Desert Conquest; or, Precious Waters

by A. M. Chisholm

  CHAPTER XVII

  When Clyde awoke next morning she lay for some time in dreamy content.She was deliciously rested. The cold, clear, early morning air pouringin through the open window beneath the partially drawn blind was likean invigorating draught. Outside, beyond the shade of the veranda, shecould see sunlight. Somewhere a horse whinnied. In the house she couldhear an occasional rattle of dishes. She rose and dressed, humming asong. She felt strangely happy, as though she had attained along-sought goal. Life that morning seemed to take on a new meaning toher; to be sweeter and cleaner, good in itself, a thing to rejoice in.The very air she breathed seemed charged with the indistinguishableodours of growing things, as it might strike the unspoiled, sensitivenostrils of a child. She felt a child's joy in merely being.

  "How well you are looking, Clyde," said Kitty Wade, as she entered thebreakfast room.

  "Positively blooming," said Wade.

  "Positively bloomin' hungry," laughed Clyde. "I haven't had such anappetite since I left boarding school."

  "God save all here!" said Casey, from the door. "How did you sleep? Noneed to ask you ladies, and it doesn't matter about Wade. Hey, you,Feng! You catch breakfast quick!"

  During the meal they made plans for the day. In the morning Casey wasgoing to shift the water to his oats; in the afternoon he would drivethem over to Talapus. They would have supper there, and return bymoonlight. Meanwhile they were to consider the place theirs, to gowhere and do what they liked.

  "I'll help you," Wade offered.

  "We'll all help you," said Clyde.

  "I can rig Wade out for irrigating," Casey replied, "but not youladies. It's too muddy a job for you."

  "But I should like to see how it is done," said Clyde.

  She had her way, and accompanied them to the field, watching theturning of the water down the rows, the careful adjustment of its flow,and the progress of the streams. In spite of her care she became wetand muddy--and enjoyed herself the more.

  "I told you so," said Casey. "No sympathy, Miss Burnaby."

  "I don't want it. I'm enjoying myself. I'd like to play in the water,to sail sticks down the ditch, and pretend that they were boats."

  "Shocking!" he laughed. "But I'd like to play with you."

  "Nice pair of kids you are," Wade commented. He was perspiring fromunaccustomed exertion. "'Pon my soul, though, I feel the same. To thinkof me messing away my life in a tenth-story office worrying about otherpeople's business and quarrels! What do you keep in this air, Casey?Old Ponce de Leon's Fountain of Youth?"

  "I keep some very fair Scotch in a cupboard at the house," Caseyresponded. "The water is all right now. Suppose we adjourn."

  "I'll go you once," said Wade.

  "Where do I come in?" Clyde asked. "I'm thirsty, too."

  "Feng shall produce Chakchak fizzes for both of us."

  They trooped into the house, thirsty, hungry, and laughing, and KittyWade exclaimed at Clyde's dress.

  "Thank Heaven I didn't go!" she cried. "Mr. Dunne, you should get acommission from her dressmaker."

  "Oh, this will wash. And I'm so beautifully hungry and thirsty."

  "Thirsty! With all that water?" said Kitty Wade.

  "What's water got to do with real thirst?" her husband demanded. "Comeon, Casey; don't muzzle the ox, you know. Produce that Wonderful Remedyfrom the Land o' Cakes. It was oats we were irrigating, wasn't it? Veryappropriate. Here's to Oats--oatmeal, rolled oats, wild oats, and TitusOates. 'Tak' a wee bit drappie----'"

  "Whatever has got into you?" his wife demanded.

  "I feel like a pup off a chain," Wade admitted.

  After dinner Clyde went to her room to prepare for the drive toTalapus. She inspected her limited wardrobe thoughtfully, finallyselecting the plainest and most unpretentious attire in her possession;so that when she took a last look in the mirror she saw a girl wearinga panama hat, a white shirtwaist, and a tweed golf skirt. Kitty Wade,rather more elaborately costumed, eyed her critically.

  "Oh, bother!" she said. "This isn't fair. You make me feel all dressedup, but it's too much trouble to change."

  "I looked at it the other way--it was too much trouble to dress up,"Clyde replied. "I don't suppose one needs to, out here. I'm going tobe comfy, anyway."

  Kitty Wade forebore comment, but she smiled wisely to herself. Inwardlyshe reflected that simplicity of dress was Clyde's long suit. With herhair, complexion, and figure the less fussiness there was to distractthe eye the better. And Mrs. Wade was inclined to attribute to thefortunate owner of these things a perfect knowledge of this fact.

  Mrs. Wade had the front seat, beside Casey, while Clyde sat with Wade.Clyde experienced a distinct feeling of disappointment. Wade was a goodcompanion and a good friend, _but_--and the "but" was a big one.

  She found herself listening to Casey's voice, watching the set of hisshoulders, noting the deep, living bronze of his skin. From time totime he turned, including them in the conversation, pointing out thingsof interest to Wade. But nevertheless she did not enjoy the drive.

  "I sent word that we were coming," said Casey, as they sighted theranch. "That was in the interests of the ladies mostly."

  "Of course," Wade agreed. "Women always like people to find them alltogged up, as if they never did a day's work in their lives. I catch itfrom Kitty if I bring any one home with me without due notice. If womenonly knew how much better they look in ordinary clothes!"

  Kitty Wade, turning her head to retort, surprised a quiet, enigmaticsmile on Clyde's face. Their eyes met, and keen question and defiantanswer leaped across the glance. Kitty Wade let the retort remainunspoken, and contemplated the nigh chestnut's ears, for her husband'slast words had given her a clew.

  "Oh, Clyde Burnaby, Clyde Burnaby!" she said to herself with a littleshake of the head. "Now I know. What a deep finesse! You thinkthat this McCrae girl will put on her best country-maid--orcountry-made--finery; and you, in your studied simplicity, will showthe better by contrast--to the masculine eye, at least. I give you fullcredit, my dear. Not one woman in a thousand would have thought of it._I_ shouldn't, and I know men better than you do. But why did you doit? Are you _jealous_ of a girl you've never seen? And does that meanyou care--seriously care--for our pleasant but likely impecunious Mr.Dunne?"

  She was still puzzling over this problem when they drove up to thehouse. Donald McCrae and his wife welcomed them, and he and Casey tookthe team to the stable. But as the others reached the welcome shade ofthe veranda Sheila emerged from the house and came forward. At sight ofher Kitty Wade smiled to herself.

  For Sheila had not donned finery. She was clad in simple white,unrelieved by any touch of colour. Not a ring adorned her slim, brownhands. Her masses of glistening, brown hair were dressed low on herhead, giving an effect almost girlish, softening the keenness of herface. She was as composed, as dignified, as essentially ladylike asClyde herself.

  Clyde thanked her gracefully for the arrangement of their rooms. It wasvery good of her to take such trouble for strangers.

  "Oh, but I'm afraid I did that for Casey, and not for the strangers,"laughed Sheila. "I hope old Feng didn't undo my work. He thought I wasbutting in. Anyway, Casey would have seen that you were comfortable,though some of his ideas of domestic arrangements are masculine, to saythe least of them." She told the story of the hen, and set themlaughing.

  Later Casey, having stabled the horses, came up with McCrae. "Well,Sheila, what's the good word?" he asked. "What yarns have you beentelling Miss Burnaby?"

  "I was telling her of your poultry system."

  "Miss McCrae has been suggesting all sorts of things for ouramusement," said Clyde; "from a dance to riding lessons."

  "I didn't say a word about lessons," Sheila protested.

  "But I need them," Clyde admitted. "I never pretend to know what Idon't know."

  "Sheila can give most men lessons," said Casey. "The only objection Ihave is that I intended to instruct you myself."

  Clyde laughed. "Which offer shall I ac
cept?"

  "Casey's," said Sheila promptly. "I won't be selfish. Besides,educational statistics prove that we women imbibe knowledge faster frommen than from each other."

  Clyde darted a swift glance at her. But Sheila's face told nothing. Ifthe words were intended to bear an added meaning she did not show it.

  "Statistics are good for something, at last," said Casey.

  "Give her Dolly," said Sheila. "Don't let her coax you into letting hertry that old brute, Shiner. He's almost an outlaw."

  "Love me, love my horse!"

  The quotation seemed careless. Sheila's face told Clyde nothing.

  "'Like master, like horse' is more appropriate," said Sheila.

  "Oh, I'm not an outlaw--yet," he said, with just the slightest pausebefore the word.

  Slight though it was, Clyde noticed it; noticed, too, the instantshadow on Sheila's face, the quick contraction of her dark brows, themomentary silence, transient but utter. It was as if the chill andgloom of night had suddenly struck the summer's noonday.

  But in a moment the conversation was resumed, and became general. SandyMcCrae joined them, silent as usual, but evidently attracted by Clyde.Presently Sheila took Casey to diagnose the case of a favourite, sickcollie.

  "My heavens, Casey, did you see the kid?" she asked. "I never knew himto look twice at a girl before."

  "Every boy has to start some time," he laughed. "She's well worthlooking at."

  "That's so. Yes, she's very pretty, Casey."

  "I'm glad you like her."

  It was on the tip of her tongue to disclaim, but she checked herself."She's different from what I expected. No airs. And she _looks_sensible. Is she?"

  "I think so."

  "Yes, I think so, too. She dresses very simply. I was prepared to bereduced to a condition of helpless feminine envy by her clothes. As itis, I feel quite of the same clay."

  "You don't need to envy anybody's clothes. That white dress looks goodto me. I never saw you looking better."

  The rich blood crept up under her tanned cheeks. Such compliments wererare in her life. Casey himself seldom paid them. Frank friendship wasvery well; but now and then, womanlike, she longed for such currentcoin of courtesy.

  "Really, Casey?"

  "Of course," he assured her. "You know how to wear clothes. And youknow you look particularly well in white. I've told you so before."

  "Once."

  "Half a dozen times."

  "No--once. I remember it very well, because you don't often notice whatI have on. Perhaps that's lucky, too."

  "If it's you in the clothes, that's good enough."

  "That's just the trouble. You accept me as part of the everydayscenery. I might wear a blanket, for all you'd care."

  "I've seen some mighty becoming blanket costumes."

  "I'm not a _klootch_," she flashed. "I'm a white woman, and when I weara becoming dress I like somebody to tell me so."

  "And didn't I just tell you?"

  "So you did--and I'll put a ring around the date. It's the first timeyou've condescended to pay me a compliment in a year. You men are thelimit. You take it as a matter of course that a girl should be neat andspick and span. If she wasn't you'd notice it soon enough. It's easyfor a girl like this Miss Burnaby. I don't suppose she ever did a day'swork or anything useful in her life. She orders her clothes from thebest places, and gets them fitted and sent home, and that's all thereis to it. But how about me? I've got a hundred things to attend toevery day. I've got to make my own clothes, or take a long chance on amail-order house. That's why, when I do get anything that lookspassable, I like it to be noticed."

  "That's so," he admitted. "That's natural. I never thought of it,Sheila, and that's the truth. Why didn't you tell me before?"

  "Oh, heavens! Casey, I'm sorry I did now. Why do men have to be _told_?I don't get taken this way often. Women and dogs have to be thankfulfor small mercies. Only a dog can shove a cold, wet nose into hismaster's hand and get a pat and a kind word; but a woman----"

  She broke off, colouring furiously. The red tide surged over cheeks andbrow to the roots of her hair. For the first time, with him, she wasafraid of being misunderstood.

  But Casey's perceptions, fairly acute where men and affairs wereconcerned, quite failed to grasp the situation. He saw only thatSheila, ordinarily sensible and dependable, had flown off the handleover something, and he metaphorically threw up his hands helplessly atthe vagaries of women.

  "Well, well, now, never mind," he said, in blundering consolation. "Youlook well in anything. I've often noticed, but I didn't think you caredfor compliments. Anyway"--he grasped eagerly at something safe--"anyway,you can't beat that white dress."

  She turned to him again, once more the everyday Sheila.

  "All right, old boy, we'll let it go at that. Forget it. And now I'lltell you something: I wore this white dress--absolutely the plainestthing I have--because I didn't want to come into a finery contest withMiss Burnaby. And now let's look at the old dog. I'm afraid he'll haveto be shot."

  Farwell put in an appearance after supper. It was plain that the bigengineer had not expected to find other guests; also that theirpresence embarrassed him. Quite unused to dissembling his feelings, hetook no pains to hide his dislike for Dunne. Casey, on the other hand,was polite, suave, quiet, wearing the mocking smile that invariablyexasperated the engineer.

  "You and Mr. Farwell are not friends," Clyde ventured on the way home.

  "He doesn't think much of me," Casey admitted. "I rub him the wrongway."

  "As you were doing to-night."

  "Was I?"

  "You know you were. Is there a private quarrel between you, apart fromthe water matter?"

  "Not exactly. But it would come to that if we saw much of each other."

  "Then I hope you won't. It's embarrassing to others."

  "I'm awfully sorry. It was very bad form, of course. But somehow Icouldn't help it."

  "Never mind. The McCraes are affected by this water trouble, aren'tthey?"

  "As much as I am. You are surprised that Farwell goes there. I havenever mentioned it to them, nor they to me. It's none of my business."

  "Nor of mine."

  "I didn't mean that."

  "I know you didn't. Still, I think I could guess why Mr. Farwell goesto Talapus."

  "So could I," said Casey dryly, and the subject dropped.

  But Kitty Wade came to Clyde's room for a chat before retiring. "ThoseMcCraes," she said, "are very nice. Mr. McCrae is one of the realpioneers. He told us some of the most interesting things. How did youlike Miss McCrae?"

  "I think she's a very nice, sensible girl. Good-looking, too."

  "H'm!" said Kitty Wade. "Yes, I think she is. Dresses nicely andsimply. No imitation fine things. Shows the correct instinct. You andshe might have been having a plain-clothes competition."

  Clyde did not respond. Kitty Wade resumed, after a brief pause: "I'lltell you one thing, Clyde; this man Farwell is in love with her."

  "I could see that, Kitty."

  "And she doesn't care for him."

  "I thought that, too."

  "I wonder," Kitty Wade went on, "if there is anything between her andMr. Dunne? Do you suppose he and Mr. Farwell are jealous of each other?They were like two dogs with one bone."

  Clyde yawned. "Oh, mercy, Kitty," she said wearily, "ask me somethingeasier. I wouldn't blame either of them. She seems to be a thoroughlynice girl."

  Kitty Wade on her way to her room nodded wisely. "You don't fool me alittle bit, Clyde," she said to herself. "This Sheila McCrae isprobably just as nice as you are, and you own up to it like a littlelady. But all the same you hate each other; and, what's more, you bothknow it."