The Rim of the Desert

by Ada Woodruff Anderson

  Elizabeth smiled. “I guess he meant to get what he could out of the investment, but afterwards, when he married and found his wife owned the adjoining unreclaimed tract, it altered the situation. It called for double capital and, if he hesitated and it came to a choice, naturally her interests would swing the balance.”

  “No doubt,” admitted Beatriz. “And in that case,”—she turned from the mirror to watch the train—“I might deed her a strip of ground where it was discovered her tract overlapped David's. That would be a beginning.”

  “See here.” Elizabeth turned, and for an instant the motherhood deep in her softened the masculine lines of her face. “Don't you worry about Lucky Banks. Perhaps he did go into the project to satisfy his conscience, but the deal was his, and he had the money to throw away. Some men get their fun making over the earth. When one place is finished, they lose interest and go looking for a chance to put their time and dollars into improving somewhere else. Besides,”—and she took this other woman into her abrupt and rare embrace—“I happen to know he had an offer for his option and refused a good price. Now, come, Marcia and Frederic have gone down to the dining-room, you know. They were to order for us.”

  But Beatriz was in no hurry. “The train is on the bridge,” she said and caught a quick breath. “Do you hear? It is stopping at the station.”

  Elizabeth, waiting at the open door, answered: “We can see the new arrivals, if there are any, when we go through the lobby.”

  Mrs. Weatherbee started across the room, but at the table she stopped to bend over the bowl of violets, inhaling their fragrance. “Aren't they lovely and—prodigal enough to color whole fields?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Frederic must have ordered wholesale, or else he forgot they were in season.”

  Beatriz lifted her face. “Did Mr. Morganstein send these violets?” she asked. “I thought—but there was no card.”

  “Why, I don't know,” said Elizabeth, “but who else would have ordered whole fields of them?”

  Mrs. Weatherbee was silent, but she smiled a little as she followed Elizabeth from the room. When they reached the foot of the staircase, the lobby was nearly deserted; if the train had left any guests, they had been shown already to their rooms.

  The Morganstein table was at the farther end of the dining-room, but Frederic, who was watching the door when the young women entered, at once noticed the violets at Mrs. Weatherbee's belt.

  “Must have been sent from Seattle on that last eastbound,” he commented, frowning. “Say, Marcia, why didn't you remind me to order some flowers from town?”

  Marcia's calculating eyes followed his gaze. “You would not have remembered she is fond of violets, and they seem specially made for her; you would have ordered unusual orchids or imported azaleas.”

  Frederic laughed uneasily, and a purplish flush deepened in his cheeks. “I always figure the best is never too good for her. Not that the highest priced makes so much difference with her. Look at her, now, will you? Wouldn't you think, the way she carries herself, that little gray gown was a coronation robe? George, but she is game! Acts like she expects Lucky Banks to drop in with a clear fifty thousand, when the chances are he's gone back on his ten. Well,” he said, rising as she approached, to draw out her chair, “what do you think about your customer now? Too bad. I bet you've spent his Alaska dust in anticipation a hundred times over. Don't deny it,” he held up his heavy hand in playful warning as he resumed his chair. “Speculated some myself on what you'd do with it. George, I'd like to see the reins in your hands for once, and watch you go. You'd set us a pace; break all records.”

  “Oh, no, no,” she expostulated in evident distress. “I shouldn't care to— set the pace—if I were to come into a kingdom; please don't think that. I have wanted to keep up, I admit; to hold my own. I have been miserably afraid sometimes of being left behind, alone, crowded out, beaten.”

  “Beaten? You? I guess not. Bet anybody ten to one you'll be in at the finish, I don't care who's in the field, even if you drop in your traces next minute. And I bet if this sale does fall through to-night, you'll be looking up, high as ever, to-morrow, setting your heart on something else out of reach.”

  “Out of reach?” she responded evenly, arching her brows. “You surprise me. You have led me to believe I am easy to please.”

  “So you are,” he capitulated instantly, “in most ways. All the same, you carry the ambitions of a duchess buttoned under that gray gown. But I like you for it; like you so well I'm going to catch myself taking that property off your hands, if Banks goes back on you.”

  He leaned towards her as he said this, smiling and trying to hold her glance, but she turned her face and looked off obliviously across the room. There were moments when even Frederic Morganstein was conscious of the indefinable barrier beyond which lay intrenched, an untried and repelling force. He straightened and, following her gaze, saw Lucky Banks enter the door.

  Involuntarily Elizabeth started, and Mrs. Feversham caught a quick breath. “At the eleventh hour,” she said then, and her eyes met her brother's. “Yes or no?” they telegraphed.

  It was the popular hour, an orchestra was playing, and the tables were well filled, but the mining man, marshalled by a tall and important head waitress, drew himself straight and with soldierly precision came down the room as far as the Morganstein group. There, recognizing Mrs. Weatherbee, he stopped and, with the maimed hand behind him, made his short, swift bow. “I guess likely you gave me up,” he said in his high key, “but I waited long's I dared for the through train. She's been snowed under three days in the Rockies. They had her due at Wenatchee by two-fifteen; then it was put off to five, and when the local came along, I thought I might as well take her.”

  Mrs. Weatherbee, who had started to rise, settled back in her chair with a smile. “I had given you up, Mr. Banks,” she said not quite steadily.

  Then Morganstein said: “How do, Banks,” and offered his hand. “Just in time to join us. Ordered saddle of Yakima lamb, first on the market, dressing of fine herbs, for the crowd. Suits you, doesn't it?”

  To which the little prospector responded: “My, yes, first class, but I don't want to put you out.”

  “You won't,” Frederic chuckled; “couldn't do it if you tried.”

  But it was Elizabeth who rose to make room for the extra chair on her side of the table, and who inquired presently after his wife.

  “Mrs. Banks is fine,” he answered, his bleak face glowing. “My, yes, seems like she makes a better showing now than she did at the Corners seven years back.”

  “Still driving those bays?” asked Frederic.

  The mining man nodded with reluctance. “It's no use to try to get her to let 'em alone long's they are on the place, and I couldn't sneak 'em away; she was always watching around. She thinks Tisdale will likely sell when he sees she can manage the team.”

  “So,” laughed Morganstein, “you'll have to come up with that Christmas present, after all.”

  “They will do for her birthday,” replied Banks gravely. “I picked out a new ring for Christmas. It was a first-class diamond, and she liked it all right. She said,” and a shade of humor warmed his face, “she would have to patronize the new manicure store down to Wenatchee, if I expected her to have hands fit to wear it, and if she had to live up to that ring, it would cost me something before she was through.”

  “And did she try the parlors?” asked Elizabeth seriously.

  “My, yes, and it was worth the money. Her hands made a mighty fine showing the first trip, and before she used up her ticket, I was telling her she'd have to wear mittens when she played the old melodion, or likely her fingers would get hurt hitting the keys.”

  Banks laughed his high, strained laugh, and Morganstein echoed it deeply. “Ought to have an establishment in the new town,” he said.

  “We are going to,” the prospector replied; “as soon as the new brick block is ready to open up. There's going to be manicure and hair-dressing pa
rlors back of the millinery store. Lucile, Miss Lucile Purdy of Sedgewick-Wilson's, is coming over to run 'em both. She can do it, my, yes.”

  “Now I can believe you have a self-respecting and wide-awake town,” commented Mrs. Feversham. “But is the big department store backing Miss Purdy?”

  “No, ma'am. We ain't talking about it much, but Mrs. Banks has put up money; she says she is the silent partner of the concern.”

  “Is that so?” questioned Morganstein thoughtfully. “Seems to me you are banking rather heavy on the new town.”

  Banks' eyes gleamed appreciation, but the capitalist missed his inadvertent pun. After a moment, the mining man said: “I guess the millinery investment won't break us; but there's no question about Weatherbee's being a live town, and Lucile can sell goods.”

  “I presume next,” said Mrs. Feversham with veiled irony, “we shall be hearing of you as the first mayor of Weatherbee.”

  Banks shook his head gravely. “They shouldered that on to Henderson Bailey.”

  “I remember,” said Frederic. “Man who started the orchard excitement, wasn't he? Got in on the ground floor and platted some of his land in city lots. Naturally, he's running for mayor.”

  “He's it,” responded the mining man. “The election came off Tuesday, and he led his ticket, my, yes, clear out of sight.”

  “Bet you ran for something, though,” responded Morganstein. “Bet they had you up for treasurer.”

  Banks laughed. “There was some talk of it—my wife said they were looking for somebody that could make good if the city money fell short—but most of the bunch thought my lay was the Board of Control. You see, I got to looking after things to help Bailey out, while he was busy moving his apples or maybe his city lots. My, it got so's when Mrs. Banks couldn't find me down to the city park, watching the men grub out sage-brush for the new trees, she could count on my being up-stream to the water-works, or hiking out to the lighting-plant. It's kept me rushed, all right. It takes time to start a first-class town. It has to be done straight from bedrock. But now that Annabel's house up Hesperides Vale is built, and the flumes are in, she thinks likely she can run her ranch, and I think likely,”—the prospector paused, and his eyes, with their gleam of blue glacier ice, sought Mrs. Weatherbee's. Hers clouded a little, and she leaned slightly towards him, waiting with hushed breath—“I think likely,” he repeated in a higher key, “seeing's the Alameda has to be finished up, and the fountain got in shape at the park, with the statue about due from New York, I may as well drop Dave's project and call the deal off.”

  There was a silence, during which the eyes of every one rested on Beatriz. She straightened with a great sigh; the color rushed coral-pink to her face.

  “I am—sorry—about your loss, Mr. Banks,” she said, then, and her voice fluctuated softly, “but I shall do my best—I shall make it a point of honor—to sometime reimburse you.” Her glance fell to the violets at her belt; she singled one from the rest and, inhaling its perfume, held it lightly to her lips.

  “You thoroughbred!” said Frederic thickly.

  CHAPTER XXVI. THE EVERLASTING DOOR

  Sometime during the night of the fifteenth, the belated Chinook wind began to flute through the canyon, and towards dawn the guests at Scenic Hot Springs were wakened by the near thunder of an avalanche. After a while, word was brought that the Great Northern track was buried under forty feet of snow and rock and fallen trees for a distance of nearly a mile. Later a rotary steamed around the high curve on the mountain and stopped, like a toy engine on an upper shelf, while the Spokane local, upon which Banks had expected to return to Weatherbee, forged a few miles beyond the hotel to leave a hundred laborers from Seattle. Thin wreaths of vapor commenced to rise and, gathering volume with incredible swiftness, blotted out the plow and the snow-sheds, and meeting, broke in a storm of hail. The cloud lifted, but in a short interval was followed by another that burst in a deluge of rain, and while the slope was still obscured, a report was telegraphed from the summit that a second avalanche had closed the east portal of Cascade tunnel, through which the Oriental Limited had just passed. At nightfall, when the work of clearing away the first mass of debris was not yet completed, a third slide swept down seven laborers and demolished a snow-shed. The unfortunate train that had been delayed so long in the Rockies was indefinitely stalled.

  The situation was unprecedented. Never before in the history of the Great Northern had there been so heavy a snowfall in the Cascades; the sudden thaw following an ordinary precipitation must have looked serious, but the moving of this vast accumulation became appalling. All through that day, the second night the cannonading of avalanches continued, distant and near. At last came an interlude. The warm wind died out; at evening there was a promise of frost; and only the voice of the river disturbed the gorge. Dawn broke still and crisp and clear. The mountain tops shone in splendor, purple cliffs stood sharply defined against snow-covered slopes, and whole companies in the lower ranks of the trees had thrown off their white cloaks. It was a day to delight the soul, to rouse the heart, invite to deeds of emulation. Even Frederic was responsive, and when after breakfast Marcia broached a plan to scale the peak that loomed southeast of the pass, he grasped at the diversion. “We're pretty high up already, here at Scenic,” he commented, surveying the dome from his chair on the hotel veranda. “Three or four thousand feet ought to put us on the summit. Have the chance, anyhow, to see that stalled train.”

  “Of course it wouldn't be an achievement like the ascent of Rainier,” she tempered, “but we should have chances enough to use our alpenstocks before we're through; and it should be a magnificent view; all the great peaks from Oregon to British Columbia rising around.”

  “With the Columbia River below us,” said Elizabeth, “and all those miles of desert. We might even catch a glimpse of your new Eden over there, Beatriz.”

  Mrs. Weatherbee nodded, with the sparkles breaking in her eyes. “I know this is the peak we watched the day I drove from Wenatchee. It rose white and shining at the top of Hesperides Vale, and it may have another name, but I called it the Everlasting Door.”

  Once since their arrival at Scenic Hot Springs they had followed, skeeing, an old abandoned railroad track, used by the Great Northern during the construction of the big tunnel, to the edge of the desired peak, and, at Marcia's suggestion, Frederic invited Lucky Banks to join the expedition in the capacity of captain and guide. The prospector admitted he felt “the need of a little exercise” and, having studied the mountain with field-glasses and consulted with the hotel proprietor, he consented to see them through. No doubt the opportunity to learn the situation of the Oriental Limited and the possibilities of getting in touch with Tisdale, should the train fail to move before his return from the summit, had influenced the little man's decision. A few spikes in his shoes, some hardtack and cheese with an emergency flask in his pockets, a coil of rope and a small hatchet that might serve equally well as an ice-ax or to clear undergrowth on the lower slopes, was ample equipment, and he was off to reconnoiter the mountainside fully an hour in advance of the packer whom Morganstein engaged for the first stage of the journey.

  When the man arrived at the foot of the sharp ascent where he was to be relieved, Banks was finishing the piece of trail he had blazed and mushed diagonally up the slope to a rocky cleaver that stretched like a causeway from the timber to firm snow, but he returned with time to spare between the departure of the packer and the appearance of his party, to open the unwieldy load; from this he discarded two bottles of claret and another of port, with their wrappings of straw, a steamer-rug, some tins of pate de foie gras and other sundries that made for weight, but which the capitalist had considered essential to the comfort and success of the expedition. There still remained a well-stocked hamper, including thermos bottles of coffee and tea, and a second rug, which he rolled snugly in the oilskin cover and secured with shoulder-straps. The eliminated articles, that he cached under a log, were not missed until luncheon,
which was served on a high, spur below the summit while Banks was absent making a last reconnaissance, and Frederic blamed the packer.

  The spur was flanked above by a craggy buttress and broke below to an abyss which was divided by a narrow, tongue-like ridge, and over this, on a lower level of the opposite peak, appeared the steep roofs of the mountain station at the entrance to Cascade tunnel, where, on the tracks outside the portal, stood the stalled train. It seemed within speaking distance in that rare atmosphere, though several miles intervened.

  After a while sounds of metal striking ice came from a point around the buttress; Banks was cutting steps. Then, following a silence, he appeared. But, on coming into the sunny westward exposure, he stopped, and with two fingers raised like a weather-vane, stood gazing down the canyon. His eyes began to scintillate like chippings of blue glacier.

  Involuntarily every one turned in that direction, and Frederic reached to take his field-glasses from the shelf of the buttress they had converted into a table. But he saw nothing new to hold the attention except three or four gauzy streamers of smoke or vapor that floated in the lower gorge.

  “Looks like a train starting up,” he commented, “but the Limited gets the right of way as soon as there's a clear track.”

  Banks dropped his hand and moved a few steps to take the glasses from Morganstein. “You're right,” he replied in his high, strained key. “It ain't any train moving; it's the Chinook waking up.” He focussed on the Oriental Limited, then slowly swept the peak that overtopped the cars. “Likely they dasn't back her into the tunnel,” he said. “The bore is long enough to take in the whole bunch, but if a slide toppled off that shoulder, it would pen 'em in and cut off the air. It looks better outside, my, yes.”

  “Here is your coffee, Mr. Banks,” said Elizabeth, who had filled a cup from the thermos bottle, “and please take anything else you wish while I repack the basket. We are all waiting, you see, to go on.”