“You––you do not say anything about him, Daddy.”
“Haven’t you cut him out of the herd?” he dryly replied. “That’s enough for me, long as I know he’s your choice and is square.”
“He has nothing; he is very poor.”
“He’s got the will to work. He’ll get there, with you pushing on the reins. That’s how I size him up.”
“But, Daddy, he told me he had been bad, very bad.”
Knowles searched the girl’s face, with a sudden up-leaping of concern––that vanished as quickly before what he saw in her clear eyes.
“Might have expected it of you, honey. You stand by him. You’ve got sense enough to know what it means when a man thinks enough of a girl to tell her the wrong things he has done. I was wild, too, when I was a youngster. There was a girl I thought enough of to tell. She wasn’t your kind, honey. It came near sending me to the devil for good. You know better. No girl ought to be fool enough to hitch up with a man to reform him. But if he has already taken a brace and straightened the kinks out of himself, that’s different.”
“He has come up, Daddy––out of the depths.”
Knowles only half caught her meaning. “Sure he climbed up. That proves he has the grit and the nerve. He had proved that even better, going down at the other place. Put any man down there, and he’d make a try to get out. No, the real test was his going back down again. He might have come up just for himself. But going down again––that’s the proof of what’s in him; that’s what proves he’s white!”
“Dear Daddy!... But I’m afraid. He thinks he has been too bad ever to––to marry me. I’m so afraid he’ll go away and leave me!”
The cowman straightened up, his eyes glinting with righteous indignation.
“What! Go ’way and leave you?––when you want him to stay? By––James! He’s going to stay! Don’t you worry, honey. He’s going to stay, if I have to rope and hogtie him for you!”
The girl stared into the frowning face of her father. There was no twinkle in the corner of his eyes. He was absolutely serious. For the first time in over two days her dimples flashed. Her eyes sparkled with merriment. Her lips parted. But she checked the gay laugh before it could burst out.
“Oh!” she reproached herself. “How could I? And they still down there––and Tom suffering!”
“Tom?” repeated Knowles. “Thomas Blake––your brother! That’s why you got me started reading all those reports and engineering journals. You guessed it.”
“It did not seem possible. Yet I could not help hoping.”
“Things do happen our way––sometimes,” qualified Knowles. “Mrs. Blake––Jenny––says Lafe brought up word that the project can be put through. I meant to fight. But now––he is your brother, and he has done something no man ever before thought could be done––he has surveyed Deep Cañon. He has me beat. I’ve told Mrs.––Jenny straight out.”
“I know he will do what is right by you, dear, dear Daddy.”
“He’s your brother, honey. That settles it.”
* * *
CHAPTER XXXIV
RECLAMATION
Even with the mutual assistance that they could give one another, and with the certain knowledge that the descent was possible, the rescuers had no easy task following the trail “broken” by Ashton. Their very numbers prevented them from going down as fast as he had gone. On the other hand, those on the upper part of the life-line could steady their companions over ledges and down the steeper crevices, while the leaders helped the ones who followed by hammering footholds in the rock and at the very worst places driving in picket-pins to hold the extra ropes brought down for the purpose.
Still, Deep Cañon was Deep Cañon––the ladder it offered was a ladder of Titans. Many long hours of waiting passed after the rescuing party disappeared among the shadows less than a third of the way down the steep-sloping precipices, before they came struggling upwards again into view of the anxious watchers on the brink. The sun had circled well over into the western sky.
There was yet a thousand feet for the rescuers to clamber, hauling and pushing up in their midst the heavy body of the injured engineer. All during the first half of the ascent Blake had made the task as easy as he could by the strenuous exertion of the great strength still left in his arms and his sound leg. But at last the bandages that bound his broken leg had chafed in two on the rough ledges; and even his iron nerve had not long been able to withstand the torture of the twisting break.
He now dangled helpless in the sling by which they had secured him. Half the time he was mercifully unconscious; the other half his jaw was set rigid and his lips were compressed to stifle his groans of agony. Whenever possible Ashton climbed beside him, striving to ease the roughness of the ascent.
A full hour before they reached the top, the thin-faced consumptive surgeon arrived from Stockchute with his splints and medical case. Waited upon by Isobel and Genevieve, he was fully recovered from the exertion of his ride when at last the panting rescuers came toiling up to the brink.
Eager hands dragged the unconscious engineer to the top and carried him to where the surgeon sat waiting. A few of the watchers lingered to help the rescuers over the rim; then they, too, hurried away to see if Blake had survived that terrible ascent. For the last two hundred feet he had looked like a dead man. There was no cheering. Deep Cañon had been conquered; but it was yet to be seen whether the victory had not been won at a disastrous cost.
The sheriff and his nine men sank down on the grassy slope, gasping, outspent. Ashton collapsed in their midst. He was more than outspent; he was utterly exhausted. The instant he had seen Blake lifted over the rim-rock, he had given way to the strain of his frightful exertions. When a man sent by Isobel came hurrying to the rescuers with water and coffee, Ashton was unable to move or speak. The man had to hold him up and pour the coffee down his throat.
One by one, the sheriff and the others staggered up and went to join the silent group about Blake. No one left that circle of watchers. They were waiting for the result of the surgeon’s efforts to resuscitate the unconscious man. It was a desperate fight. But the surgeon had won a place in the forefront of his profession before the white plague had driven him from New York to this health-giving wilderness. He knew all the latest, most wonderful methods of resuscitation. And he had for assistants two who loved and were loved by his patient.
When at last the announcement was made that the engineer had come out of his swoon and probably would live, the sheriff and all the members of the posse not employés of Knowles prepared to ride down to Plum Creek ranch for the night. The cowman ordered his men to go down with the party, to water the horses and bring back food and water for the camp. The surgeon had said that his patient could not be moved for many days.
But before the party rode off, each man, from the sheriff to the youngest of the punchers, came to where Ashton was still lying on the grass, and took his limp hand in theirs. They did not grip it, for the tattered glove and shredded bandages were wet with blood; nor did they put into speech what they thought of him. A gruff word or two of fellowship and parting was all they gave him. Yet he saw and knew that he had won his place among these reddest blooded of all red-blooded men.
When one of his fellow employés came to him, leading Rocket, he sought to summon strength enough to rise, but found that he could not even turn on his side. He had driven his body to superhuman efforts. He must now pay the price. At his request, he was lifted up on Rocket, but he could not hold up his head, much less his body. They laid him again on the grass, and told Knowles his condition, before they rode off.
The cowman fetched the surgeon, who felt the pulse of the exhausted man, gave him a pellet, and hastened back to Blake. In a few moments Ashton’s feeble, racing pulse became calm and slow, the wild whirl of his thoughts lulled. He sank into profound slumber.
When he awoke the sun of another day was just clearing the great white peaks of the snowy range. He was outstre
tched on a soft bed of blankets spread over a thick layer of pine needles. Above his face sloped the roof of a small tent. He had been cared for––but there was no one watching at his bedside. He thought he understood, and smiled in bitter resignation.
When he moved, racking pains shot through his stiff muscles. Only the renewed life that surged through his veins enabled him to turn and twist and bend until the pains subsided to a dull aching and he was able to command his limbs. His hands were swathed fast in bandages. He tore them off with his teeth until the fingers were free enough for use. After much effort, he succeeded in forcing his swollen feet into his boots.
In the midst Yuki, the Jap cook, appeared before the low entrance of the tent and sank down on his knees to set a trayful of food beside the occupant. He hissed a pleasant, “Good morning, Mistah Lafe!” and was gone before Ashton could reply. The aroma of hot coffee and the savory smell of chicken broth forced Ashton to forget all else than that he was famished. Besides the coffee and broth, there was a nogg of eggs and thick cream slightly flavored with whiskey. He drank one liquid after the other with the greediness of a starving man; nor did he stop until he had drained the last drop of all three. He could have followed with a hearty meal of solids, but the fluids were enough to stimulate him to renewed energy.
He crept out of his tent and looked around. Up where they had carried Blake from the precipices stood a larger tent. Near it, under a low-growing pine, the surgeon lay rolled in a blanket, fast asleep. Some distance away, in the other direction, Yuki and two of the ranch hands were building a stone fireplace. Beyond them were picketed three horses, the nearest of which was Rocket.
Ashton stood up and started rapidly towards the big rawboned horse. Within a few yards, however, his pace slackened. He faltered and stopped to look back at the larger tent. After a pause, he turned about and slowly approached the tent.
As he drew near he heard a murmur of voices barely distinguishable above the booming of the cañon. Again he faltered and stopped and stood hesitating. The open front of the tent faced at right angles to his line of approach. As he hesitated, he saw Isobel’s head appear, veiled in the loose meshes of her chestnut hair. She looked about towards him, and drew back with a startled little cry.
He turned away to go to Rocket. A quick heavy step sounded behind him. Knowles had sprung out of the tent and was striding to overtake the retreating man.
“Hold on, Lafe,” he ordered. “Where you going?”
Ashton faced him with quiet resolution. His eyes were dark with misery, but his once lax mouth was strangely like Blake’s in its firm full lines.
“There’s only one thing for me to do, Mr. Knowles,” he replied. “I am going away. Your daughter will understand why.”
“How’re you going?” asked the cowman, his face impassive.
“I traded with Miss––Miss Knowles for Rocket. Didn’t she ever tell you?”
“Don’t matter if she did. Rocket wasn’t her hawss to trade.”
“Then, unless my pony is up here, I shall walk down as far as the ranch,” said Ashton. He added with bitter humiliation: “It’s well I have learned about Rocket in time. I’ve done enough, without adding horse thief to the list. I would have started at once, but I could not leave until I had asked about Mr. Blake. I wished to thank him for all that he has done for me.”
“All that he––!” echoed Knowles. “If you want to know, it was a mighty narrow squeak. But we pulled him through. He’s awake now and says he’s doing fine. He wants to talk to you.”
“I should like very much to do as he wishes, Mr. Knowles, but I––cannot bear to––meet her. You may realize that it is hard enough at best.”
“Sho! If that’s all,” readily reassured the cowman, “I’ll ask Chuckie to go out and hide in the bushes.”
“But I could not allow that, you know.”
“Then I figure you’ve got to come anyhow. Can’t let you go off without saying good-by to him and Jenny.”
“Jenny?” repeated Ashton.
“It’s all in the family now,” explained Knowles. “Tom has been telling us how he’s got that irrigation project all figured out in his head. He was saying what he and Jenny had planned to do for us even before Chuckie let out her secret. Come on and hear the rest.”
“I fear I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Knowles. I––”
“No, you don’t,” rejoined the cowman. “After what you’ve done you can’t make me believe you’re afraid of anything. You’ll come and face it out before you go.”
The misery in Ashton’s eyes deepened, and his lips tightened.
“Very well. Since you put it that way, I shall do as you wish, sir.”
When he followed Knowles around to the door of the tent, Isobel, who was hastily braiding her loose hair, drew back into the far corner and averted her face from him. But Genevieve met him with a radiant smile and motioned him to kneel down beside her husband.
Blake, with one thick arm crooked about his sleeping son, lay with his eyes closed. His big square face was drawn and pallid, but there was a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. As Ashton knelt beside him he looked up and lifted his free hand.
“You wouldn’t take it––down there,” he said.
Ashton flushed. “You know why.”
“You’ll take it now,” said Blake, with quiet confidence.
“I will. I am going away,” replied Ashton as he held out his bandaged hand.
The big palm closed over it in a clasp as gentle as it was strong.
“No, Lafe. I’ve got hold of you now. I can’t let you go. I need you in my business. We’re organizing the Belle Mesa Irrigation and Development Company.––How do you like my new name for Dry Mesa? Mr. Knowles puts in the reservoir site in exchange for water on his other land, a tenth share in the company, and a royalty of half the gold we placer out of the reservoir bed. As Jenny is to put up all the capital, she and I will take the lion’s share. That will leave a tenth for you and a tenth for Belle.”
Ashton sought to draw his hand away. “It is very good of you, Mr. Blake. But I cannot accept––”
“Yes, you can. You can’t help yourself. Besides, I’ve an idea a man always does better by his work when he has a stake in the undertaking. You’re to be our Resident Engineer, you know.”
“Resident Engineer?” repeated Ashton, paling and flushing. “Mr. Blake, I––I––It’s impossible that you can mean––”
“Make it ‘Tom’! You’ll have to brush up on mining engineering, too. There’s the bonanza.”
“Oh, yes, Tom!” exclaimed Genevieve. “Tell him about the gold mine.”
“I was going to keep still about it till I had the apex located,” he said. He looked full at Ashton. “But there’s no one here that the secret will not be as safe with as it is with me. Besides, it’s all in the family. I found the vein a thousand feet up the chute of Dry Fork Gulch. We will name it the Genevieve Lode. There are six of us here, counting Tommy. Each of us gets a sixth interest.”
Ashton was now pale. “Mr. Blake––Tom, I cannot! If I were fit to stay and work for you––as an axman––anything!––”
Blake’s eyes twinkled. “Then your sixth will have to go to Belle.”
“Mine too, Tom,” hastily put in Knowles.
Blake looked down solemnly at his youthful heir. “Hear that, Tommy? Guess we’ll have to pull out, too, and make it half and half to the ladies." He looked up at Ashton with a swift change from mock to real gravity. “We’ve got to begin by installing a turbine power-plant down here. Where will I find another engineer with nerve enough to go down these cliffs? I need you, Lafe.”
“I am very sorry, Tom.” Ashton drew his hand from Blake’s wearied clasp, and rose.
Isobel slipped past him and stood with her arms outstretched across the entrance of the tent. There was a dimple in each of her blushing cheeks; her eyes were radiant with tenderness and love.
“No, you can’t get away!” she declared. “D
on’t you see how we’ve got you corralled?”
“That’s what,” confirmed Knowles. “I promised her to rope and hogtie you if you made a break.”
Ashton was gazing into the girl’s eyes, his own shining with reverent adoration.
“Isobel?” he whispered.
“Let us go up on the ridge and look out over our mesa,” she murmured.
“Wait a moment, dear,” interposed Genevieve. “Lafayette, I wish to tell you that as soon as Tom and I return to Chicago, we shall go to your father. I feel certain that when he hears––”
“No, no!” begged Ashton. “You must wait. Promise that you will wait. I have only begun to make a beginning. Wait until I see if I can––” He straightened and looked at Isobel, his head well up, his eyes as resolute as his mouth. “Wait until I have proved what I am.”
“Come,” said Isobel. “We’re going to look at our dry mesa that we are to reclaim and make into a garden with the waste waters of the depths.”
* * *
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Out of the Depths Page 27
