CHAPTER XXXV
THE WAY OF LIFE
Sand, sand, sand--far as the eye can reach, a sea of sand, with hereand there a half-buried and bleached horned skull, and vulturescircling high above in the heavens.
Away in the blinding distance five specks appear, and finally are seento be slowly on the move. Hours after this discovery, if an observerwere to remain stationary, the specks take on the shapes of animallife--two men, a woman, and two burros bearing packs. Onward they moveslowly, and once more become mere specks, scarce discernible againstthe weird hue of the sky, then vanish altogether. Once more in allthis vast, dread waste moves nothing save the vultures indolentlycircling in the hot dome above.
Days later a dust-covered automobile worms its way through the trafficin Los Angeles and comes to rest before a tall office building. Two asdusty as the car descend from the tonneau, and one leaves the seatbeside the driver. Pedestrians stare curiously at the trio as, talkingand laughing in high spirits, they cross the pavement to the building'sentrance.
"Desert rats--mining folks," observes a wiseacre to his friend. "Lookat the girl and the chaps! Peach, eh? That's the life! Ho-hum!Gotta get back to the old office, Bill. See you to-night at lodge, Is'pose. S'long!"
In a lavishly furnished anteroom of a suite of offices on the top floorof the building, Jerkline Jo and Hiram Hooker sank into overstuffedchairs and relaxed, while the other man, in khaki and scarred puttees,excused himself and entered the rooms beyond, carrying a suit case thattugged at his arm until his shoulder sagged. He was absent from theintercom a half hour.
"Well, boy," said Jerkline Jo, "it's all over, I guess. What anexperience! I thought I knew the desert and the rough life before, butI wasn't out of my A B C's."
"It was glorious, though," said Hiram. "I wouldn't have missed it,dear, for worlds."
"Nor I, either. But I don't wish ever to return. Once is enough."
After this they were silent. Both sat with eyes closed, dreaming ofthe past and the beckoning future. Their dreams were finallyinterrupted by the reappearance of Mr. John Downer, the mining engineerfor the Gold Hills Mining Co., in whose offices they now sat.
"Well," he began, smiling, "if you'll come in now, Mr. Floresta wouldlike to have a talk with you. Getting a bit rested, Miss Modock?"
Mr. Floresta, president of the Gold Hills Mining Co., was a pudgy, pinkman, carefully groomed and manicured and barbered, who radiatedbusinesslike good nature. On his rich mahogany desk lay a row of goldspecimens that glittered in the sunlight streaming in through a window.He shook hands warmly with Jo and Hiram; and when all were seated theytalked of the trip for a time, and then the president plunged to theheart of the business that had brought them together.
"Knowing that you were in a hurry, Miss Modock," he said, "I called ameeting of the stockholders, and we reached the conclusion that, if Mr.Downer's report was entirely satisfactory, there would be no use inquibbling over the price you and Mr. Hooker have asked. The sum thatyou ask for the group of claims that you filed upon is, as you areaware, an enormous one for unproved mining properties. Still, we wishto be fair; and on Mr. Downer's glowing report we are going to take achance. Therefore, please state your pleasure in the matter ofpayments, and arrangements will be made at once."
A great sigh escaped Jo, and tears welled to her dark eyes.
"Thank you, Mr. Floresta," she said. "If you can let us have twohundred thousand at once, I'm sure payment of the remainder of themillion can be easily arranged to suit both sides."
Mr. Floresta bowed and pushed a buzzer button. A moment or so later amessenger was on the way to a bank with a check. When he returned hehanded Floresta another check--one certified by the cashier of thecompany's banking house.
"Now for yours and Mr. Hooker's signatures, please," said Floresta. "Ihave indicated in the transfer papers that the remainder of the milliondollars is to be paid in four semi-annual installments, of two hundredthousand each, with interest at six per cent on deferred payments. Isthat entirely satisfactory?"
"Entirely," Jo told him, and went to his desk and took up the pen hehanded her.
Five minutes later Hiram and the girl were alone in the anteroom oncemore. Hiram took the hands of Jerkline Jo and bent over her.
"Ma'am," he drawled whimsically, "if you'll let me, I'll kiss you now!"
Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet paced back and forth in his little pineoffice, his hands behind his back, his brows furrowed. Every littlewhile he grabbed his nose and straightened it savagely, but each timeit reverted to its list to port again, and Tweet marched ondisconsolately. It was the evening of the next to last day of histhree days of grace. To-morrow Paloma Rancho, Ragtown, and all thatthey represented would slip automatically from his control, and hecould not raise a finger to stop it.
Suddenly the door burst open with a bang, and Heine Schultz filled thelittle office with the roar of a behemoth:
"Oh, boy! Have you seen it? Just come in with the mail! Los Angelespapers! Here, read, man! And then get drunk! I'll help you!"
Tweet snatched the paper from him, and his steel-blue eyes bugged atthe glaring headlines:
Gold! Gold! Gold! Death Valley Gives Up Another Secret. Rich Find in Little-Known Corner of Treacherous Waste. Dead Father of Picturesque Girl Called Jerkline Jo the Finder. Weird Tale of Struggles and Death and Baby Lost on Desert. Gold Hills Mining Co. Takes Over the Claims at $1,000,000. President Says Richest Discovery Since Days of '49.
"Great stutterin' Demosthenes!" exclaimed Tweet, and fell limply into achair.
Then again the door was opened, and a boy from the post office handedTweet a special-delivery letter. Tremblingly he tore the envelope andremoved a yellow telegram. Tears sprang to his eyes as he read aloud:
"Have to-day deposited to credit of your checking account in Bluemount National Bank, Los Angeles, one hundred thousand dollars. Check against it at pleasure. Hiram and I on our way to Mendocino County for a little rest and to see old friend of his. Reach Ragtown in about two weeks if all goes well.
"JEAN PRINCE HOOKER, JERKLINE JO."
Tweet sprang from his chair, cramming on his hat.
"Lock the door and take the key, Heine!" he cried. "I'm going to LosAngeles at fifty miles an hour!"
At the same time in the shooting gallery Al Drummond and Lucy Dallesstared over the top of a newspaper at each other, their eyes tragic.
"Gyped!" exclaimed Drummond at last.
"Gyped!" Lucy echoed faintly.
Then for a time there was silence, broken at last by Drummond's wearyvoice.
"Guess I'll drift up to the Dugout," he said. "See you later."
Lucy made no reply, but stood staring out across the spring-scenteddesert, her thoughts on the tinkling streams of Mendocino and the big,kind, sheltering trees. The rhododendrons were beginning to blossomthere now. Soon the redwood lilies would be scenting the air withtheir delicate fragrance. Gray squirrels would be scolding in loftytrees, and trout would be leaping in still, dark pools.
Lucy sat down very suddenly, and then her head fell forward on herarms. There on the carpeted counter, between the rifles, she sobbedheartbrokenly. She knew by intuition that in her quest for wealth shewould not have Al Drummond to help her in the future.
Ragtown's biggest day was when old Basil Filer, having been acquittedof the charge of murder on the evidence furnished by Jerkline Jo andHiram Hooker, returned to hunt for his burros. This was Ragtown'sgreatest day because Hiram Hooker and his bride came, too.
They had spent a pleasant time with Uncle Sebastian Burris in MendocinoCounty, most glorious of countries in spring. Hiram had expressed thewish to see Uncle Sebastian again and to tell him all that had befallenhim in driving jerkline to Ragtown. Hiram had learned a great lesson,he felt. He had left the north woods to do something less prosaic thandriving jerkline, and a series of peculiar incidents had forced himback into the same old groove again. Yet the once scorned,
neglectedtask had brought him adventures and a fortune and a splendid girl.Over all this he wished to marvel with his old benefactor and friend,and Jo had readily consented to the trip. They had returned for BasilFiler's trial as the main witnesses for the defense.
The stage brought all three into the town, and for the first time theysaw the new steel and the track-laying engine beyond. Carpenters werebuilding the roundhouse, and new buildings were going up all over thevillage.
Ragtown turned out in a body to meet them. The wagons and teams ofJerkline Jo's freight outfit were covered with flags, and Jo's proudskinners paraded the streets, the wagons loaded with cheeringtownspeople. Carried on the shoulders of men, the bride and groom wereescorted to the Palace Dance Hall, where a banquet had been prepared,over which presided Twitter-or-Tweet Orr Tweet.
Far into the night they celebrated, and in all of Ragtown there wasonly one who did not attend. This was poor little Lucy Dalles, sobbingher heart out in her little cabin, her dream of wealth and marriagewith Al Drummond gone.
It was nearly midnight when there came a gentle tapping on her door.Dashing the tears from her eyes, Lucy walked unsteadily across herexpensive rug and opened the door to a crack. Next moment she foundherself in a pair of strong arms, and her head lay on the breast ofJerkline Jo.
"There, there, dear! There, there! Don't cry! It's all right--allright! I know--I understand."
With her arms about the sobbing girl, big-hearted Jerkline Jo, thedesert's grandest product, led the way to one of the big leather chairsand sat down. Only Lucy's sobs broke the silence, while Jo sat andsmoothed back her pretty hair.
Presently the sobbing ceased, and then Jo rose and, taking her in herarms again, kissed her and smiled into her eyes.
"You must bathe your eyes now, dear," said Jo, "for Mr. Tweet is comingto see you pretty soon. He told me so. Now look your best for Tweethas something serious to say to you."
She left her then, and an hour later Tweet interrupted Jo and Hiram inJo's little cabin on the edge of town. He came in and sat down.
"Well, Jo," he said, "it's a go. We'll go to work and get marriedto-morrow mornin', if the old bus will take us to a preacher. I guessI've loved her some time," Tweet added bashfully. "Lucy and me'll makenice little playmates."
Hiram rose and gripped his old friend's hand. "I'm mighty glad,Tweet," he told him. "Just too much Ragtown--that's all that was thematter with Lucy. She was kind to me up there in Frisco when I'd justcome out of the woods. Her heart's warm, and that's what counts."
Tweet's steel-blue eyes twinkled. "Course nobody could blame her formakin' you spend four dollars an hour for an automobile," he said. "Itwas a crime not to roll you for your jack in those days, Hooker. Iforgave her for that a long time ago."
Next morning Basil Filer drifted into town, driving his recapturedburros ahead of him. Silently he worked at packing the bags andthrowing diamond hitches.
Jerkline Jo and Hiram stood laughing at the gurgling imps of thedesert, and Jo went up to Filer.
"What does this mean?" she asked. "You're all packed up for a trip."
The weird old eyes looked up at her queerly. "We're goin'--out there,"croaked Filer, a trembling finger pointing toward the fragrant desert."It's spring, Baby Jean--and now's the time to hunt for gold, whenthere's lots o' feed for the little fellas."
"Gold!" cried Jo. "Why, man, you've so much money coming to you thatyou can't spend it in the rest of your natural life."
"Money?" he said absently. "Yes--you've done me han'some, Baby Jean.But I ain't got much use for money. Money's only a grubstake, so's youc'n buy things and go out and hunt for gold. Good-by, folks! Nextfall you'll see me and the little fellas ag'in. Hi, Muta! Lead out!"
And, gripping his staff, he limped off in the wake of his long-earedcompanions, swinging their packs from side to side as a mother rocksthe cradle.
"They're all like that," said a man. "It's the hunt for it that keeps'em goin'. They don't know what to do with it when they get it."
The dark eyes of Jerkline Jo were full of dreams.
"Yes, we're all like that, I imagine," she said.
"And how bout _you_, Jo?" some one asked. "Now that you're rich andmarried and all?"
Jo looked down the street at the nearly completed roundhouse and thetrack-laying engine working on below the town.
"I?" she said dreamily. "Why--why--I don't just know. The steel hascome, and now freight will reach here by train. We're going to NewYork--Hiram and I--and maybe across the Atlantic. But we'll come backsoon, and--and---- Oh, there'll be a new road buildingsomewhere--another Ragtown. We couldn't quit, I guess. What's citylife and all that money will buy compared with the thrill of driving aten-horse jerkline team over the desert and the mountains? I guess,after we've looked about the Gentle Wild Cat and I will just keep ondriving jerkline to Ragtown--somewhere."
She pointed over the desert to where a bent old man and six driftingburros were blending gradually into the landscape.
"He's not crazy," she said softly. "He has just voiced a greatfundamental truth for all humanity. Money is only a grubstake. Theworld needs gold and--and freight. Jerkline to Ragtown--that's life!Some Ragtown will need freight--some Ragtown--somewhere."
THE END.
The She Boss: A Western Story Page 35
