by Zane Grey
Virginia was out before breakfast to meet the train from the east, and to her great satisfaction, Mr. Jarvis alighted from it.
She was not insensitive to the fact that every move of hers in Las Vegas was sure to be seen by somebody. She had become public property, and though she believed the populace championed her, it did not seem politic to invite speculation about this delicate venture.
The quiet-eyed Jarvis might have been a detective who saw all yet gave no sign. Virginia was spared the necessity of speaking to him obtrusively. He carried a grip which he set down before the newsstand. And presently Virginia found opportunity to address him.
“I’ve had breakfast,” he said. “Can I change clothes out at the mine?”
“Yes. Meet me in ten minutes back of the station. I’ll be in a car.”
Those were all the words exchanged and these swiftly in passing. Virginia walked up town to a garage and engaged a car, in which she rode back to the station. When she opened the door, Jarvis appeared as if by magic and stepped in. With that, Virginia’s tension relaxed. She was practically certain no possible observer would have reason to telephone out to Cottonwoods, and that contingency was all she feared. At her order the chauffeur speedily drove away. Jarvis gave her a knowing look, accompanied by a slight motion toward the driver.
“No fear now,” she replied, in relief that was pleasant. “I was afraid some one might phone out home.”
“How far is the place?” he asked.
“About twelve miles. The old road up the last hill has washed away in spots. We shall leave the car and walk up.”
Outside of town the chauffeur slowed up where the road forked. “Which one?” he asked.
“Left hand. Then about five miles out take the road to the right. It’s up hill and rough. Go slow.”
Jarvis leaned toward her casually and whispered that it might be wise to talk about the range, or ranches, or anything but the Padre Mine. “It’s just possible I’d require another day,” he concluded.
Wherefore Virginia made conversation which, if the chauffeur overheard, would not be significant. And all the while she gazed out at the autumn hills and the fading cottonwoods, and southward over the range toward far-off Guadaloupe, with her heart in her eyes, with fists tight in her coat pockets and slow-rising excitement. Jarvis asked questions about ranches, sheep, Mexicans, water, everything about which an ordinary visitor might be interested.
The car was really traveling slowly, but to Virginia it seemed fast. All too soon they reached the old road that led up to the mine. And when the car had ascended the first hill to start across a wide, bare bench, Cottonwoods was in plain sight. Virginia had not counted on this and she was startled. Anyone at the ranch happening to look up would certainly espy the car. Soon, however, she was relieved of this worry, for the road cut into rough ground.
Then followed a bumpy, uncomfortable, uphill ride for several miles until further progress for the car was halted by washouts in the road.
“We’ll have to walk,” said Virginia. “It’s not very far. . . . Driver, you back down the road till you can turn the car, then wait.”
Jarvis looked up the slope with the appraising eye of long experience.
“I’m afraid you’re not a judge of distance,” he said, dryly. “It’s both far and steep. But you look good for it. I’m glad you wore sensible outdoor clothes.”
Presently the ascent prohibited conversation. It did not appear possible to Virginia that trucks and cars had ascended this road. It would have been a hard haul for horses. At length they came out on the west bank of a great ravine, at the head of which and on the opposite side lay the Padre Mine. Jarvis remarked that a good deal of earth had been dug out and dumped on the ugly slope.
A long gradual ascent led to a short steep one which, when surmounted, landed them on the bench before the unsightly, weathered structures. What a hideous blot on that mountain slope! Approached from above it had not been so stark and tremendous, for the reason that a good deal of it was hidden.
“Oh, what—a climb!” panted Virginia, looking back at her companion.
“You’re a Western girl all right,” he returned. “Now let’s step out a little way on that trestle.”
From this vantage-point, which did not appear wholly safe, the slash in the mountain-side could be seen in its entirety.
“I don’t know how many tunnels and shafts have been dug,” said Virginia, when she had caught her breath. “But the big hole there, with the track coming out, is where my cowboy, Jake, went in and found the gold.”
“That’s our objective, then,” replied Jarvis, his keen eyes snapping. “Most interesting place. There’s been a tremendous lot of labor here. . . . I wonder what that big shaft was sunk for.” He pointed to a black brush-lined hole. “Queer sort of mining. But there probably was silver here.”
He surveyed the several apertures that led into the hillside, particularly the one Virginia designated, and the endless dump-heaps of clay and gravel and shale, the rotting trestles and the rusty pipes, the dilapidated smelter below, half buried in deposits that had washed down from above, the shacks with their brown galvanized iron roofs.
“Mistakes are easy to make in anything that pertains to mines,” he said, seriously. “But all this does not have a legitimate look.”
“You raise my hopes,” rejoined Virginia, with an anxious smile. “Please hurry. I must know.”
“You won’t have to wait long. I suppose I can get in one of these shacks to put on my overalls.”
“We’ll try the office. It’s up here a little way—the last house. When I was last here the door was open. . . . Seems to me not a soul has been here since.”
“Desolated and decaying—the story of so many mines!” he returned. “Money is not the only thing sunk in mines.”
They found the office building as Virginia had expected, the door half broken from rusted hinges, and her little boot-tracks still visible in the dust on the floor. After a curious peep inside Virginia withdrew to stroll up and down the hard gravel bench between the rude structures. What a desolate place! She peeped through cracks in boarded windows and doors. Usually all too easy was it for her to weave romance, but she could not here. Even the indefatigable Ethel would have failed. All concerning this ghastly place, in the past and now, was grim nude realism. Greed had fostered it. No wonder it had brought misfortune to her father. What would it bring to Malpass? Retribution and justice had prompted Virginia to this course, but now there loomed the possibility of somber tragedy which she could not dispel. Padre Mine seemed under its spell.
Jarvis came out to interrupt her meditations. He had on blue jeans much the worse for wear. He carried a small pick, a lantern, and other instruments which gave him a formidable look.
“Better go inside and wait for me,” he advised. “There’s a chair. You can’t be seen by a chance rider above. I don’t believe I’ll be long.”
“Take all the time needful. Don’t hurry. It means so much to me.”
“If I were a gambler I’d say you’d win this deal,” he returned, a bright gleam in his eye. “But I’m a professional mining engineer and jealous of my reputation. So I can’t make rash promises. Nevertheless, be patient and hopeful.”
“Thank you, I will,” responded Virginia, calmed by his kindly words. He was sure, but he wanted physical proofs. She watched him disappear down the bank and then she crossed to the office building and went in.
It was a single, large, bare room, well lighted by the open door and a broken window. The floor was thick with dust and dirt, and in one place where rain had entered there was caked mud. An old iron stove leaned crazily on its legs. Sections of stove pipe were missing, but one piece projected down from the ceiling. There were an old chair, which obviously Jarvis had cleaned off for her, and some rocks in a corner, pieces of wood scattered here and there, a closet, empty except for Jarvis’ coat, a rude board table in the farthest corner, and lying on it a rusty iron poker, considerably ben
t.
Virginia walked round and round the room, trying to still her nervousness and to find occupation for her mind. But she was not very successful. Here in this interior stalked the same skeleton which haunted the rest of the Padre Mine.
As the moments passed she grew more nervous, and scarcely could resist the desire to look at her watch. Yet every moment surely was helping to prove her contention. She sat down for a while, but only to rise and peep out, and begin again her restless pace to and fro. At last in desperation she surrendered to the one state of consciousness that could always annihilate the hours—dreaming of Clifton. It was a dangerous luxury which she seldom allowed herself, and then never for long. This case, however, seemed justifiable. If she did not yield to it, presently she would be tagging after Jarvis, to dirty her clothes, to risk being seen or hurting herself.
Where was Clifton this bleak November day? Tramping along behind his flock, a shepherd of the range. There seemed to be something uplifting and beautiful about all he undertook. Surely he was again torturing his poor maimed limbs. But how blessed the sheep-herder Smith, who claimed the desert would cure Clifton! Soon, surely, the period of pain would be past and he would begin to mend. She prayed for it. Then he would grow straight and strong again, with body in harmony with his fine mind and soul. How often did he think of her? She was his wife. Could he remember that and be indifferent? Would he always be so modest and blind as to believe she had not cared? Would he not be sorry she too had been turned from home, like him? Perhaps he had never heard of it. If the desert had magical properties to make him well, would it not also teach him love? Virginia trembled inwardly with that longing. Sooner or later they were bound to meet. Then what! Could she conceal her love—would she want to? If he did not take her in his arms and kiss her as she yearned to be kissed, she would fall at his feet.
Suddenly Virginia’s sweet trance had a rude awakening. She had heard something in the direction of the slope. Jarvis had not gone that way. She listened—heard the thumping of her heart. Then thud of hoofs!
Violently she started up, to sink back in the chair, cold as ice, quivering in every muscle. Someone was coming on a horse. She tried to still her heart. A rider or a hunter presented no obstacle to her enterprise. Perhaps he would ride by. She could not be seen through the door, unless the horseman dismounted. She grew perfectly rigid in her fear—recognizing a fatality in the moment.
But the hoof thuds passed on by. Virginia breathed again, and relaxed. Then the thuds slowed—stopped. Every function within her except that of listening ears seemed deadlocked.
The horse started back toward the house. Virginia heard a low exclamation, then the solid footfalls of a man dismounting hurriedly. Her vital being surged with the rush of blood back to her heart, to leave her body dry and frozen like ice.
Quick sharp footsteps on the porch. A shadow entered. Following it a man crossed the threshold. Malpass! She could have shrieked at her infernal luck. When he saw her sitting there he halted dead short with a half step, one foot in the air. It dropped, to scrape on the floor. Upon entering, he looked for an instant as she had seen him a thousand times. The moment he espied her the transformation was immense and indescribable.
“For God’s—sake! . . . Virginia!”
She kept her seat because she did not have strength to rise. But with certainty upon her, the icy inward clamp was released and she burned.
“What are you doing here?” he shouted, almost incoherent in a staggering amaze.
“That’s no—concern of yours,” she found voice to reply. Her mind grasped at straws.
“You’re on my land. What do you mean? . . . You’re up to something.”
“Your land! That’s another of your lies,” she returned, and with scorn and rising battle she strengthened. He must be deceived and, if not that, held off as long as possible. Jarvis would return, perhaps was on his way now.
“Have you made up with your father?” he demanded, as if suddenly accounting for her presence and her apparent assurance.
“Yes. And this property is as good as mine.”
It was a falsehood, but served its purpose. Malpass turned from red to white, and cursed Lundeen in impotent fury. Virginia gathered that all had not been so well between her father and this usurper. It gave her more nerve and cunning. Anything to blind him!
“So that’s the trick? I’ve been double-crossed, eh?” he burst out, at the conclusion of his profane tirade.
“We are the ones who have been double-crossed, Señor Malpass.”
“We?” he snarled, but he was again struck to astonishment.
“Yes. My father and I—and others interested in Cottonwoods.”
“Your sheep-herder husband included. To hell with him! . . . I want to know what you’re doing here.”
“I told you—none of your business,” retorted Virginia.
“I’ll make it mine.”
“You can’t do it, Señor Malpass.”
“Cut that señor stuff,” he flashed, his black eyes hellish. “I told you once before. If you call me that again I’ll slap your impudent face.”
“Evidently it fits you well—señor,” she returned, contemptuously.
He fairly bounded at her, and cuffed her sharply across the lips. Virginia realized her blunder. She had overdone her part. She realized, also, that the blow roused the Lundeen in her.
“That will cost you something,” she said, rising with her handkerchief to her lips, which were stained with blood.
“This deal is liable to cost you something,” he rejoined, with a menacing glance at her that no woman could mistake. “Are you alone?”
“Certainly not. Do you imagine I’d come here without protection?”
His glance was one of doubt and suspicion. “Who’s with you?”
“I advise you not to wait and see.”
“You came in that car I saw below?”
“Did you see only one?” she countered.
He was no match for her in finesse and he gave that up in disgust. He peered out of the window, surveying all the ground possible. Then he went to the door to do likewise. Following this he began to scrutinize the dust on the floor of the porch, and like a hound he trailed Jarvis’ footprints into the room. When he raised his eyes Virginia recoiled.
“Liar! You’ve got only one man with you.”
“I have two men. But one would be enough,” retorted Virginia.
“Some Las Vegas masher. He’d better steer clear of me. Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”
“Padre Mine has always had romance for me. Don’t you think it natural I’d like to see it again?”
“Anything would be natural to you,” he growled, his gimlet eyes boring into her. Manifestly he could not satisfy himself either with her speech or her look. Suddenly his roving gaze caught sight of the coat hanging in the closet. Leaping forward, he pounced upon it, shook it, and searched the pockets, pulling out letters and a notebook. Avidly he scrutinized them.
“George Jarvis, Mining Engineer, Denver, Colorado,” he read aloud. “Mining engineer!”
When he wheeled to Virginia he was livid green. “You—you . . . Is that the man you fetched here?”
“I didn’t say so,” returned Virginia, coolly. His reaction to this name seemed damning evidence of his guilt.
“You meddling hussy! Talk, or I’ll choke it out of you.”
“Stand back!” cried Virginia. “If you dare to lay your vile hands on me——”
“You proud white trash!” he hissed, and the half-breed in him showed, as he backed her across the room until the table stopped her. “I’ll do more than lay my hand on you. Tell me your business here.”
“If I had any I wouldn’t tell it.”
She saw that he could hardly restrain himself from seizing her. And primitive fear mounted in her, equaling her anger. All of a sudden he snatched at her, over her raised arms, and catching her with iron clutch he let out a savage cry. Virginia screamed for help.
Wrestling with him, she saw Jarvis run into the room. He halted stockstill to stare in utter consternation. Then he seemed to comprehend.
“Let go that woman,” he shouted, and ran at them.
Malpass whirled like a wolf at bay, releasing Virginia and reaching a hand for his hip pocket. Virginia in a flash caught his arm. Then Jarvis was upon him, punched him in the face, tore him free, and swung him against the wall. Malpass’ body, but not his head, struck so solidly that the jar floored him. Not to stun him, however, for he scrambled erect, facing Jarvis, his eyes deadly with the evil of a snake.
“Oh—Mr. Jarvis—look out!” panted Virginia, noting that Malpass sidled round between them and the door. “It’s Malpass.”
“Malpass, eh? I thought as much,” replied Jarvis, wrathfully. “Explain your attack on this girl.”
“So you’re Jarvis?” rejoined Malpass, low and harsh.
“Yes, I am,” flashed Jarvis, slowly edging toward him. Then as Malpass stood like a sullen statue he half turned to Virginia. “If he meant ill by you I’ll beat him to a pulp. Tell me.”
“He wanted—to know—why I came here,” returned Virginia. “Swore he’d choke it out of me.”
“That’s what,” snapped Malpass, curtly. He had made up his mind. “You tell it, Mr. Mining Engineer.”
“You know damn well why she fetched me here,” retorted Jarvis, not in the least influenced by Malpass’ subtle change. “It was to have a look at your crooked work in this mine. And you can bet I found it. Of all the clumsy fool jobs of planting a mine this is the worst.”
“The hell you say!” exclaimed Malpass, with the insolence of one who knew he commanded the situation. The look of him made Virginia’s blood run cold, but it only the more angered Jarvis.
