and whom she had come to know with a degree of familiarity. Theyoungest of them had been twenty years older than Helen, and, whereasher father was always an old dear, sometimes a hopeless and helplessold dear, they were simply old fogies. They constituted, however, animportant department in her male friends; the rest were as easilycatalogued. They were the young college men--men in name only, boys inactuality. They were of her own age or two or four years older or ayear younger. They danced and made mysterious references to the beerthey had wickedly drunk; they motored in their fathers' cars and playedtennis in their fathers' flannels when they fitted; no doubt they weremen in the making, but to judge them as men already was like lookingprematurely into the oven to see how the bread was doing; they werestill under-baked. So far they were playing with the game of life;life, herself, had not yet taken them seriously, had not reached outthe iron hand that eventually would seize them by the back of the neck,the slack of the trousers, and pitch them out into the open arena.
Helen was considerably pleased with the result of her meditations: herfather's academic friends had held back behind college walls and thushad never come out into the scrimmage that makes men; her own youngfriends had not yet reached the time when they would buckle on theirarmour and mount and talk lance in hand. Alan Howard and John Carrwere men who for a number of years had done man's work out in the open,no doubt giving and receiving doughty blows. She considered Carr: hehad taken a monster outfit like Desert Valley and had made it over, inhis own image, like a god working. There were thousands of acres, shehad no idea how many. There were cattle and horses and mules; againshe thought of them only vaguely as countless. There were many menobeying his orders, taking his daily wage. Carr had mastered a big joband the job had made a masterly man of him. Then had come Alan Howardwith vision and determination and courage. He had expended almost hislast cent for a first payment upon the huge property; he was riskingall that he had gathered of the world's goods, he was out in the openwaging his battle like a young king claiming his heritage. Helenclothed the act in the purple and gold of romance and thrilled at herown picture.
'After all,' she discovered, 'there _are_ different kinds of men and Inever knew men like these two.'
Then, when she thought of Yellow Barbee, she sniffed. Barbee was abouther own age; she considered him a mere child and transparent.
She had said good night to her father, but now suddenly in a mood forconversation went out into the hall and tiptoed to his door. Whenthere came no response to her gentle tapping she opened the door anddiscovered only darkness and emptiness. She was mildly surprised;distinctly she had heard him go into his room and close his door andshe had not heard him go out again.
There are men who, though they may live to be a hundred years old, keepalways the fresh heart of twenty. James Edward Longstreet was one ofthem. He was a man of considerable erudition; he had always supposedthat the choice had lain entirely with him. He had always been amplycontent with his existence, had genially considered that the whole ofthe bright stream of life, gently deflected, had flowed through hiscollege halls and under his calm eyes. Now his youthful soul was in adelightful turmoil; adventures had come to him, more adventures werecoming. Men like Barbee had given him the staunch hand of friendship;they had welcomed him as an equal. And something until now untouched,unguessed, that had lived on in his boy's heart, stirred and awoke andthrilled. To-night, with a vague sense of guilt which made theescapade but the more electric, while his daughter had imagined that hewas getting himself sedately into his long-tailed, sedate nightgown, hewas beaming warmly upon the highly entertained group of ranch handsdown in the men's bunk-house, whither, by the way, he had been led byBarbee.
There comes now and then to such an isolation as Desert Valley a boonfrom the gods in the guise of a tenderfoot. But never tenderfoot,agreed the oldest Mexican with the youngest Texan, like this one. Theysat lined in back-tilted chairs about the four walls and studied himwith eyes that were at all times appreciative, often downright grave.His ignorance was astounding, his hunger for information amazing. Hewas a man from Mars who knew all that was to be known in his own worldbut brought into this strange planet a frank and burning curiosity.Barbee's chaps delighted him; a hair rope awoke in his soul anavaricious hunger for a hair rope of his own; commonplace ranchmatters, like branding and marking and breeding and weaning andbreaking, evoked countless eager questions. For so academic a man, thestrange thing about him was his attitude toward these day labourers; helooked upon them as brothers; not only that, but as older brothers. Heforgot his own wisdom in his thirst to partake of theirs. He gave thefull of his admiration to a man whom he had seen that day cast a wideloop of rope about the horns of a running steer.
He was making discoveries hand over fist; perhaps therein lay asufficient reason why the man of science in him was fascinated. True,those discoveries which he made were new only to him; yet one might saythe same of America and Columbus. For one thing, it dawned on him thathere was a new and excellent technical vocabulary; he stored away inhis brain strange words as a squirrel sticks nuts and acorns into ahole. Hondo, tapaderos, bad hombre, tecolote, bronco, maverick,side-winder--rapaciously he seized upon them as bits of the argot offairyland. He watched the expert roll the brown tube of a cigaretteand yearned for the skill; he observed tricks in riding, and there waswithin him the compelling urge to ride like that; not a trifle escapedhis shark-eyes, be it the way the men combed their hair, mounted theirhorses, or dragged their spurs. To-night and with unhidden elation heaccepted Barbee's invitation to 'set in and roll the bones' with them.'Roll the bones!' When some day he went back home, the owner of the'greatest little mine this side of the Rockies,' he'd work that off onhis old chum, Professor Anstruther. He drew up his chair to the table,piled a jumble of coins in front of him and took into his hands theenticing cubes.
He did not think of it as gambling; he had never gambled, had neverwanted to. But he was all alive to join in the amusements of his newfriends, to be like them. After all, he was putting up as sorts ofmarkers a few five and ten-cent pieces with an occasional quarter orhalf-dollar, and to him money had never had much significance. Thegame was the thing and he found in it from the first a keenmathematical interest. There were five dice; each dice with its sixsurfaces had six different numbers. While he beamed into the veiledeyes of the old Mexican he was figuring upon the various combinationspossible and the likelihood, the theory of chances, of a six or an aceupon the second throw. From the jump the game fascinated him; it is tobe questioned, however, if ever before a man knew just the sort offascination which enthralled him. No matter who won or lost, when therolling cubes behaved in conformity with the mathematical laws, hefairly sparkled. And in the end he lost only six or seven
dollars anddid not in the least realize that he had lost a cent. When at last heleft to go to bed, all of the eyes in the room followed him. They werepuzzled eyes.
'The old boy's all right,' said one man. It was Tod Barstow, an oldhand. And he added, nodding, 'He's a damn good loser.'
Barbee chuckled and pocketed his small winnings.
'That's what I'm playing him for, Toddy,' he admitted with his cheerfulgrin.
In the end the Longstreets went from Desert Valley straight on to thenearest town, that of Big Run, only a dozen miles still east of theranch. The suggestion came from Longstreet himself, who had had apicturesque account of the settlement from Barbee.
'I estimate,' the professor announced at breakfast, 'that we shall bethe matter of two or three months at Last Ridge. What comforts we havethere will be the results of our own efforts. Now, though we havebrought with us certain of the absolute necessities, there is much inthe way of provision and sundries that we should have. Mr. Howard hasbeen so very considerate as to offer us a wagon and horses and even adriver. I think, my dear, that we would do well to drive into Big Run,which I understand is a progressive community with an excellent store.We can get what we require there and the next day return to the LastRidge.'
Only approval greeted his words. Howard, it appeared, had business inBig Run and would make the trip with them; Carr judged that it was timefor him to be clearing out, and his way led through Big Run. So theyhurried through breakfast and started.
Tod Barstow handled the reins of the four mules; beside him on thehigh, rocking seat, sat Longstreet. During his sojourn on the ranch hehad acquired a big bright-red bandana handkerchief which now wasknotted loosely about his sun-reddened throat; the former crease in hisbig hat had given place to a tall peak: he wore a pair of leatherwrist-cuffs which he had purchased from Barbee. Barstow grunted andturned the grunt into a shrill yell directed at his mules; they knewhis voice and jammed their necks deep into their collars, taking theroad at a run. Longstreet, taken unawares, bounced and camedangerously near toppling off the seat. Then with both hands he clungto the iron guard-rod at the back of the seat and took his joy out of anew mode of travel.
Helen had elected to go on horseback. Howard had brought out for her apretty little mare, coal-black and slender-limbed, but sufficientlygentle. Barbee, who had been watching, suddenly set his toe in his ownstirrup and went up into the saddle, racing on to overtake and pass thewagon. Howard and Carr glanced swiftly at each other; then their eyeswent to the girl. Howard helped her to mount and reined in at herright, Carr dropped into place at her left, and so, the three abreast,they followed Barbee.
They rode slowly, and now Howard, now Carr, told her of the points ofinterest along the trail. When they crossed the lower end of thevalley and came to the top of the gentle slope extending along itseastern edge, Helen made a discovery. All these latter days she hadthought of the desert as behind her, lying all to the westward. Nowshe understood how the ranch was aptly named Desert Valley; it was afreak, an oasis, a fertile valley with desert lands to east as well aswest, and to north and south. When they had ridden down the far slopeof the hills they were once more upon the edges of the solitudes ofsand-sweep and sand-ridge and cactus and mesquite and utter drought.Every step their horses took carried them further into a land of aridmenace; at the end of the first hour it was difficult to imagine greenwater-fields only a handful of miles away.
'It's just the water that makes the difference,' Howard told her.'Isn't it, John?' Carr nodded. 'If a man could get water to put onthis land that is burning our horses' fetlocks off right now, he'd haveall the crops and stock range he wanted. Why, the bigger part ofDesert Valley was like this before John took hold of it; he developedthe water, and I've gone on with his work, and look what we've got now!'
'That makes your ranch all the more wonderful!' cried Helen.
Howard's eyes glowed; she noted that they always did when he spoke thusof Desert Valley or when she bespoke her hearty approval of his choice.Something prompted her to turn swiftly to Carr; his head was down; hewas frowning at the horn of his saddle; Helen, not devoid of eitherintuition or tact, changed the conversation. But not before she notedthat Howard, too, had looked toward his friend.
Big Run huddled among tall cottonwoods in a shallow hollow. It wasblessed with several clear, pure springs, its only blessing. It wasself-sufficient, impudent. About it on all sides was the sweep of greydesert; in the shade of its cottonwoods, along its thicket of willows,was a modicum of greenness and coolness; its ugly houses like toadssquatting in the shade had an air of jeering at the wastes of sand andscrub. The place was old in years and iniquity. The amazing thingconnected with it was that its water could remain pure; one would havethought that through the years even the deathless springs would havebeen contaminated. Long ago it had been a Hopi camp; in their tongueit was called the 'Half-Way between Here and There.' Later a handfulof treacherous devils from below the border had swooped down into thecottonwood hollow. They had dissipated the Indian group, for the sakeof robbery and murder. They had squatted by the water-holes,prototypes of the crooked buildings which now recalled them; they hadbuilded the town by the simple device of driving Indian labourers tothe task. White men subsequently had come, men of the restless foot,lone prospectors, cattlemen. They had lodged briefly at the hotelwhich necessity had called into being, had played cards in the adobe of'Tonio Moraga, had quarrelled with the surly southerners, had now andthen shot their way out into the clear starlit night or had known thecruel bite of steel, and in any case had left Big Run as they had foundit--a town oddly American in nothing whatever save its name, which hadcome whence and how no man knew.
First into town that morning rode Yellow Barbee; with no urge to lingerand a definite destination ahead, he always rode hard, his hat farback, his blue eyes shining. He sent his lean roan on the run down thecrooked street among the crooked houses; he scattered a handful ofdirty ducks flopping and scuttling out of his way; he drew after him anoisy barking of dogs, startled out of their sleep in the shade; hebrought his horse up with a sharp jerk of the reins before theblue-and-white sign of the saloon; he was half out of the saddle when aglimpse of something down the street altered his intention in a flash;he wheeled his horse, and, with one stirrup flying wildly, his big hatin his hand, his eyes on fire, he went racing back down the street andagain stopped with a jerk. This time the sign before him spelledhotel. Leaving his horse to pant and fight flies, Yellow Barbee strodein at the open door.
Next came in due time Tod Barstow and the mule team and Longstreet.They clattered along in clouds of high-puffed dust, harness jingling.Barstow swung his leaders skilfully and narrowly around the brokencorners of old adobes and slammed on his brake before the store, thatis to say, half-way between saloon and hotel. He climbed down,Longstreet after him.
Finally came the loiterers, Helen and Carr and Howard. They notedBarbee's roan at its hitching-rail; further they glimpsed through athirsty-looking dusty vine--that which Barbee had glimpsed before them.Some one wearing cool, laundered white was out upon the side porch;Barbee's voice, young and eager, low yet vibrant, bespoke Barbee'sproximity to the Someone.
'The widow.' said Carr. He looked at Howard. 'I'll bet you a hat it'sMrs. Murray, Al.'
It was vaguely impressed upon Helen that a significance less casualthan the light words themselves lay in Carr's remark. She, too, lookedat Howard. There was a frown in his eyes. Slowly, as his look methers, a flush spread in his cheeks. Carr saw it and laughed amusedly.
'Look out, Al,' he chuckled. 'She'll get you yet.'
Now Howard laughed with him and the flush subsided.
'John thinks he's a great little josher, Miss Helen,' he said lightly.'No doubt you'll meet Mrs. Murray at lunch; you just watch the way shelooks at John Carr!--there's the professor waiting for us. John, I'lllay you a bet of another hat!'
'Well?' asked Carr.
'I'll bet you Jim Courtot has turned up aga
in.'
But Longstreet had sighted them and was out in the road calling tothem, and Carr made no answer.