THE RIN 
 OF THE 
 DESER1 
 
 MBA 
 
THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 
•••• »••" 
 
 
He worked tirelessly, as though he was determined to infuse her 
 numb veins with his own vigor. 
 
 Frontispiece. See Page 335. 
 
THE RIM OF 
 THE DESERT 
 
 BY 
 
 ADA WOODRUFF ANDERSON 
 
 Author of "The Strain of White,'* <<The 
 Heart of the Red Firs,'* Etc. 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE BY 
 
 MONTE CREWS 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1915 
 
Copyright, igis. 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Published, April, 191 5 
 Kegrilitfcd, ApriV V)i 5^liir6e times) 
 
 S. J. Pabkhill «b Co., Boston, U.S.A. 
 
To the Memory of 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 A gentle and appreciative critic, the only one, perhaps, 
 
 who re-read my previous books with pleasure 
 
 and found no flaw in them, and who would 
 
 have had a greater interest than any 
 
 other in this publication. 
 
 M13744 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 The desert of this story is that semi-arid region east 
 of the upper Columbia. It is cut off from the moisture 
 laden winds of the Pacific by the lofty summits of the 
 Cascade Mountains which form its western rim, and for 
 many miles the great river crowds the barrier, winding, 
 breaking in rapids, seeking a way through. To one ap- 
 proaching this rim from the dense forests of the westward 
 slopes, the sage grown levels seem to stretch limitless into 
 the far horizon, but they are broken by hidden coulees ; 
 in propitious seasons reclaimed areas have yielded phe- 
 nominal crops of wheat, and under irrigation the valley 
 of one of the two tributaries from the west, wherein lies 
 Hesperides Vale, has become a garden spot of the world. 
 
 To the initiated I wish to say if in the chapters touch- 
 ing on the Alaska coal cases I have followed too literally 
 the statements of prominent men, it was not in an effort 
 to portray them but merely to represent as clearly as 
 possible the Alaska situation. 
 
 Ada Woodeuff Anderson. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OHAFTEB PAGE 
 
 I The Man Who Never Came Back ... 1 
 
 II The Question 21 
 
 III Foster Too 26 
 
 IV Snoqualmie Pass and a Broken Axle . . 37 
 V Apples op Eden ........ 50 
 
 VI Nip and Tuck 65 
 
 VII A Night on the Mountain Road ... 82 
 
 VIII The Bravest Woman He Ever Knew . . 97 
 
 IX The Dunes of the Columbia . . . .119 
 
 X A Woman's Heart-strings 130 
 
 XI The Loophole 143 
 
 XII "Whom the Gods Would Destroy" . .159 
 
 XIII "A Little Streak of Luck" . . . .166 
 
 XIV On Board the Aquila 174 
 
 XV The Story of the Tenas Papoose . . .182 
 
 XVI The Alternative 200 
 
 XVII " All These Things Will I Give Thee " . 205 
 
 XVIII The Option 219 
 
 XIX Lucky Banks and the Pink Chiffon . . 229 
 
 XX Kernel and Peach 247 
 
 XXI Foster's Hour ......... 261 
 
 XXII As Man to Man 278 
 
 XXIII The Day of Publication 287 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXIV Snowbound in the Rockies and ** Fit as a 
 
 Moose ** 291 
 
 XXV The Ides op March 297 
 
 XXVI The Everlasting Door 305 
 
 XXVII Kismet. An Act of God 327 
 
 XXVIII Surrender .337 
 
 XXIX Back to Hesperides Vale ..... 344* 
 
 XXX The Junior Defendant 361 
 
 XXXI TisDALE OF Alaska — and Washington, D. C. 371 
 
 XXXII The Other Document 383 
 
 XXXIII The Calf-bound Notebook 388 
 
THE ""-'"'" 
 
 RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MAN WHO NEVEE CAME BACK 
 
 IT is in October, when the trails over the wet tundra 
 harden, and before the ice locks Bering Sea, that the 
 Alaska exodus sets towards Seattle; but there were a few 
 members of the Arctic Circle in town that first evening in 
 September to open the clubhouse on the Lake Boulevard 
 with an informal little supper for special delegate Fever- 
 sham, who had arrived on the steamer from the north, on 
 his way to Washington. 
 
 The clubhouse, which was built of great, hewn logs, with 
 gabled eaves, stood in a fringe of firs, and an upper rear 
 balcony afforded a broad outlook of lake and forest, with 
 the glaciered heights of the Cascade Mountains breaking 
 a far horizon. The day had been warm, but a soft breeze, 
 drawing across this veranda through the open door, cooled 
 the assembly room, and, lifting one of the lighter hangings 
 of Indian-wrought elk leather, found the stairs and raced 
 with a gentle rustle through the lower front entrance back 
 into the night. It had caressed many familiar things on 
 its way, for the walls were embellished with trophies from 
 the big spaces where winds are bom. There were skins of 
 polar and Kodiak bear; of silver and black fox; there 
 
2 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 were antlered heads set above the fireplace and on the 
 rough, bark-seamed pillars that supported the unceiled 
 roof.. .A frieze of.pressed and framed Alaska flora finished 
 the low gallerj' which extended around three sides of the 
 hp]], and the massive chairs, like the polished banquet 
 board, were of crocus-yellow Alaska cedar. 
 
 The delegate, who had come out to tide-water over the 
 Fairbanks-Valdez trail, was describing with considerable 
 heat the rigors of the journey. The purple parka, which 
 was the regalia of the Circle, seemed to increase his promi- 
 nence of front and intensified the color in his face to a 
 sort of florid ripeness. 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen," he continued, thumping the table 
 with a stout hand and repeating the gesture slowly, while 
 the glasses trembled, " Alaska's crying need is a railroad ; 
 a single finished line from the most northern harbor open 
 to navigation the whole year — and that is Prince William 
 Sound — straight through to the Tanana Valley and the 
 upper Yukon. Already the first problem has been solved ; 
 we have pierced the icy barrier of the Coast Range. All 
 we are waiting for is further right of way; the right to 
 the forests, that timber may be secured for construction 
 work; the right to mine coal for immediate use. But, 
 gentlemen, we may grow gray waiting. What do men four 
 thousand miles away, men who never saw Alaska, care 
 about our needs ? " He leaned back in his chair, while his 
 glance moved from face to face and rested, half in chal- 
 lenge, on the member at the foot of the board. " These 
 commissioners appointed off^ there in Washington," he 
 added. " These carpet-baggers from the little States be- 
 yond the Mississippi ! " 
 
 Hollis Tisdale, who had spent some of the hardest years 
 of his Alaska career in the service of the Government, met 
 the delegate's look with a quiet humor in his eyes. 
 
 " It seems to me," he said, and his deep, expressive voice 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 3 
 
 instantly held the attention of every one, " that such a 
 man, with intelligence and insight, of course, stands the 
 surest chance of giving general satisfaction in the end. 
 He is at least disinterested, while the best of us, no 
 matter how big he is, how clear-visioned, is bound to take 
 his own district specially to heart. Prince William Sound 
 alone has hundreds of miles of coast-line and includes more 
 than one fine harbor with an ambitious seaport." 
 
 At this a smile rippled around the table, and Miles 
 Feversham, who was the attorney for one of the most 
 ambitious syndicates of promoters in the north, gave his 
 attention to the menu. But Tisdale, having spoken, 
 turned his face to the open balcony door. His parka was 
 thrown back, showing an incongruous breadth of stiff 
 white bosom, yet he was the only man present who wore 
 the garment with grace. In that moment the column of 
 throat rising from the purple folds, the upward, listen- 
 ing pose of the fine head, in relief against the bearskin on 
 the wall behind his chair, suggested a Greek medallion. 
 His brown hair, close-cut, waved at the temples ; lines were 
 chiseled at the comers of his eyes and, with a lighter 
 touch, about his mouth; yet his face, his whole compact, 
 muscular body, gave an impression of youth, — youth and 
 power and the capacity for great endurance. His friends 
 said the north never had left a mark of its grip on Tis- 
 dale. The life up there that had scarred, crippled, 
 wrecked most of them seemed only to have mellowed him. 
 
 " But," resumed Feversham quickly, " I shall make a 
 stiff fight at Washington ; I shall force attention to our 
 suspended land laws; demand the rights the United States 
 allows her western territories; I shall ask for the same 
 concessions that were the making of the Oregon country ; 
 and first and last I shall do all I can to loosen the stran- 
 gling clutch of Conservation." He paused, while his 
 hand fell still more heavily on the table, and the glasses 
 
4 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 jingled anew. " And, gentlemen, the day of the floating 
 population is practically over; we have our settled com- 
 munities, our cities; we are ready for a legislative body 
 of our own ; the time has come for Home Rule. But the 
 men who make our laws must be familiar with the coun- 
 try, have allied interests. Gentlemen," — his voice, drop- 
 ping its aggressive tone, took a honeyed insistence, — 
 " we want in our first executive a man who knows us in- 
 timately, who has covered our vast distances, whose vision 
 has broadened ; a man big enough to hold the welfare of 
 all Alaska at heart." 
 
 The delegate finished this period with an all-embracing 
 smile and, nodding gently, leaned back again in his chair. 
 But in the brief silence that followed, he experienced a 
 kind of shock. Foster, the best known mining engineer 
 from Prince William Sound to the Tanana, had turned 
 his eyes on Tisdale; and Banks, Lucky Banks, who had 
 made the rich strike in the Iditarod wilderness, also looked 
 that way. Then instantly their thought was telegraphed 
 from face to face. When Feversham allowed his glance 
 to follow the rest, it struck him as a second shock that 
 Tisdale was the only one on whom the significance of the 
 moment was lost. 
 
 The interval passed. Tisdale stirred, and his glance, 
 coming back from the door, rested on a dish that had been 
 placed before him. " Japanese pheasant ! " he exclaimed. 
 The mellowness glowed in his face. He lifted his eyes, 
 and the delegate, meeting that clear, direct gaze, dropped 
 his own to his plate. " Think of it ! Game from the 
 other side of the Pacific. They look all right, but — do 
 you know?" — the lines deepened humorously at the cor- 
 ners of his mouth — " nothing with wings ever seems quite 
 as fine to me as ptarmigan." 
 
 " Ptarmigan ! " Feversham suspended his fork in as- 
 tonishment. " Not ptarmigan? " 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 5 
 
 " Yes," persisted Tisdale gently, " ptarmigan ; and par- 
 ticularly the ones that nest in Nunatak Arm." 
 
 There was a pause, while for the first time his eyes swept 
 the Circle. He still held the attention of every one, but 
 with a difference; the tenseness had given place to a 
 pleased expectancy. 
 
 Then Foster said : " That must have been on some trip 
 you made, while you were doing geological work around 
 St. Elias." 
 
 Tisdale shook his head. " No, it was before that ; the 
 year I gave up Government work to have my little fling 
 at prospecting. You were still in college. Every one 
 was looking for a quick route to the Klondike then, and 
 I believed if I could push through the Coast Range from 
 Yakutat Bay to the valley of the Alsek, it would be 
 smooth going straight to the Yukon. An old Indian I 
 talked with at the mission told me he had made it once on a 
 hunting trip, and Weatherbee — you all remember David 
 Weatherbee — was eager to try it with me. The Tlinket 
 helped us with the outfit, canoeing around the bay and up 
 into the Arm to his starting point across Nunatak glacier. 
 But it took all three of us seventy-two days to pack the 
 year's supplies over the ice. We tramped back and forth 
 in stages, twelve hundred miles. We hadn't been able to 
 get dogs, and in the end, when winter overtook us in thej 
 mountains, we cached the outfit and came out." 
 
 "And never went back." Banks laughed, a shrill, 
 mirthless laugh, and added in a higher key: "Lost a 
 whole year and — the outfit." 
 
 Tisdale nodded slowly. " All we gained was experience. 
 We had plenty of that to invest the next venture over the 
 mountains from Prince William Sound. But — do you 
 know? — I always liked that little canoe trip around from 
 Yakutat. I can't tell you how fine it is in that upper 
 fiord ; big peaks and ice walls growing all around. Yes " 
 
6 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 — he nodded again, while the genial wrinkles deepened — 
 " I've seen mountains grow. We had a shock once that 
 raised the coast-line forty-five feet. And another time, 
 while we were going back to the village for a load, a small 
 glacier in a hanging valley high up, perhaps two thousand 
 feet, toppled right out of its cradle into the sea. It 
 stirred things some and noise " — he shook his head with 
 an expressive sound that ended in a hissing whistle. 
 " But it missed the canoe, and the wave it made lifted us 
 and set us safe on top of a little rocky island." He 
 paused again, laughing softly. " I don't know how we 
 kept right side up, but we did. Weatherbee was great in 
 an emergency." 
 
 A shadow crossed his face. He looked off to the end of 
 the room. 
 
 " I guess you both understood a canoe," said Banks. 
 His voice was still high-pitched, like that of a man under 
 continued stress, and his eyes burned in his withered, 
 weather-beaten face like the vents of buried fires. " But 
 likely it was then, while you was freighting the outfit 
 around to the glacier, you came across those ptarmigan." 
 
 Tisdale's glance returned, and the humor played again 
 softly at the corners of his eyes. " I had forgotten about 
 those birds. It was this way. I made the last trip in the 
 canoe alone, for the mail and a small load, principally am- 
 munition and clothing, while Weatherbee and the Tlinket 
 pushed ahead on one of those interminable stages over the 
 glacier. And on the way back, I was caught in fog. 
 It rolled in, layer on layer, while I felt for the landing; 
 but I managed to find the place and picked up the trail we 
 had worn packing over the ice. And I lost it ; probably in 
 a new thaw that had opened and glazed over since I left. 
 Anyhow, in a little while I didn't know where I was. I 
 had given my compass to Weatherbee, and there was no 
 sun to take bearings from, not a landmark in sight. 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 7 
 
 Nothing but fog and ice, and it all looked alike. The 
 surface was too hard to take my impressions, so I wasn't 
 able to follow my own tracks back to the landing. But 
 I had to keep moving, it was so miserably cold; I hardly 
 let myself rest at night ; and that fog hung on five days. 
 The third evening I found myself on the water-front, and 
 pretty soon I stumbled on my canoe. I was down to a 
 mighty small allowance of crackers and cheese then, but I 
 parcelled it out in rations for three days and started once 
 more along the shore for Yakutat. The next night I was 
 traveling by a sort of sedge when I heard ptarmigan. It 
 sounded good to me, and I brought my canoe up and 
 stepped out. I couldn't see, but I could hear those birds 
 stirring and cheeping all around. I lay down and lifted 
 my gun ready to take the first that came between me and 
 the sky." His voice had fallen to an undernote, and his 
 glance rested an absent moment on the circle of light on 
 the rafter above an electric lamp. " When it did, and I 
 blazed, the whole flock rose. I winged two. I had to 
 grope for them in the reeds, but I found them, and I made 
 a little fire and cooked one of them in a tin pail I carried 
 in the canoe. But when I had finished that supper and 
 pushed off — do you know.? — " his look returned, moving 
 humorously from face to face — " I was hungrier than I 
 had been before. And I just paddled back and cooked the 
 other one." 
 
 There was a stir along the table; a sighing breath. 
 Then some one laughed, and Banks piped his strained note. 
 " And," he said after a moment, " of course you kept on 
 to that missionary camp and waited for the fog to lift." 
 
 Tisdale shook his head. " After that supper, there 
 wasn't any need ; I turned back to the glacier. And before 
 I reached the landing, I heard Weatherbee's voice booming 
 out on the thick silence like a siren at sea; piloting me 
 straight to that one dip in the ice-wall." 
 
8 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 He looked off again to the end of the room, absently, 
 with the far-sighted gaze of one accustomed to travel 
 great solitudes. It was as though he heard again that 
 singing voice. Then suddenly his expression changed. 
 His eyes had rested on a Kodiak bearskin that hung 
 against a pillar at the top of the gallery steps. The cor- 
 ner was unlighted, in heavy shadow, but a hand reaching 
 from behind had drawn the rug slightly aside, and its white- 
 ness on the brown fur, the flash of a jewelled ring, caught 
 his attention. The next moment the hand was withdrawn. 
 He gave it no more thought then, but a time came after- 
 ward when he remembered it. 
 
 " Weatherbee had noticed that fog-bank," he went on, 
 " from high up the glacier. It worried him so he finally 
 turned back to meet me, and he had waited so long he was 
 down to his last biscuit. I was mighty reckless about that 
 second ptarmigan, but the water the birds were cooked in 
 made a fine soup. And the fog broke, and we overtook the 
 Tlinket and supplies the next morning." 
 
 There was another stir along the table, then Foster 
 said : " That was a great voice of Weatherbee's. I've 
 seen it hearten a whole crowd on a mean trail, like the 
 bugle and fife of a regiment." 
 
 " So have I." It was Lucky Banks who spoke, " So 
 have I. And Weatherbee was always ready to stand by a 
 poor devil in a tight place. When the frost got me " — 
 he held up a crippled and withered hand — '* it was Dave 
 Weatherbee who pulled me through. We were mushing it 
 on the same stampede from Fairbanks to Ruby Creek, 
 and he never had seen me before. It had come to the last 
 day, and we were fighting it out in the teeth of a blizzard. 
 You all know what that means. In the end we just kept 
 the trail, following the hummocks. Sometimes it was a 
 pack under a drift, or maybe a sled ; and sometimes it was 
 a hand reaching up through the snow, frozen stiff. Then 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 9 
 
 it came mj turn, and I lay down in my tracks. But 
 Weatherbee stopped to work over me. He wouldn't go 
 on. He said if I was determined to stay in that cemet'ry, 
 I could count on his company. And when he got me on my 
 feet, he just started ' Dixie,' nice and lively, and the next 
 I knew he had me all wound up and set going again, good 
 as new." 
 
 His laugh, like the treble notes of the Arctic wind, gave 
 an edge to the story. 
 
 Presently Foster said : " That was Weatherbee ; I never 
 knew another such man. Always effacing himself when it 
 came to a choice ; always ready to share a good thing. 
 Why, he made some of his friends rich, and yet in the end, 
 after seven years of it, seven years of struggle of the 
 worst kind, what did he have to show ? " 
 
 " Nothing, Foster ; nothing but seven feet of earth up 
 there on the edge of the wilderness." Tisdale's voice vi- 
 brated gently; an emotion like the surface stir of shaken 
 depths crossed his face. " And a tract of unimproved 
 desert down here in eastern Washington," he added. 
 
 " And Mrs. Weatherbee," supplemented Feversham 
 quickly. " You mustn't forget her. Any man must have 
 counted such a wife his most valuable asset. Here's to 
 her! Young, charming, clever; a typical American 
 beauty ! " He stopped to drain his glass, then went on. 
 " I remember the day Weatherbee sailed for Alaska. I 
 was taking the same steamer, and she was on the dock, with 
 all Seattle, to see the Argonauts away. It was a hazard- 
 ous journey into the Unknown in those days, and scenes 
 were going on all around — my own wife was weeping on 
 my shoulder — but Mrs. Weatherbee, and she had just 
 been married then, bridged the parting like a little trump. 
 ' Well, David,' she said, with a smile to turn a priest's head, 
 * good-by and good luck. Come back when you've made 
 your fortune, and I'll help you to spend it.' " 
 
10 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 The delegate, laughing deeply, reached for the port de- 
 canter to refill his glass. No one else saw the humor of 
 the story, though the man with the maimed hand again 
 gave an edge to the silence that followed with his strained, 
 mirthless laugh. Presently he said : " But he never came 
 back." 
 
 " No." It was Foster who answered. " No, but he was 
 on his way out to the States at last, when the end came. 
 I don't understand it. It seems incredible that Weather- 
 bee, who had won through so many times, handicapped by 
 the waifs and strays of the trail, — Weatherbee, to whom 
 the Susitna country was an open scroll, — should have per- 
 ished as he did. But it, was you who found him, HoUis. 
 Come, tell us all about it." 
 
 Tisdale shook his head. " Some other time, Foster. 
 It's a long story and not the kind to tell here." 
 
 " Go on ! Go on ! " The urging came from many, and 
 Banks added in his high, tense key : " I guess we can stand 
 it. Most of us saw the iron side of Alaska before we saw 
 the golden." 
 
 " Well, then," Tisdale began reluctantly, " I must take 
 you back a year. I was completing trail reconnaissance 
 from the new Alaska Midway surveys in the Susitna Valley, 
 through Rainy Pass, to connect with the mail route from 
 the interior to Nome, and, to avoid returning another 
 season, kept my party late in the field. It was the close of 
 September when we struck Seward Peninsula and miser- 
 ably cold, with gales sweeping in from Bering Sea. The 
 grass had frozen, and before we reached a cache of oats I 
 had relied on, most of our horses perished; we arrived at 
 Nome too late for the last steamer of the year. That is 
 how I came to winter there, and why a letter Weatherbee 
 had written in October was so long finding me. It was for- 
 warded from Seattle with other mail I cabled for, back to 
 Prince William Sound, over the Fairbanks-Valdez trail, and 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 11 
 
 out again by the winter route three thousand miles to 
 Nome. It was the middle of March when I received it, and 
 he had asked me to buy his half interest in the Aurora 
 mine. He needed the money to go out to the States." 
 
 Tisdale's voice broke a little ; and for a moment he looked 
 off through the open door. " Perhaps some of you remem- 
 ber I grub-staked him for a half share when he left the 
 Tanana to prospect down along the Alaska Range. After 
 he located, I forwarded him small amounts several times to 
 carry on development work. I never had been on the 
 ground, but he explained he was handicapped by high water 
 and was trying to divert the channel of a creek. In that 
 last letter he said he had carried the scheme nearly 
 through ; the next season would pay my money back and 
 more ; the Aurora would pan out the richest strike he had 
 ever made. But that did not trouble me. I knew if 
 Weatherbee had spent two years on that placer, the gravels 
 had something to show. The point that weighed was that 
 he was willing to go home at last to the States. I had 
 urged him before I put up the grub-stake, but he had an- 
 swered : ' Not until I have made good.' It was hardly 
 probable that, failing to hear from me, he had sold out to 
 any one else. From his description, the Aurora was iso- 
 lated ; hundreds of miles from the new Iditarod camp ; he 
 hadn't a neighbor in fifty miles. So I forwarded his price 
 and arranged with the mail carrier to send a special mes- 
 senger on from the nearest post. In the letter I wrote to 
 explain my delay, I sketched a plan of my summer's work 
 and told him how sorry I was I had missed seeing him while 
 the party was camped below Rainy Pass. Though, I 
 couldn't have spared the time to go to the Aurora, he might 
 have found me, had I sent an Indian with word. It was 
 the first time I had gone through his orbit without letting 
 him know, 
 
 " But after that carrier had gone, Weatherbee's letter 
 
12 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 kept worrying me. It wasn't like him to complain, yet he 
 had written he was tired of the eternal winters ; he couldn't 
 stand those everlasting snow peaks sometimes, they got to 
 crowding him so; they kept him awake when he needed 
 sleep, threatening him. ' I've got to break away from them, 
 Hollis,' he said, ' and get where it's warm once more ; and 
 when my blood begins to thaw, I'll show you I can make 
 a go of things.' Then he reminded me of the land he 
 owned down here on the eastern slopes of the Cascade 
 Mountains. The soil was the finest volcanic ash ; the kind 
 that grew the vineyards on Vesuvius, and he meant to plant 
 it with grapes; with orchards, too, on the bench levels. 
 All the tract needed was water, but there was a natural 
 reservoir and spring on a certain high plateau that could 
 be easily tapped with a flume." 
 
 Tisdale paused while his glance moved slowly, singling 
 out those who had known Weatherbee. A great gentle- 
 ness rested on his face, and when he went on, it crept like 
 a caress through his voice. " Most of you have heard him 
 talk about that irrigation scheme; some of you have seen 
 those plans he used to work on, long Alaska nights. It 
 was his dream for years. He went north in the beginning 
 just to accumulate capital enough to swing that project. 
 But the more I studied that letter, the more confident I 
 was he had stayed his limit ; he was breaking, and he knew 
 it. That was why he was so anxious to turn the Aurora 
 over to me and get to the States. Finally I decided to go 
 with the mail carrier and on to the mine. If Weatherbee 
 was still there, as I believed, we would travel to Fairbanks 
 together and take the Valdez trail out to the open harbor 
 on Prince William Sound. I picked up a team of eight 
 good huskies — the weather was clear with a moon in her 
 second quarter — and I started light, cutting my stops 
 short ; but when I left Nome I had lost four days." 
 
 Hollis paused another Interval, looking off again 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 13 
 
 through the open door, while the far-sighted expression 
 gathered in his eyes. It was as though his listeners also 
 in that moment saw those white solitudes stretching limit- 
 less under the Arctic night. 
 
 '* I never caught up with that carrier," he went on, 
 " and the messenger he sent on broke trail for me all the 
 way to the Aurora. I met him on his return trip, thirty 
 hours out from the mine. But he had found Weatherbee 
 there, and had a deed for me which David had asked him 
 to see recorded and forwarded to me at Nome. It was a 
 relief to hear he had been able to attend to these business 
 matters, but I wondered why he had not brought the deed 
 himself, since he must come that way to strike the Fair- 
 banks trail, and why the man had not waited to travel 
 with him. Then he told me Weatherbee had decided to 
 use the route I had sketched in my letter. The messenger 
 had tried to dissuade him ; he had reminded him there were 
 no road-houses, and that the traces left by my party must 
 have been wiped out by the winter snows. But Weather- 
 bee argued that the new route would shorten the distance 
 to open tide-water hundreds of miles ; that his nearest 
 neighbors were in that direction, fifty miles to the south ; 
 and they would let him have dogs. Then, when he struck 
 the Susitna Valley, he would have miles of railroad bed to 
 ease the last stage. So, at the time the messenger left 
 the Aurora, Weatherbee started south on his long trek 
 to Rainy Pass. He was mushing afoot, with Tyee pull- 
 ing the sled. Some of you must remember that big husky 
 with a strain of St. Bernard he used to drive on the Ta- 
 nana." 
 
 " My, yes," piped little Banks, and his eyes scintillated 
 like chippings of blue glacier ice. " Likely I do remember 
 Tyee. Dave picked him up that same trip he set me on 
 my feet. He found him left to starve on the trail with a 
 broken leg. And he camped right there, pitched his, tent 
 
14 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 for a hospital, and went to whittling splints out of a piece 
 of willow to set that bone. ' I am sorry to keep you wait- 
 ing,' he says to me, ' but he is a mighty good dog. He 
 would have done his level best to see the man who deserted 
 him through.' And he would. I'd bank my money on old 
 T^ee." 
 
 Tisdale nodded slowly. " But my chance to overtake 
 David was before he secured that team fifty miles on. 
 And I pushed my dogs too hard. When I reached the 
 Aurora, they were nearly done for. I was forced to rest 
 them a day. That gave me time to look into Weatherbee's 
 work. I found that the creek where he had made his dis- 
 covery ran through a deep and narrow canyon, and it was 
 clear to me that the boxed channel, which was frozen solid 
 then, was fed during the short summer by a small glacier 
 at the top of the gorge. To turn the high water from his 
 placer, he had made a bore of nearly one thousand feet 
 and practically through rock. I followed a bucket tram- 
 way he had rigged to lift the dump and found a primitive 
 lighting-plant underground. The whole tunnel was com- 
 pleted, with the exception of a thin wall left to safeguard 
 against an earlj^ thaw in the stream, while the bore was 
 being equipped with a five-foot flume. You all know what 
 that means, hundreds of miles from navigation or a main 
 traveled road. To get that necessary lumber, he felled 
 trees in a spruce grove up the ravine; every board was 
 hewn by hand. And about two-thirds of those sluice- 
 boxes, the bottoms fitted w^ith riffles, were finished. After- 
 wards, at that camp where he stopped for dogs, I learned 
 that aside from a few days at long intervals, when the two 
 miners had exchanged their labor for some engineering, he 
 had made his improvements alone, single-handed. And 
 most of that flume was constructed in those slow months he 
 waited to hear from me." 
 
 Tisdale paused, and again bis glance sought the faces 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 15 
 
 of those who had known David Weatherbee. But all the 
 Circle was strung responsive. Those who never had known 
 Weatherbee understood the terrible conditions he had 
 braved; the body-wracking toil underground; the soul- 
 breaking solitude ; the crowding silence that months earlier 
 he had felt the necessity to escape. In that picked com- 
 pany, the latent force in each acknowledged the iron cour- 
 age of the man ; but it was Tisdale's magnetic personality, 
 the unstudied play of expression in his rugged face, the 
 undercurrent of emotion quickening through infinite tones 
 of his voice, that plumbed the depths and in every listener 
 struck the dominant chord. And, too, these men had 
 bridged subconsciously those vast distances between Tis- 
 dale's start from Nome in clear weather, " with a moon in 
 her second quarter," and that stop at the deserted mine, 
 when his dogs — powerful huskies, part wolf, since they 
 were bred in the Seward Peninsula — '' were nearly done 
 for." Long and inevitable periods of dark there had been ; 
 perils of white blizzard, of black frost. They had run 
 familiarly the whole gamut of hardship and danger he him- 
 self must have faced single-handed ; and while full measure 
 was accorded Weatherbee, the greater tribute passed 
 silently, unsought, to the man who had traveled so far and 
 so fast to rescue him. 
 
 " It ought to have been me," exclaimed Lucky Banks at 
 last in his high treble. " I was just down in the Iditarod 
 country, less than three hundred miles. I ought to have 
 run up once in awhile to see how he was getting along. 
 But I never thought of Dave's needing help himself, and 
 nobody told me he was around. I'd ought to have kept 
 track of him, though ; it was up to me. But go on, Hollis ; 
 go on. I bet you made up that day you lost at the mine. 
 My, yes, I bet you broke the record hitting that fifty-mile 
 camp." 
 
 Tisdale nodded, and for an instant the humor played 
 
16 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 lightly at the corners of his eyes. " It took me just seven 
 hours with an up-grade the last twenty miles. You see, I 
 had Weatherbee to break trail. He rested a night At the 
 camp and lost about three hours more, while they hunted a 
 missing husky to make up his team. Still he pushed out 
 with nearly eighteen hours start and four fresh dogs, with 
 Tyee pulling a strong lead ; while I wasn't able to replace 
 even one of mine that had gone lame. I had to leave him 
 there, and before I reached the summit of Rainy Pass, I 
 was carrying his mate on my sled. But I had a sun then, 
 — the days were lengthening fast into May, — and by cut- 
 ting my stops short I managed to hold my own to the di- 
 vide. After that I gained. Finally, one morning, I came 
 to a rough place where his outfit had upset, and I saw his 
 dogs were giving him trouble. There were blood stains all 
 around on the snow. It looked like the pack had broken- 
 open, and the huskies had tried to get at the dried salmon. 
 Tyee must have fought them off until Weatherbee was able 
 to master them. At the end of the next day I reached a 
 miners' cabin where he had spent the night, and the man 
 who had helped him unhitch told me he had had to remind 
 him to feed his dogs. He had seemed all right, only dead 
 tired ; but he had gone to bed early and, neglecting to leave 
 a call, had slept fifteen hours. I rested my team five, and 
 late the next morning I came upon his camp-fire burning." 
 
 Tisdale paused to draw his hand across his eyes and met 
 Foster's look over the table. " It was there I blundered. 
 There was a plain traveled trail from that mine down 
 through the lowlands to Susitna, and I failed to see that 
 his tracks left it : they were partly blotted out in a fresh 
 fall of snow. I lost six hours there, and when I picked 
 up his trail again, I saw he was avoiding the few way 
 houses ; he passed the settlement by ; then I missed his 
 camp-fire. It was plain he was afraid to sleep any more. 
 But he knew the Susitna country; he kept a true course, 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 17 
 
 and sometimes, in swampy places, turned back to the main 
 thoroughfare. At last, near the crossing of the Mata- 
 nuska, I was caught in the first spring thaw. It was 
 heavy going. All the streams were out of banks ; the valley 
 became a network of small sloughs undermining the snow- 
 fields, creating innumerable ponds and lakes. The earth, 
 bared in patches, gave and oozed like a sponge. It was 
 impossible to follow Weatherbee's trail, but I picked it up 
 once more, where it came into the other, along the Chu- 
 gach foot-hills. Slides began to block the way ; ice glazed 
 the overflows at night; and at last a cold wave struck 
 down from the summits ; the track stiffened in an hour and 
 it was hard as steel underfoot. The wind cut like swords. 
 Then came snow." 
 
 Tisdale looked off with his far-sighted gaze through the 
 open door. Every face was turned to him, but no one hur- 
 ried him. It was a time when silence spoke. 
 
 " I came on Weatherbee's dogs in a small ravine," he 
 said. " They had broken through thin ice in an over- 
 flow, and the sled had mired in muck. The cold wave set 
 them tight; their legs were planted like posts, and I had 
 to cut them out. Two were done for." 
 
 " You mean," exclaimed Banks, " Dave hadn't cut the 
 traces to give his huskies a chance." 
 
 Tisdale nodded slowly. " But the instant I cut Tyee 
 loose, he went limping off, picking up his master's trail. 
 It was a zigzag course up the face of a ridge into a grove 
 of spruce. Weatherbee took a course like a husky ; loca- 
 tion was a sixth sense to him; yet I found his tracks up 
 there, winding aimlessly. It had stopped snowing then, 
 but the first impressions were nearly filled. In a little 
 while I noticed the spaces were shorter between the prints 
 of the left shoe ; they made a dip and blur. Then I came 
 into a parallel trail, and these tracks were clear, made since 
 the snowstorm, but there was the same favoring of the 
 
18 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 left foot. He was traveling in a circle. Sometimes in 
 unsheltered places, where the wind swept through an ave- 
 nue of trees, small drifts covered the impressions, but the 
 dog found them again, still doubling that broad circle. 
 Finally I saw a great dark blotch ahead where the ground 
 sloped up to a narrow plateau. And in a moment I saw it 
 was caused by a great many fresh twigs of spruce, all 
 stuck upright in the snow and set carefully in rows, like a 
 child's make-believe garden." 
 
 Tisdale's voice broke. He was looking off again into 
 the night, and his face hardened; two vertical lines like 
 clefts divided his brows. It was as though the iron in the 
 man cropped through. The pause was breathless. Here 
 and there a grim face worked. 
 
 " When the dog reached the spot," Hollis went on, " he 
 gave a quick bark and ran with short yelps towards a 
 clump of young trees a few yards off. The rim of a drift 
 formed a partial windbreak, but he had only a low bough 
 to cover him, — and the temperature, — along those ice- 
 peaks — " 
 
 His voice failed. There was another speaking silence. 
 It was as though these men, having followed all those hun- 
 dreds of miles over tundra and mountains, through thaw 
 and frost, felt with him in that moment the heart-breaking 
 futility of his pursuit. " I tried my best," he added. " I 
 guess you all know that, but — I was too late." 
 
 The warning blast of an automobile cut the stillness, and 
 the machine stopped in front of the clubhouse, but no one 
 at the table noticed the interruption. 
 
 Then Banks said, in his high key : " But you hitched 
 his dogs up with yours, the ones that were fit, and brought 
 him through to Seward. You saw him buried. Thank, 
 you for that." 
 
 Feversham cleared his throat and reached for the de- 
 canter, " Think of it ! " he exclaimed. " A man like that, 
 
MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK 19 
 
 lost on a main traveled thoroughfare! But the toll will 
 go on every year until we have a railroad. Here's to that 
 road, gentlemen. Here's to the Alaska Midway and Home 
 Rule." 
 
 The toast was responded to, and it was followed by 
 others. But Tisdale had left his place to step through the 
 open door to the balcony. Presently Foster joined him. 
 They stood for an interval smoking and taking in those 
 small night sounds for which long intimacy with Nature 
 teaches a man to listen ; the distant voice of running water ; 
 the teasing note of the breeze; the complaint of a balsam- 
 laden bough ; the restless stir of unseen wings ; the patter 
 of diminutive feet. A wooded point that formed the horn 
 of a bay was etched in black on the silver lake ; then sud- 
 denly the moon illumined the horizon and, rising over a 
 stencilled crest of the Cascades, stretched her golden path 
 to the shore below them. Both these men, watching it, 
 saw that other trail reaching white, limitless, hard as steel 
 through the Alaska solitudes. 
 
 " At Seward," said Foster at last, " you received orders 
 by cable detailing you to a season in the Matanuska fields ; 
 but before you took your party in, you sent a force of men 
 back to the Aurora to finish Weatherbee's work and begin 
 operations. And the diverting of that stream exposed 
 gravels that are going to make you rich. You deserve it. 
 I grant that. It's your compensation; but just the same 
 it gives a sharper edge to poor Weatherbee's luck." 
 
 Tisdale swung around. " See here, Foster, I want you 
 to know I should have considered that money as a loan if 
 David had lived. If he had lived — and recovered — I 
 should have made him take back that half interest in the 
 Aurora. You've got to believe that ; and I would be ready 
 to do as much for his wife, if she had treated him differ- 
 ently. But she wrecked his life. I hold her responsible." 
 
 Foster was silent. 
 
20 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " Think of it ! " Hollis went on. " The shame of it ! 
 All those years while he faced privation, the worst kind, 
 tramping Alaska trails, panning in icy streams, sluicing, 
 digging sometimes like any common laborer, wintering in 
 shacks, she was living in luxury down here. He never 
 made a promising discovery that he wasn't forced to sell. 
 She spent his money faster than he made it ; kept him handi- 
 capped. And all she ever gave him was a friendly letter 
 now and then, full of herself and the gay life she led, and 
 showing clearly how happy she could be without him. 
 Think of it, Foster ! " His voice deepened and caught its 
 vibrant quality. " A fine fellow like Weatherbee ; so re- 
 liable, so great in a hard place. How could she have 
 treated him as she did.f^ Damn it! How could he have 
 thrown himself away like that, for a feather-headed 
 woman ? " 
 
 Foster knocked the ash from the end of his cigar. 
 " You don't know her," he answered. " If you did, you 
 wouldn't put it in that way." He smiled a little and 
 looked off at the golden path on the lake. " So," he said 
 after a moment, and his glance returned to meet Tisdale's 
 squarely, " she has absolutely nothing now but that tract 
 of unimproved desert on the other side of the Cascades." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE QUESTION 
 
 SOMETIME, high on a mountain slope, a cross current 
 of air, or perhaps a tremor of the surface occasioned 
 far off, starts the small snow-cap, that sliding, halting, im- 
 pelled forward again, always accumulating, gathering 
 momentum, finally becomes the irresistible avalanche. So 
 Marcia Feversham, the following morning, gave the first 
 slight impetus to the question that eventually menaced Tis- 
 dale with swift destruction. She was not taking the early 
 train with her husband ; she desired to break the long 
 journey and, after the season in the north, prolong the 
 visit with her relatives in Seattle. The delegate had 
 left her sleeping, but when he had finished the light break- 
 fast served him alone in the Morganstein dining-room and 
 hurried out to the waiting limousine, to his surprise he 
 found her in the car. " I am going down to see you 
 away," she explained ; " this salt breeze with the morning 
 tide is so delightfully fresh." 
 
 There was no archness in her glance; her humor was 
 wholly masculine. A firm mouthy brilliant, dark eyes, the 
 heavy Morganstein brows that met over the high nose, 
 gave weight and intensity to anything she said. Her hus- 
 band, in coaching her for the coming campaign at Wash- 
 ington, had told her earnestness was her strong suit ; that 
 her deep, deliberate voice was her best card, but she held 
 in her eyes, unquestionably, both bowers. 
 
 " Delightful of you, I am sure," he answered, taking the 
 seat beside her, with his for-the-public smile, " but I give 
 
22 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 credit to the air; you are looking as brilliant at this out- 
 rageous hour as you would on your way to an afternoon 
 at bridge." Then, the chauffeur having closed the door 
 and taken his place in the machine, Feversham turned a 
 little to scrutinize her face. 
 
 " Now, my lady," he asked, " to what do I owe the 
 pleasure? " 
 
 " Mr. Tisdale," she answered directly. '* Of course you 
 must see now, even if I do contrive to meet him through 
 Frederic, as you suggested, and manage to see him fre- 
 quently ; even if I find out what he means to say in those 
 coal reports, when it comes to influence, I won't have the 
 weight of a feather. No woman could. He is made of 
 iron, and his principles were cast in the mold." 
 
 " Every man has his vulnerable point, and I can trust 
 you to find Hollis Tisdale's." The delegate paused an 
 instant, still regarding his wife's face, frowning a little, 
 yet not without humor, then said : " But you have 
 changed your attitude quickly. Where did you learn so 
 much about him? How can you be so positive about a 
 man you never have met? Whom you have seen only a 
 time or two at a distance, on some street — or was it a 
 hotel lobby? — in Valdez or Fairbanks? " 
 
 " Yesterday, when we were talking, that was true ; but 
 since then I have seen him at close range. I've heard 
 him." She turned and met Feversham's scrutiny with the 
 brilliancy rising in her eyes. " Last night at the club- 
 house, when he told the story of David Weatherbee, I was 
 there." 
 
 "You were there? Impossible! That is against the 
 rules. Not a man of the Circle would have permitted it, 
 and you certainly would have been discovered before you 
 reached the assembly hall. Why, I myself was the last to 
 arrive. Frederic, you remember, had to speed the car a 
 little to get me there. And I looked back from the door 
 
THE QUESTION 28 
 
 and saw you in the tonneau with Elizabeth, while Mrs. 
 Weatherbee kept her place in front with Frederic. You 
 were going down the boulevard to spend the evening with 
 her at Vivian Court." 
 
 " That was our plan, but we turned back," she ex- 
 plained. " We had a curiosity to see the Circle seated 
 around the banquet board in those ridiculous purple 
 parkas. And Frederic bet me a new electric runabout 
 against the parka of silver fox and the mukluks I bought 
 of the Esquimau girl at Valdez that we never could get 
 as far as the assembly room. He waited with Elizabeth 
 in the car while we two crept up the stairs. The 
 door was open, and we stood almost screened by that por- 
 tiere of Indian leather, peeping in. Mr. Tisdale was tell- 
 ing the ptarmigan yarn — it's wonderful the power he 
 has to hold the interest of a crowd of men — and the 
 chance was too good to miss. We stole on up the steps 
 to the gallery, — no one noticed us, — and concealed our- 
 selves behind that hanging Kodiak bearskin." 
 
 " Incredible ! " exclaimed Feversham. " But I see you 
 arrived at the opportune moment, — when Tisdale was 
 talking. There's something occult about the personality 
 of that man. And she, Mrs. Weatherbee, heard every- 
 thing? " 
 
 Marcia nodded. " Even your graceful toast to her." 
 
 At this he settled back in his seat, laughing. " Well, 
 I am glad I made it. I could hardly have put it more 
 neatly had I known she was there." 
 
 " She couldn't have missed a word. We had found a 
 bench behind the Kodiak skin, and she sat straight as a 
 soldier, listening through it all. I couldn't get her to 
 come away ; it was as though she was looking on at an in- 
 teresting play. She was just as neutral and still; only 
 her face turned white, and her eyes were wide as stars, 
 and once she gripped the fur of the Kodiak so hard I ex- 
 
24 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 pected to see it come down. But I know she failed to 
 grasp the vital point of the story. I mean the point vital 
 to her. She doesn't understand enough about law. And 
 I myself slept on it the night through before I saw. It 
 came the moment I wakened this morning, clear and sud- 
 den as an electric flash. If David Weatherbee was men- 
 tally unbalanced when he made that transfer, the last 
 half interest in the Aurora mine ought to revert to her." 
 
 Feversham started. He lifted his plump hands and let 
 them drop forcibly on his broad knees. But she did not 
 notice his surprise. They were approaching the station, 
 and time pressed. " You know it is not a simple infatua- 
 tion with Frederic," she hurried on, " to be forgotten to- 
 morrow. He has loved her passionately from the day he 
 flrst met her, four years ago. He can't think of anything 
 else ; he never will do anything of credit to the family un- 
 til she is his wife. And now, with David Weatherbee 
 safely buried, it seems reasonably sure. Still, still, Miles, 
 this unexpected fortune held out to her just now might 
 turn the scales. We have got to keep it from her, and if 
 those coal claims are coming up for trial, you must frame 
 some excuse to have them postponed." 
 
 "Postponed? Why, we've just succeeded in gaining 
 Federal attention. We've been waiting five years. We 
 want them settled now. It concerns Frederic as well as 
 the rest of us." 
 
 " Time," she answered, " even more. If those patents 
 are allowed, he will take immediate steps to mine the coal 
 on a large scale. And it came over me, instantly, on the 
 heels of the first flash, that it was inevitable, if Mr. Tis- 
 dale had taken advantage of David Weatherbee's condition 
 — and his own story shows the man had lost his mind ; 
 he was wandering around planting make-believe orchards 
 in the snow — you would use the point to impeach the 
 Government's star witness." 
 
THE QUESTION 25 
 
 '' Impeach the Government's witness ? " repeated Fever- 
 sham, then a sudden intelligence leaped into his face. 
 " Impeach Hollis Tisdale," he added softly and laughed. 
 
 Presently, as the chauffeur slackened speed, looking for 
 a stand among the waiting machines at the depot, the at- 
 torney said : " If the syndicate sends Stuart Foster 
 north to the Iditarod, he may be forced to winter there; 
 that would certainly postpone the trial until spring." 
 
 The next moment the chauffeur threw open the limousine 
 door, and the delegate stepped out ; but he lingered a lit- 
 tle over his good-by, retaining his wife's hand, which he 
 continued to shake slowly, while his eyes telegraphed an 
 answer to the question in hers. Then, laughing again 
 deeply, he said: "My lady! My lady! Nature jug- 
 gled; she played your brother Frederic a trick when she 
 set that mind in your woman's head." 
 
CHAPTER in 
 
 FOSTER TOO 
 
 THE apartment Tisdale called home was in a high 
 comer of the Alaska building, where the western win- 
 dows, overtopping other stone and brick blocks of the 
 business center, commanded the harbor, caught like a 
 faceted jewel between Duwamish Head and Magnolia Bluff, 
 and a far sweep of the outer Sound set in wooded islands 
 and the lofty snow peaks of the Olympic peninsula. Next 
 to his summer camp in the open he liked this eyrie, and 
 particularly he liked it at this hour of the night tide. He 
 drew his chair forward where the stiff, salt wind blew full 
 in his face, but Foster, who had found the elevator not 
 running and was somewhat heated by his long climb to the 
 " summit," took the precaution of choosing a sheltered 
 place near the north window, which was closed. A shaded 
 electric lamp cast a ring of light on the package he had 
 laid on the table between them, but the rest of the room 
 was in shadow, and from his seat he glanced down on the 
 iridescent sign displays of Second Avenue, then followed 
 the lines of street globes trailing away to the brilliant con- 
 stellations set against the blackness of Queen Anne hill. 
 
 " She is to be out of town a week," he said, " and I 
 hardly liked to leave Weatherbee's things with a hotel 
 clerk; since I am sailing on the Admiral Sampson to- 
 night, I brought the package back. You will have to be 
 your own messenger." 
 
 " That's all right, Foster ; I can find another when she 
 returns. I'll ask Banks." 
 
FOSTER TOO 27 
 
 " No." Foster's glance came back from the street ; his 
 voice rang a little sharp. " Take it yourself, Hollis." 
 
 " I can trust it with Banks." Tisdale paused a mo- 
 ment, still looking out on the harbor lights and the stars, 
 then said : " So you are going north again ; back to the 
 copper mine, I presume? " 
 
 *' No, I shall be there later, but I expect to make a quick 
 trip in to the Iditarod now, to look over placer properties. 
 The syndicate has bonded Banks' claims and, if it is fea- 
 sible, a dredger will be sent in next spring to begin opera- 
 tions on a big scale. I shall go, of course, by way of the 
 Yukon, and if ice comes early and the steamers are taken 
 off, return by trail around through Fairbanks." 
 
 " I see." Tisdale leaned forward a little, grasping the 
 arms of his chair. " The syndicate is taking considerable 
 risk in sending you to the Iditarod at this time. Suppose 
 those coal cases should be called, with you winter-bound 
 up there. Why, the Chugach trial couldn't go on." 
 
 " I am identified with the Morganstein interests there, I 
 admit; but why should the Chugach claims be classed 
 with conspiracies to defraud the Government ? They were 
 entered regularly, fifty coal claims of one hundred and 
 sixty acres each, by as many different persons. Because 
 the President temporarily suspended Alaska coal laws is 
 no reason those patents should be refused or even delayed. 
 Our money was accepted by the Government ; it was never 
 refunded." 
 
 " As I thought," said Tisdale softly, addressing the 
 stars ; " as I feared." Then, " Foster, Foster," he ad- 
 monished, " be careful. Keep your head. That syndi- 
 cate is going to worry you some, old man, before you are 
 through." 
 
 Foster got to his feet. " See here, Hollis, be fair. Look 
 at it once from the other side. The Morgansteins have 
 done more for Alaska than they will ever be given credit 
 
28 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 for. Capital is the one key to open that big, new, moun- 
 tain-locked country, and the Government is treating it like 
 a boa-constrictor to be throttled and stamped out. Mil- 
 lions went into the development of the El Dorado, yet they 
 still have to ship the ore thousands of miles to a smelter, 
 with coal, — the best kind, inexhaustible fields of it, — at 
 our door. And go back to McFarlane. He put one hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand into the Chugach Railway to 
 bring out the coal he had mined, but he can't touch it ; it's 
 all tied up in red tape; the road is rotting away. He 
 is getting to be an old man, but I saw him doing day 
 labor on the Seattle streets to-day. Then there's the 
 Copper River Northwestern. That company built a rail- 
 road where every engineer but one, who saw the condi- 
 tions, said it could not be done. You yourself have called 
 it the most wonderful piece of construction on record. 
 You know how that big bridge was built in winter — the 
 only time when the bergs stopped chipping off the face of 
 the glacier long enough to set the piers; you know how 
 Haney worked his men, racing against the spring thaw — 
 he's paying for it with his life, now, down in California. 
 In dollars that bridge alone cost a million and a half. 
 Yet, with this road finished through the coast mountains, 
 they've had to suspend operation because they can't burn 
 their own coal. They've got to change their locomotives 
 to oil burners. And all this is just because the President 
 delays to annul a temporary restriction the previous execu- 
 tive neglected to remove. We have waited; we have im- 
 ported from British Columbia, from Japan; shipped in 
 Pennsylvania, laid down at Prince William Sound at fifteen 
 dollars a ton, when our own coal could be mined for two 
 and a quarter and delivered here in Seattle for five." 
 
 " It could, I grant that," said Tisdale mellowly, " but 
 would it, Stuart? Would it, if the Morganstein interests 
 had exclusive control? " 
 
FOSTER TOO 29 
 
 Foster seemed not to have heard that question. He 
 turned restlessly and strode across the room. " The Gov- 
 ernment with just as much reason might have conserved 
 Alaska gold." 
 
 Tisdale laughed. " That would have been a good thing 
 for Alaska," he answered ; " if a part, at least of her placer 
 streams had been conserved. Come, Foster, you know as 
 as well as I do that the regulations early prospectors ac- 
 cepted as laws are not respected to-day. Every discovery 
 is followed by speculators who travel light, who do not ex- 
 pect to do even first assessment work, but only to stay on 
 the ground long enough to stake as many claims as pos- 
 sible for themselves and their friends. When the real 
 prospector arrives, with his year's outfit, he finds hundreds 
 of miles, a whole valley staked, and his one chance is to buy. 
 or work under a lease. Most of these speculators live in 
 the towns, some of them down here in Seattle, carrying on 
 other business, and they never visit their claims. They re- 
 stake and re-stake year after year and follow on the heels 
 of each new strike, often by proxy. We have proof 
 enough of all this to convince the most lukewarm senator." 
 
 " You think then," said Foster quickly, " there is going 
 to be a chance, after all, for the bill for Home Rule ? " 
 
 " No." Tisdale's voice lost its mellowness. " It is a 
 mistake ; it's asking too much at the beginning. We need 
 amended mining laws ; we should work for that at once, in 
 the quickest concerted way. And, first of all, our special 
 delegates should push the necessity of a law giving a de- 
 fined length of shaft or tunnel for assessment work, as is 
 enforced in the Klondike, and ask for efficient inspectors 
 to see that such laws as we have are obeyed." 
 
 Foster moved to the window and stood looking down 
 again on the city lights. Presently he said : " I pre- 
 sume you will see the President while you are in Washing- 
 ton." 
 
30 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " Probably. He is always interested in the field work 
 up there, and this season's reconnaissance in the 
 Matanuska coal district should be of special importance to 
 him just now. The need of a naval coaling station on the 
 Pacific coast has grown imperative, and with vast bodies of 
 coal accessible to Prince William Sound, the question of lo- 
 cation should soon be solved." 
 
 There was another silence, while Foster walked again to 
 the end of the room and returned. " How soon do you 
 start east ? " he asked. 
 
 " Within a week. Meantime, I am going over the Cas- 
 cades into the sage-brush country to look up that land of 
 Weatherbee's." 
 
 " You intend then," said Foster quickly, " to take that 
 piece of desert off^ Mrs. Weatherbee's hands ? " 
 
 " Perhaps. It depends on the possibility of carrying 
 out his project. I have just shipped a steam thawing 
 apparatus in to the Aurora, and that, with supplies for a 
 winter camp, has taken a good deal of ready money. 
 Freighting runs high, whether it's from the Iditarod or 
 south from Fairbanks. But spring should see expenses 
 paid and my investment back." 
 
 " From all I've heard," responded Foster dryly, " you'll 
 get your investment back with interest." 
 
 " Of course," said Tisdale after a moment, " Mrs. 
 Weatherbee will be eager to dispose of the tract ; the only 
 reason it is still on her hands is that no one has wanted to 
 buy it at any price." 
 
 " And that's just why you should." Foster paused, 
 then went on slowly, controlling the emotion in his voice, 
 " You don't know her, Hollis. She's proud. She won't 
 admit the situation, and I can't ask her directly, but I am 
 sure she has come to the limit. I've been trying all day, 
 ever since I knew I must go north again, to raise enough 
 money to make an off^er for that land, but practically all I 
 
FOSTER TOO 31 
 
 have is tied up in Alaska properties. It takes time to find 
 a customer, and the banks are cautious." 
 
 Tisdale rose from his chair. " Foster ! " he cried and 
 stretched out his hands. " Foster — not you, too." 
 
 'I'hen his hands dropped, and Foster drew a step nearer 
 into the circle of light and stood meeting squarely the 
 silent remonstrance, accusation, censure, for which he was 
 prepared. " I knew how you would take it," he broke out 
 at last, " but it's the truth. I've smothered it, kept it 
 down for years ; but it's nothing to be ashamed of any 
 longer. I'd have been glad to exchange places with 
 Weatherbee. I'd have counted it a privilege to work, even 
 as he did, for her; I could have suffered privation, the 
 worst kind, wrung success out of failure, for the hope of 
 her." 
 
 " See here, Foster," — Tisdale laid his hands on the 
 younger man's shoulders, shaking him slowly, — " you must 
 stop this." His hold relaxed; he stepped back, and his 
 voice vibrated softly through the room. " How could you 
 have said it, knowing David Weatherbee as you did.^^ No 
 matter what kind of a woman she is, you should have re- 
 membered she was his wife and respected her for his 
 sake." 
 
 " Respect? I do respect her. She's the kind of woman 
 a man sets on a pedestal to worship and glorify. You 
 don't understand it, Hollis ; you don't know her, and I can't 
 explain ; but just her presence is an appeal, an inspiration 
 to all that's worth anything in me." 
 
 Tisdale's hands sought his pockets ; his head dropped 
 forward a little and he stood regarding Foster with an up- 
 ward look from under frowning brows. 
 
 " You don't know her," Foster repeated. " She's differ- 
 ent — finer than other women. And she has been gently 
 bred. Generations of the best blood is bottled like old 
 wine in her crystal body." He paused, his face brighten- 
 
32 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 ing at the fancy. " You can always see the spirit spark- 
 ling through." 
 
 " I remember about that blue blood," Tisdale said 
 tersely. " Weatherbee told me how it could be traced back 
 through a Spanish mother to some buccaneering adven- 
 turer, Don Silva de y somebody, who made his headquar- 
 ters in Mexico. And that means a trace of Mexican in the 
 race, or at least Aztec." 
 
 Foster colored. " The son of that Don Silva came 
 north and settled in California. He brought his peons 
 with him and made a great rancheria. At the time of the 
 Mexican War, his herds and flocks covered immense ranges. 
 Hundreds of these cattle must have supplied the United 
 States commissary ; the rest were scattered, and in the end 
 there was little left of the estate; just a few hundred acres 
 and a battered hacienda. But Mrs. Weatherbee's father 
 was English; the younger son of an old and knighted 
 family." 
 
 " I know," answered Tisdale dryly. " Here in the 
 northwest we call such sons remittance men. They are 
 paid generous allowances, sometimes, to come to America 
 and stay." 
 
 " That's unfair," Foster flamed. " You have no right 
 to say it. He came to California when he was just a 
 young fellow to invest a small inheritance. He doubled it 
 twice in a few years. Then he was persuaded to put his 
 money in an old, low-grade gold mine. The company made 
 improvements, built u flume thirty miles long to bring water 
 to the property for development, but it was hardly finished 
 when a State law was passed prohibiting hydraulic min- 
 ing. It practically ruined him. He had nothing to de- 
 pend on then but a small annuity." 
 
 " Meantime," supplemented Tisdale, " he had married 
 his Spanish senorita and her inheritance, the old rancheria, 
 was sunk with his own in the gold mine. Then he began to 
 
FOSTER TOO 38 
 
 play fast and loose with his annuity at the San Francisco 
 stock exchange." 
 
 " He hoped to make good quickly. He was getting past 
 his prime, with his daughter's future to be secured. But it 
 got to be a habit and, after the death of his wife, a passion. 
 His figure was well known on the street ; he was called a 
 prlunger. Some days he made fortunes ; the next lost them. 
 Still he was the same distinguished, courteous gentleman 
 to the end." 
 
 " And that came on the stock exchange, after a pro- 
 longed strain. David Weatherbee found him and took 
 him home." Tisdale paused, then went on, still regarding 
 Foster with that upward look from under his forbidding 
 brows. " It fell to Weatherbee to break the news to the 
 daughter, and ten days later, on the eve of his sailing 
 north to Seattle, that marriage was hurried through." 
 
 There was a silent moment, then Foster said: 
 " Weatherbee loved her, and he was going to Alaska ; it was 
 uncertain when he could return; married, he might send 
 for her when conditions were fit. And her father's affairs 
 were a complete wreck; even the annuity stopped at his 
 death, and there wasn't an acre of her mother's inherit- 
 ance left. Not a relative to take her in." 
 
 " I know ; that is why she married Weatherbee." Tis- 
 dale set his lips grimly ; he swung around and strode across 
 the floor. " You see, you can't tell me anything," he said. 
 " I know all about it. Wait. Listen. I am going over 
 the mountains and look up that land of Weatherbee's, and 
 I shall probably buy it, but I want you to understand 
 clearly it is only because I hope to carry his project 
 through. Now go north, Foster; take a new grip on 
 things ; get to work and let your investments alone." 
 
 After that, when Foster had gone, Tisdale spent a long 
 interval tramping the floor of his breezy room. The fur- 
 rows still divided his brows, his mouth was set, and a dark 
 
84 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 color burned and glowed through his tan. But deeper 
 than his angry solicitude for Foster rankled his resentment 
 against this woman. Who was she, he asked himself, that 
 she should fix her hold on level-headed Foster.? But he 
 knew her kind. Feversham had called her a " typical 
 American beauty," but there were many types, and he 
 knew her kind. She was a brunette, of course, showing a 
 swarthier trace of Mexican with the Spanish, and she 
 would have a sort of personal magnetism. She might 
 prove dramatic if roused, but those Spanish-California 
 women were indolent, and they grew heavy early. Big, 
 handsome, voluptuous; just a splendid animal without a 
 spark of soul. 
 
 He had stopped near the table, and his glance fell on the 
 package in the ring of light from the shaded lamp. After 
 a moment he lifted it and, drawing up a chair, seated him- 
 self and removed the wrapper. It covered a tin box such 
 as he was accustomed to use in the wilderness for the pro- 
 tection and portage of field notes and maps. He raised the 
 lid and took from the top a heavy paper, which he Unfolded 
 and spread before him. It was Weatherbee's landscape 
 plan, traced with the skill of a draughtsman and showing 
 plainly the contour of the tract in eastern Washington and 
 his method of reclamation. The land included a deep 
 pocket set between spurs of the Cascade Mountains. The 
 ridges and peaks above it had an altitude of from one to 
 six thousand feet. He found the spring, marked high in a 
 depressed shoulder, and followed the line of flume drawn 
 from it down to a natural dry basin at the top of the 
 pocket. A dam was set in the lower rim of this reservoir 
 and, reaching, from it, a canal was sketched in, feeding 
 cross ditches, distributing spillways to the orchards that 
 covered the slopes and levels below. Finally he traced the 
 roadway up through the avenues between the trees, over 
 the bench, to the house that commanded the valley. The 
 
FOSTER TOO 85 
 
 mission walls, the inside court, the roomy, vine-grown 
 portico, all the detail of foliage here had been elaborated 
 skilfully, with the touch of an artist. The habitation 
 stood out the central feature of the picture and, as a good 
 etching will, assumed a certain personality. 
 
 How fond David would have been of a home, — a home 
 and children ! Tisdale folded the plan and sat holding it 
 absently in his hands. His mind ran back from this final, 
 elaborated copy to the first rough draft Weatherbee had 
 shown him one night at the beginning of that interminable 
 winter they had passed together in the Alaska solitudes. 
 He had watched the drawing and the project grow. But 
 afterwards, when he had taken up geological work again, 
 they had met only at long intervals ; at times he had lost 
 all trace of Weatherbee, and he had not realized the 
 scheme had such a hold. Still, he should have under- 
 stood ; he should have had at least a suspicion before that 
 letter reached him at Nome. And even then he had been 
 blind. With that written proof in his hands, he had 
 failed to grasp its meaning. The tragedy ! the shame of 
 it! That he should have hesitated, — thrown away four 
 days. 
 
 He looked off once more to the harbor, and his eyes 
 gathered their far-sighted expression, as though they went 
 seeking that white trail through the solitudes stretching 
 limitless under the cold Arctic night. His face hardened. 
 When finally the features stirred, disturbed by forces 
 far down, he had come to that make-believe orchard of 
 spruce twigs. 
 
 After a while he folded the drawing to put it away, but 
 as his glance fell on the contents of the box, he laid the plan 
 on the table to take up the miner's poke tucked in a corner 
 made by a packet of letters, and drew out Weather- 
 bee's watch. It was valuable but the large monogram 
 deeply engraved on the gold case may have made it un- 
 
36 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 negotiable. That probably was why David never had 
 parted with it. Tisdale wound it, and set the hands. 
 The action seemed suddenly to bring Weatherbee close. 
 He felt his splendid personality there beside him, as he 
 used to feel it still nights up under the near Yukon stars. 
 It was as though he was back to one night, the last on a 
 long trail, when they were about to part company. He 
 had been urging him to come out with him to the States, 
 but Weatherbee had as steadily refused. " Not yet," he 
 persisted. " Not until I have something to show." And 
 again : '' No, Hollis, don't ask me to throw away all 
 these years. I have the experience now, and I've got to 
 make good." Then he spoke of his wife — for an in- 
 stant Tisdale seemed to see him once more, bending to hold 
 his open watch so that the light of the camp-fire played on 
 her picture set in the lower rim. " You see Alaska is no 
 place for a woman like her," he said, " but she is worth 
 waiting for and working for. You ought to understand, 
 Hollis, how the thought of her buoys me through." 
 
 But it was a long time to remember a picture seen only 
 by the flicker of a camp-fire and starshine, and the woman 
 of Tisdale's imagination clouded out the face he tried to 
 recall. " Still Weatherbee was so sensitive, so fine," he 
 argued with himself. " A woman must have possessed 
 more than a beautiful body to have become the center of 
 his life. She must, at the start, have possessed some ca- 
 pacity of feeling." 
 
 He put his thumb on the spring to open the lower case, 
 but the image so clearly fixed in his mind stayed the im- 
 pulse. "What is the use.? " he exclaimed, and thrusting 
 the watch back into the bag, quickly tied the string. " I 
 don't want to see you. I don't want to know you," and he 
 added, pushing the poke into its place and closing the box : 
 " The facts are all against you." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 SNOQUALMIE PASS AND A BROKEN AXl^E 
 
 TISDALE leaned forward in his seat in the observation 
 car. His rugged features worked a little, and his 
 eyes had their far-sighted gaze. Scarred buttes crowded 
 the track; great firs, clinging with exposed roots to the 
 bluffs, leaned in menace, and above the timber belt granite 
 pyramids and fingers shone amethyst against the sky; 
 then a giant door closed on this vestibule of the Pass, and 
 he was in an amphitheatre of lofty peaks. The eastbound 
 began to wind and lift like a leviathan seeking a way 
 through. It crept along a tilting shelf, rounded a sheer 
 spur, and ran shrieking over a succession of trestles, while 
 the noise of the exhausts rang a continuous challenge from 
 shoulder and crag. Then suddenly a mighty summit built 
 like a pulpit of the gods closed behind, and a company 
 of still higher mountains encircled the gorge. Every- 
 where above the wooded slopes towered castellated heights 
 •and spires. 
 
 Presently a near cliff came between him and the higher 
 view and, with a lift and drop of his square shoulders, he 
 settled back in his chair. He drew his hand across his 
 eyes, the humorous lines deepened and, like one admitting 
 a weakness, he shook his head. It was always so ; the sight 
 of any mountains, a patch of snow on a far blue ridge, set 
 his pulses singing; wakened the wanderlust for the big 
 spaces in God's out-of-doors. And this canyon of the 
 Snoqualmie was old, familiar ground. He had served his 
 surveyor's apprenticeship on these western slopes of the 
 Cascades. He had triangulated most of these peaks. 
 
38 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 named some of them, and he had carried a transit to these; 
 headwaters, following his axman often over a new trail. 
 Now, far, far down between the columns of hemlock and 
 fir, he caught glimpses of the State road on the opposite 
 bank of the stream that, like a lost river, went forever 
 seeking a way out, and finally, for an instant he saw a 
 cabin set like a toy house at the wooden bridge where 
 the thoroughfare crossed. Then the eastbound, having 
 made a great loop, found another hidden gateway and 
 moved up to the levels above Lake Keechelus. The 
 whistle signalled a mountain station, and Tisdale rose and 
 went out to the platform; when the trucks jolted to a 
 standstill, he swung himself down to the ground to enjoy 
 a breath of the fine air. 
 
 The next moment he found himself almost upon a 
 wrecked automobile. He saw in a flash that the road, 
 coming through a cut, crossed the railroad track, and 
 that in making a quick turn to avoid the end of the slow- 
 ing train, the chauffeur had forced the car into the bank. 
 The machine was still upright, but it listed forward on a 
 broken axle. A young woman who had kept her seat in 
 the tonneau was nursing a painful wrist, while two girls, 
 who evidently had come through the accident unscathed, 
 were trying to help the only man of the party up from 
 the ground. Tisdale bent to give him the support of his 
 shoulder, and, groaning, the stranger settled against 
 the side of his car and into a sitting position on the edge 
 of the floor, easing an injured leg. He had also received 
 an ugly hurt above his brows, which were heavy and black 
 and met in an angle over a prominent nose. 
 
 The lady in the tonneau and one of the girls had thei 
 same marked features and the same brilliant dark eyes, 
 though the retreating chin, which in the man amounted 
 to almost a blemish, in them was modified. But the last 
 one in the party, whom Tisdale had noticed first, was not 
 
SNOQUALMIE PASS 39 
 
 like the rest. She was not like any one in the world he 
 had seen before. From the hem of her light gray motor- 
 ing coat to the crown of her big hat, she was a delight 
 to the eyes. The veil that tied the hat down framed a 
 face full of a piquant yet delicate charm. She was 
 watching the man huddled against the machine, and her 
 mouth, parted a little, showed the upper lip short with 
 the upward curves of a bow. It was as though words 
 were arrested, half spoken, and her eyes, shadowy under 
 curling dark lashes, held their expression, uncertain 
 whether to sparkle out or to cloud. 
 
 After a moment the man lifted his head and, meeting her 
 look, smiled. " I'm all right," he said, " only I've 
 wrenched this knee; sprained it, I guess. And my head 
 feels like a drum." 
 
 " Oh, I am — glad " — her voice fluctuated softly, but 
 the sparkle broke in her eyes — " that it isn't worse. 
 Would you like a glass of ice-water from the train? A 
 porter is coming and the conductor, too. I will ask for 
 anything." 
 
 He smiled again. " You'll get it, if you do. But what 
 I want most just now is a glass of that port. Elizabeth," 
 and his glance moved to the other girl, " where did you put 
 that hamper.'' " 
 
 Elizabeth, followed by the porter, hurried around to 
 the other side of the automobile to find the basket, and 
 Tisdale moved a few steps away, waiting to see if he could 
 be of further service. 
 
 A passenger with a camera and an alert, inquiring face 
 had come down from the day coach. He wound the film 
 key and focussed for a closer exposure, but no one no- 
 ticed him. At that moment all interest centered on the 
 man who. was hurt. "Well," said the conductor at last, 
 having looked the group and the situation over, " what's 
 the trouble?" 
 
40 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 *' Looks like a broken axle, doesn't it? And possibly a 
 broken leg." He groaned and repeated aggressively : "A 
 broken axle. With the worst of Snoqualmie Pass before 
 us, and not a garage or a repair shop within fifty miles." 
 
 " You are in a fix, sure. But this train will take 
 you through the Pass to Ellensburg, and there ought to 
 be a hospital and a garage there. Or — the westbound 
 passenger, due at this siding in seven minutes " — the con- 
 ductor looked at his watch — " could put you back in 
 Seattle at eight-fifteen." 
 
 " Make it the westbound ; no hospital for me. Tele- 
 graph for a drawing-room, conductor, and notify this 
 station agent to ship the machine on the same train. And, 
 Elizabeth," he paused to take the drinking-cup she had 
 filled, " you look up a telephone, or if there isn't a long 
 distance, telegraph James. Tell him to have a couple of 
 doctors, Hillis and Norton, to meet the eight-fifteen; and 
 to bring the limousine down with plenty of pillows and 
 comforters." He drained the cup and dropped it into the 
 open hamper. " Now, porter," he added, " if you hurry 
 up a cocktail, the right sort, before that westbound gets 
 here, it means a five to you." 
 
 As these various messengers scurried away, the girl who 
 remained picked up the cup and poured a draught of wine 
 for the lady in the tonneau. " I am so sorry, but it was 
 the only way. Do you think it is a sprain? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes." The older woman took the cup in her left hand. 
 She had a deep, carrying voice, and she added, looking at 
 the injured wrist: " It's swelling frightfully, but it saved 
 my face; I might have had just such a hideous wound as 
 Frederic's. Isn't it a relief to hear him talking so ra- 
 tionally?" 
 
 Th-e girl nodded. '' He seems quite himself," she said 
 gravely. But she turned to cover the mirth in her eyes; 
 it suffused her face, her whole charming personality. 
 
SNOQUALMIE PASS 41 
 
 Then suddenly, at the moment the flow was highest, came 
 the ebb. Her glance met Tisdale's clear, appraising look, 
 and she stood silent and aloof. 
 
 He looked away and, after a moment, seeing nothing 
 further to do, started back to his train. She turned to 
 take the empty cup, and as she closed the hamper the 
 whistle of the westbound sounded through the gorge. 
 
 Tisdale walked on through the observation car to the 
 rear platform and stood looking absently off through an 
 aisle of Alpine firs that, parklike, bordered the track. It 
 was a long time since the sight of a pretty woman had so 
 quickened his blood. He had believed that for him this 
 sort of thing was over, and he laughed at himself a little. 
 
 The westbound rumbled to a stop on the parallel track, 
 he felt the trucks under him start, and an unaccountable 
 depression came over him ; the next moment he heard a 
 soft voice directing the porter behind him, and as unac- 
 countably his heart rose. The girl came on through the 
 open door and stopped beside him, bracing herself with one 
 hand on the railing, while she waved her handkerchief to 
 the group she had left. He caught a faint, clean perfume 
 suggesting violets, the wind lifted the end of her veil 
 across his shoulder, and something of her exhilaration was 
 transmitted to the currents in his veins. " Good-by, 
 Elizabeth," she called. " Good-by. Good-by." 
 
 Some trainmen were getting the injured man aboard 
 the westbound passenger, and the lady who had left the 
 wrecked automobile to go with him sent back a sonorous 
 " Au revoir." But Elizabeth, who was hurrying down 
 from the station where she had accomplished her errand, 
 turned in astonishment to look after the speeding east- 
 bound. Then a rocky knob closed all this from sight. 
 
 The girl on the platform turned, and Tisdale moved a 
 little to let her pass. At the same time the lurching of 
 the car, as it swung to the curve, threw her against him. 
 
42 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 It all happened very quickly; he steadied her with his 
 arm, and she drew back in confusion; he raised his hand 
 to his head and, remembering he had left his hat in his 
 seat, a flush shaded through his tan. Then, " I beg 
 your pardon," she said and hurried by him through the 
 door. 
 
 Tisdale stood smoothing his wind-ruffled hair and 
 watching the receding clifF. " Her eyes are hazel," he 
 thought, " with turquoise lights. I never heard of such 
 a combination, but — it's fine." 
 
 A little later, when he went in to take his seat, he found 
 her in the chair across the aisle. The train was skirting 
 the bluffs of Keechelus then, and she had taken off her 
 coat and hat and sat watching the unfolding lake. His 
 side glance swept her slender, gray-clad figure to the toe 
 of one trim shoe, braced lightly on her footstool, and re- 
 turned to her face. In profile it was a new delight. One 
 caught the upward curl of her black lashes ; the sugges- 
 tion of a fault in the tip of her high, yet delicately chis- 
 eled nose; the piquant curve of her short upper lip; the 
 full contour of the lifted chin. Her hair, roughened 
 some, was soft and fine and black with bluish tones. 
 
 The temptation to watch her was very great, and 
 Tisdale squared his shoulders resolutely and swung 
 his chair more towards his own window, which did not 
 afford a view of the lake. He wanted to see this new 
 railroad route through the Cascades. This Pass of Sno- 
 qualmie had always been his choice of a transcontinental 
 line. And he was approaching new territory; he never 
 had pushed down the eastern side from the divide. He 
 had chosen this roundabout way purposely, with thirty 
 miles of horseback at the end, when the Great Northern 
 would have put him directly into the Wenatchee Valley 
 and within a few miles of that tract of Weatherbee's he 
 was going to see. 
 
SNOQUALMIE PASS 48 
 
 There were few travelers in the observation car, and for 
 a while nothing broke the silence but the clamp and rush 
 of the wheels on the down-grade, then the man with a cam- 
 era entered and came down the aisle as far as the new 
 passenger's chair. " I hope you'll excuse me," he said, 
 " I'm Daniels, representing the Seattle Press, and I 
 thought you would like to see this story go in straight." 
 
 Tisdale swung his chair a little towards the open rear 
 door, so that he was able to watch without seeming to 
 see the progress of the comedy. He was quick enough to 
 catch the sweeping look she gave the intruder, aloof yet 
 fearless, as though she saw him across an invisible bar- 
 rier. " You mean you are a reporter," she asked quietly, 
 " and are writing an account of the accident for your 
 newspaper.'' " 
 
 " Yes." Daniels dropped his cap into the next chair 
 and seated himself airily on the arm. The camera swung 
 by a carrying strap from his shoulder, and he opened a 
 notebook, which he supported on his knee while he felt 
 in his pocket for a pencil. " Of course I recognized 
 young Morganstein ; everybody knows him and that choco- 
 late car; he's been run in so often for speeding about 
 town. And I suppose he was touring through Snoqual- 
 mie Pass to the races at North Yakima fair. There 
 should be some horses there worth going to see." 
 
 " We meant to spend a day or two at the fair," she ad- 
 mitted, " but we expected to motor on, exploring a little 
 in the neighborhood." 
 
 " I see. Up the valley to have a look at the big irri- 
 gation dam the Government is putting in and maybe on 
 to see the great Tieton bore. That would have been a 
 fine trip ; sorry you missed it." Daniels paused to place 
 several dots and hooks on his page. " I recognized 
 Miss Morganstein, too," he went on, " though she was 
 too busy to notice me. I met her when I was taking my 
 
44 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 course in journalism at the State University; danced with 
 her at the Junior Prom. And the other lady, whose wrist 
 was sprained, must have been her sister, Mrs. Feversham. 
 I was detailed to interview the new Alaska delegate when 
 he passed through Seattle, and I understood his wife was 
 to join him later. She was stopping over for a visit, 
 and the society editor called my attention to a mighty 
 good picture of her in last Sunday's issue. Do you 
 know? — " he paused, looking into the girl's face with a 
 curious scrutiny, " there was another fine reproduction 
 on that page that you might have posed for. The lady 
 served tea or punch or did something at the same affair. 
 But I can't remember her name — I've tried ever since we 
 left that station — though seems to me it was a married 
 one." 
 
 " I remember the picture you mean ; I remember. And 
 I was there. It was a bridge-luncheon at the Country Club 
 in honor of Mrs. Feversham. And she — the lady you 
 were reminded of — won the prize. So you think I re- 
 semble that photograph?" She tipped her head back a 
 little, holding his glance with her half-veiled eyes. 
 " What an imagination ! " 
 
 " Of course if you did pose for that picture, it doesn't 
 do you half justice; I admit that. But" — regarding 
 her with a wavering doubt — " I guess I've been jumping 
 at conclusions again. They call me the ' Novelist ' at 
 the office." He paused, laughing off a momentary em- 
 barrassment. " That's why I didn't want to depend on 
 getting your name from the society editor." 
 
 " I am glad you did not. It would have been very an- 
 noying, I'm sure — to the lady. I suppose," she went on 
 slowly, while the glamour grew in her eyes, " I suppose 
 nothing could induce you to keep this story out of the 
 Press r 
 
 He pursed his lips and shook his head decidedly. '' I 
 
SNOQUALMIE PASS 45 
 
 don't see how I can. I'd do 'most anything to oblige you, 
 but this is the biggest scoop I ever fell into. The fellows 
 detailed by the other papers to report the fair went 
 straight through by way of the Northern Pacific. I was 
 the only reporter at the wreck." 
 
 " I understand, but," her voice fluctuated softly, " I dis- 
 like publicity so intensely. Of course it's diff^erent with 
 Mrs. Feversham. She is accustomed to newspaper notice; 
 her husband and brother are so compietely in the public 
 eye. But since you must use the story, couldn't you sup- 
 press my name.f^ " 
 
 " Oh, but how could I .? The whole story hinges on you. 
 You were driving the machine. I saw you from the train 
 window as you came through the cut. You handled the 
 gear like an imported chauffeur, but it was steep there on 
 the app.roach, and the car began to skid. I saw in a flash 
 what was going to happen; it made me limp as a rag. 
 But there was a chance, — the merest hairbreadth, and 
 you took it." He waited a moment, then said, smiling: 
 " That was a picture worth snapping, but I was too batty 
 to think of it in time. You see," he went on seriously, 
 " the leading character in this story is you. And it means 
 a lot to me. I was going to be fired ; honest I was. The 
 old man told me he wasn't looking for any Treasure Island 
 genius ; what his paper needed was plain facts. Then his 
 big heart got the upper hand, and he called me back. 
 * Jimmie,' he said, ' there's good stuff in you, and I am go- 
 ing to give you one more trial. Go over to North Yak- 
 ima and tell us about the fair. Take the new Milwaukee 
 line as far as Ellensburg and pick up something about 
 the automobile road through Snoqualmie Pass. But re- 
 member, cut out the fiction ; keep to facts ! ' " 
 
 " I understand," she repeated gravely, " I understand. 
 The accident came opportunely. It was life and color to 
 your setting and demonstrates the need of a better road. 
 
46 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 The most I can hope is that you will not exaggerate or — • 
 or put us in a ridiculous light." 
 
 " I swear to that." He settled his notebook again on 
 his knee and lifted his pencil. " Nothing sensational," he 
 added, '* nothing annoying ; now please give me your 
 name." 
 
 " Well, then, write Miss Armitage." 
 
 " Miss Armitage. Thank you. Miss Armitage of? " 
 
 " San Francisco." 
 
 *' Of San Francisco ; and visiting the Morgansteins, of 
 course. But going on now alone to meet the friends who 
 ai*e expecting you — am I right ? — at North Yakima." 
 
 There was a brief silence, and she moved a little in her 
 chair. " Where I am going now," she said, and looked at 
 him once more across the invisible barrier, " is another 
 story." 
 
 " I beg your pardon." Daniels laughed and, rising 
 from his perch on the chair arm, put his notebook in his 
 pocket. " And I'm awfully grateful. If ever I can be of 
 service to you, I hope you'll let me know." He started up 
 the car, then paused to say over his shoulder : " The light 
 for photography was fine ; the old man will double column 
 every illustration." 
 
 " Illustrations ? " She started up in dismay. " Oh, 
 no. Please — I couldn't endure — " 
 
 But Jimmie Daniels, with the camera swinging to his 
 quick step, hurried on to the vestibule. 
 
 She settled back in her seat, and for a moment her con- 
 sternation grew; then the humor of the situation must 
 have dawned on her, for suddenly the sparkles danced in 
 her eyes. Her glance met Tisdale's briefly and, suppress 
 it as he tried, his own smile broke at the comers of his 
 mouth. He rose and walked out again to the platform. 
 
 This was the rarest woman on earth. She was able to 
 appreciate a joke at her own expense. Clearly she had 
 
SlSrOQUALMIE PASS 4T 
 
 "finessed, then, in the instant she had been sure of the game, 
 she had met and accepted defeat with a smile. But he 
 would like to discipline that fellow Daniels ; — here he 
 frowned — those films should be destroyed. Still, the boy 
 would hardly give them up peaceably and to take them 
 otherwise would not spare her the publicity she so desired 
 to avoid ; such a scene must simply furnish fresh material, 
 a new chapter to the story. After all, not one newspaper 
 cut in a hundred could be recognized. It was certain she 
 was in no need of a champion ; he never had seen a woman 
 so well equipped, so sure of herself and her weapons, 
 and yet so altogether feminine. If Foster had but known 
 her. 
 
 Instantly, in sharp contrast to this delightful stranger, 
 rose the woman of his imagination; the idle spendthrift 
 who had cast her spell over level-headed Foster; who had 
 wrecked David Weatherbee; and his face hardened. A 
 personal interview, he told himself presently, would be 
 worse than useless. There was no way to reach a woman 
 like her; she was past appeal. But he would take that 
 tract of desert off her hands at her price, and perhaps, 
 while the money lasted, she would let Foster alone. 
 
 The train had left Lake Keechelus and was racing easily 
 down the banks of the Yakima. He was entering the coun- 
 try he had desired to see, and soon his interest wakened. 
 He seated himself to watch the heights that seemed to move 
 in quick succession like the endlessly closing gates of the 
 Pass. The track still ran shelf-wise along precipitous 
 knobs and ridges ; sometimes it bored through. The for- 
 ests of fir and hemlock were replaced by thinning groves of 
 pine; then appeared the first bare, sage-mottled dune. 
 The trucks rumbled over a bit of trestle, and for an in- 
 stant he saw the intake of an irrigating canal, and finally, 
 after a last tunnel, the eastbound steamed out of the 
 canyon into a broad, mountain-locked plateau. Every- 
 
48 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 where, watered by the brimming ditch, stretched fields of 
 vivid alfalfa or ripe grain. Where the harvesting was 
 over, herds of fine horses and cattle or great flocks of sheep 
 were turned in to browse on the stubble. At rare intervals 
 a sage-grown breadth of unreclaimed land, like a ragged 
 blemish, divided these farms. Then, when the arid slopes 
 began to crowd again, the train whistled Ellensburg on 
 the lower rim of the plain. 
 
 Tisdale left his seat to lean over the railing and look 
 ahead. He was in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of 
 Jimmie Daniels as he hurried out of the telegraph office 
 and sprang on the step of a starting bus. It was here the 
 young newspaper man was to transfer to the Northern 
 Pacific, and doubtless the girl too was changing trains. 
 The Milwaukee, beyond Ellensburg, passed through new, 
 unbroken country for many miles ; the stations were all in 
 embryo, and even though she may not have resumed her 
 journey at the Pass with the intention of stopping off at 
 the fair, the same bus was probably taking her over to the 
 old, main traveled route down the Yakima to the Columbia. 
 
 Again that unaccountable depression came over him. 
 He tried to throw it off, laughing at himself a little and 
 lighting a cigar. This pretty woman had happened in his 
 path like a flower ; she had pleased his eyes for a few hours 
 and was gone. But what possible difference could her 
 coming and going make to him? 
 
 The train started, and he settled back in his seat. The 
 fertile fields were left behind, then presently the eastbound 
 steamed through a gap in a sun-baked ridge and entered 
 a great arid level. Sage-brush stretched limitless, and the 
 dull green of each bush, powdered with dust, made a 
 grayer blotch on the pale shifting soil, that every chance 
 zephyr lifted in swirls and scattered like ashes. Sometimes 
 a whiter patch showed where alkali streaked through. It 
 was like coming into an old, worn-out world. The sun 
 
SNOQUAjLMIE pass 49 
 
 burned pitilessly, and when finally the train had crossed 
 this plain and began to wind through lofty dunes, the heat 
 pent between the slopes became stifling. The rear plat- 
 for'm was growing intolerable, and he knew his station 
 could not be far off^. He rose to go in, but the eastbound 
 suddenly plunged into the coolness of a tunnel, and he 
 waited while it bored through to daylight and moved on 
 along a shelf overlooking a dry run. Then, as he turned 
 to the open door, he saw the girl had not taken the North- 
 ern Pacific at EUensburg. She was still there in the ob- 
 servation car. 
 
 Her eyes were closed, and he noticed as he went forward 
 that her breast rose and fell gently ; the shorter, loose hair 
 formed damp, cool little rings on her forehead and about 
 her ears. She was sleeping in her chair. But a turn in 
 the track brought the sun streaming through her window ; 
 the polished ceiling reflected the glare, and he stopped to 
 reach carefully and draw the blind. A moment later the 
 whistle shrieked, and the conductor called his station. He 
 hurried on up the aisle and, finding his satchel in the vesti- 
 bule, stood waiting until the car jolted to a stop, then 
 swung himself off^. But the porter followed with a suitcase 
 and placed his stool, and the next instant the girl ap- 
 peared. She carried her hat in her hands, her coat was 
 tucked under her arm, and as she stepped down beside Tis- 
 dale, the bell began to ring, the porter sprang aboard, and 
 the train went speeding ahead. 
 
 The station was only a telegraph ofl5ce, flanked by a 
 water-tank on a siding. There was no waiting hotel bus, 
 no cab, no vehicle of any kind. The small building rose 
 like an islet out of a. gi'ay sea^ Far off^ through billowing 
 swells one other islet appeared, but these two passengers 
 the eastbound had left were like a man and woman ma- 
 rooned. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 APPLES OP EDEN 
 
 TISDALE stood looking after the train while the girl's 
 swift, startled glance swept the billowing desert and 
 with growing dismay searched the draw below the station. 
 " There isn't a town in sight ! " she exclaimed, and her lip 
 trembled. " Not a taxi or even a stage ! " And she 
 added, moving and lifting her eyes to meet his : " What 
 am I to do?" 
 
 " I'll do my best, madam," he paused, and the genial lines 
 broke lightly in his face, " but I could find out quicker if I 
 knew where you want to go." 
 
 " To Wenatchee. And I tho — ought — I understood 
 — the conductor told me you were going there, and this 
 was your stop. It was his first trip over the new Mil- 
 waukee, and we trusted — to you." 
 
 Tisdale pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly. " I 
 guess I am responsible. I did tell that conductor I was 
 going to Wenatchee when I asked him to drop me at this 
 siding, but I should have explained I expected to find a 
 saddle-horse here and take a cut-ofF to strike the Ellens- 
 burg road. It should save an hour." He drew a Govern- 
 ment map of the quadrangle of that section from his 
 pocket and opened it. " You see, your stop was Ellens- 
 burg; the only through road starts there." He found 
 the thoroughfare and began to trace it with his forefinger. 
 " It crosses rugged country ; follows the canyons through 
 these spurs of the Cascades. They push down sheer to 
 the Columbia. See the big bend it makes, flowing south 
 
APPLES OF EDEN • 51 
 
 for miles along the mountains trying to find a way out to 
 the Pacific. The river ought to be off there." He paused 
 and swung on his heel to look eastward. " It isn't far 
 from this station. But even if we reached it, it would be 
 up-stream, against a succession' of rapids, from here to 
 Wenatchee. A boat would be impossible." He folded 
 the plat and put it away, then asked abruptly : " Do you 
 ride, madam? " 
 
 She gave him a swift side-glance and looked off in the 
 direction of the hidden Columbia. " Sometimes — but I 
 haven't a riding habit." 
 
 Tisdale waited. The humor deepened a little at the 
 comers of his mouth. There was but one passenger train 
 each way daily on the newly opened Milwaukee road, and 
 plainly she could not remain at this siding alone all night ; 
 yet she was debating the propriety of riding through the 
 mountains to Wenatchee with him. Then unexpectedly 
 the click of a telegraph cut the stillness, and a sudden 
 brightness leaped in her face. " A station master," she 
 cried ; " perhaps there's a telephone." And she hurried 
 up the platform to the open oflSce door. 
 
 Tisdale slowly followed. 
 
 The station master, having transmitted his message, 
 swung around on his stool, and got to his feet in astonish- 
 ment on seeing the girl. 
 
 " I have made a mistake," she said, with a wavering 
 glance over the interior, " and I tho — ought, I hoped 
 there was a telephone. But you can conmiunicate with the 
 nearest garage for me, can you not? Or a stable — or 
 — somewhere. You see," and for an instant the coquetry 
 of a pretty woman who knows she is pretty beamed in her 
 eyes, " I really must have a taxicab or some kind of a 
 carriage to take me back to Ellensburg." 
 
 The station master, who was a very young man, an- 
 swered her smile and, reaching to take a coat from a peg 
 
52 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 on the wall, hastily slipped it on. " Of course I could 
 call up EUensburg," he said ; " that's the nearest for a 
 machine. But it belongs to the doctor, and even if he 
 was in town and could spare it, it would take till dark 
 to bring it down. It's a mean road over sandhills for 
 thirty-five miles." 
 
 " It is hardly farther than that to Wenatchee," said 
 Tisdale quietly. " With good saddle-horses we should be 
 able to make it as soon. Do you know anything about 
 the trail through to tap the Ellensburg-Wenatchee high- 
 way ? " 
 
 The station master came around the end of his desk. 
 " So you are going to Wenatchee," he exclaimed, and his 
 face shone with a sort of inner glow. " I guess then you 
 must have heard about Hesperides Vale; the air's full of 
 it, and while land is selling next to nothing you want to 
 get in on the ground floor. Yes, sir," his voice quickened, 
 " I own property over there, and I came that way, up the 
 mountain road, in the spring to take this position when 
 the Milwaukee opened. But I don't know much about 
 your cut-ofF; I just kept on to EUensburg and dropped 
 down by train from there. The main road, though, was 
 in pretty good shape. It's the old stage road that used 
 to connect with the Northern Pacific, and they had to do 
 some mighty heavy hauling over it while the mountain di- 
 vision of the Great Northern was building up the Wen- 
 atchee. It keeps an easy grade, following the canyons 
 up and up till it's six thousand feet at the divide, then 
 you begin to drop to the Columbia. And when you leave 
 the woods, it's like this again, bunch grass and sage, sand 
 and alkali, for twenty miles. Of course there isn't a regu- 
 lar stage now ; you have to hire." 
 
 " Any road-houses ? " asked Tisdale briefly. 
 
 *' No, but you come across a ranch once in awhile, and 
 any of them would take a man in over night — or a lady." 
 
APPLES OF EDEN 63 
 
 Tisdale turned to the door. " I can find saddle-horses, 
 I presume, at that ranch off there through the draw. Is 
 it the nearest? " 
 
 " The nearest and the only one." The station master 
 walked on with him to the platform. " It's a new place. 
 They are working two teams, every day and Sunday, while 
 daylight lasts, grubbing out the sage-brush for planting. 
 It's a pumping layout to bring water from the Columbia, 
 and they are starting with forty acres all in apples." 
 
 " But they have saddle-horses ? " said Tisdale, frown- 
 ing. 
 
 " I can't tell you that. The fellow I talked with came 
 over for freight and used one of the teams. Said they 
 couldn't spare it. But that's your only chance. I don't 
 know of any other horses in twenty miles, unless it's a wild 
 band that passed this morning. They stopped down the 
 draw, nosing out the bunch grass for an hour or two, then 
 skidooed." 
 
 Tisdale paused a thoughtful moment then asked: 
 "When is the next freight due on this siding.? " 
 
 " Two-forty-five. And say " — he slapped his knee at 
 the sudden thought — " that's your chance, sure. I have 
 orders to hold them for the eastbound silk train, and 
 they'll let you ride in the caboose up to Kittitas. That's 
 the stop this side of Ellensburg, and there's a livery 
 there, with a cross-road to strike the Ellensburg-Wen- 
 atchee. But, say! If you do drop off at Kittitas, ask 
 Lighter to show you the colts. They are the star team 
 in three counties. Took the prize at North Yakima last 
 year for three-year-olds. They're too fly for livery work, 
 but if you can drive, and Lighter likes your looks " — the 
 station master gave Tisdale a careful scrutiny — " and 
 you have his price, I shouldn't wonder if you could hire 
 Nip and Tuck." 
 
 Tisdale laughed. " I see. If I can't hire them, I may 
 
54 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 be allowed the privilege to buy them. But," and he looked 
 at his watch, " there's time to try that ranch." 
 
 He started down the platform then stopped to look back 
 at the girl who had followed a few steps from the thresh- 
 old. Her eyes held their expression of uncertainty whether 
 to sparkle or to cloud, and he read the arrested ques- 
 tion on her lips. " If there are any saddle-horses," he 
 answered, " I will have them here before that two-forty- 
 five freight arrives, but," and he smiled, " I am not so 
 sure I can supply the proper riding-suit. And the most 
 I hope for in saddles is just a small Mexican." 
 
 " A Mexican is easy riding," she said, " on a mountain 
 road." But she stood watching him, with the uncertainty 
 still clouding her face, while he moved down the draw. 
 
 He wore the suit of gray corduroy it was his habit to 
 wear in open country, with leggings of russet leather, and 
 he traveled very swiftly, with a long, easy stride, though 
 never rapidly enough to wholly escape the dust he dis- 
 turbed. Once he stopped and bent to fasten a loose strap, 
 and then he took off his coat, which he folded to carry. 
 The pall of dust enveloped him. In it his actions gath- 
 ered mystery, and his big frame loomed indistinctly like 
 the figure of a genii in a column of smoke. The fancy 
 must have occurred to the watcher on the platform, for it 
 was then the sparkles broke in her eyes, and she said 
 aloud, softly clapping her hands : " I wish — I wish it to 
 be Nip and Tuck." 
 
 " So do I." She started and turned, and the station 
 master smiled. " They're beauties, you can take my 
 word. It would be the drive of your life." 
 
 He carried his office chair around the comer of the 
 building to place for her in the shade. Then his instru- 
 ment called him, and for an interval she was left alone. 
 The desert stretched before her, limitless, in the glare of 
 the afternoon sun. If the Columbia flowed in that neigh- 
 
APPLES OF EDEN 65 
 
 borhood, it was hidden by sand dunes and decomposing 
 cliffs of granite. There was no glimpse of water any- 
 where, not a green blade ; even the bunch grass, that grew 
 sparsely between the sage-brush through the draw, was 
 dry and gray. For a while no sound but the click of the 
 telegraph disturbed the great silence, then a hot wind came 
 wailing out of the solitudes and passed into a fastness of 
 the mountains. 
 
 Finally the station master returned. " Well," he said 
 genially, " how are you making it ? Lonesome, I guess." 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed, " how can you, how could any 
 human being, live in this dead, worn-out world? " 
 
 " It is desolate now," he admitted, sending a thoughtful 
 glance over the arid waste ; " it must seem like the Great 
 Sahara to you, coming into it for the first time and di- 
 rectly from the Puget Sound country. I remember how 
 I felt when I struck the Hesperides. Why, it looked like 
 the front door of Hades to me ; I said so, and I called my- 
 self all kinds of a fool. But I had sunk an even thousand 
 dollars in a twenty-acre tract; bought it off a real estate 
 map over in Seattle, without seeing the ground." He 
 laughed, half in embarrassment at the confession, and 
 moved to take a more comfortable position against the 
 wall. " I was in a railroad office in Chicago," he ex- 
 plained, " and my father expected me to work up to the 
 responsible position he held with the company and take it 
 when he was through. But the western fever caught me ; 
 I wanted to come to Washington and grow with the coun- 
 try. He couldn't talk me out of it; so he gave me that 
 thousand dollars and told me to go and to stay till I made 
 good." 
 
 " Oh," she cried, " how hard ! How miserable ! And 
 you ? " 
 
 " Why, I stayed. There wasn't anything else to do. 
 [And after I looked around the valley a little and saw the 
 
56 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Peshastin ditch and what it could do, I got busy. I found 
 work; did anything that turned up and saved like a 
 miser, until I was able to have the land cleared of sage^ 
 brush. It has mean roots, you know, sprawling in all 
 directions like the branches. Then I saved to make con- 
 nections with the ditch and to buy trees. I set the whole 
 twenty acres to apples — I always did like a good apple, 
 and I had sized up the few home orchards around Wen- 
 atchee — then I put in alfalfa for a filler, and that eased 
 things, and I settled down to office work, small pay, lots 
 of time to plan, and waited for my trees to grow. That 
 was four years ago, five since I struck the Wenatchee 
 valley, and this season they came into bearing. Now, at 
 the end of this month, I am giving up my position with 
 the Milwaukee, cutting railroading for good, to go over 
 and superintend the harvesting. And say " — he stood 
 erect, the inner glow illumined his face — " I've had an 
 offer for my crop ; three hundred and fifty dollars an acre 
 for the fruit on the trees. Three hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars for a four-year-old orchard ! Think of that ! Seven 
 thousand clear for re-investment." 
 
 "How splendid!" she said, and in that instant her 
 face seemed to catch and reflect his enthusiasm. " To 
 have waited, fought like that in the face of defeat, and to 
 have made good." 
 
 " And it's only the beginning," his voice caught a lit- 
 tle ; " an apple orchard has bigger results every year after 
 maturity. There's a man over there on the Wenatchee 
 who is going to make a thousand dollar profit on each 
 acre of his twelve-year orchard. You ought to see those 
 trees, all braced up with scaffolding, only fourteen acres 
 of them, but every branch loaded. But that orchard is 
 an exception; they had to lift water from the river with 
 buckets and a wheel, and most of the pioneers put in 
 grain. Their eyes are just beginning to open. But think 
 
APPLES OF EDEN 57 
 
 of Hesperides Vale in another five years. And think what 
 that High Line ditch means. Just imagine it ! Water, 
 all you can use and running to waste ; water spilling over 
 in this sage-brush desert. Doesn't it spell oasis .^^ Think 
 of it! Grass and flowers and shade in place of this sun- 
 baked sand and alkali." 
 
 " It sounds like a fairy tale," she said. " I can hardly 
 believe it." 
 
 " I'll show you." He hurried around to the office door 
 and came back directly with a basket of fruit. " Here are 
 a few samples from my trees. Did you ever see pink like 
 that in a bellflower.'* Isn't it pretty enough for a girl's 
 cheek? And say," he held up an exceedingly large apple, 
 nearer the size of a small pumpkin, " how's this for a 
 Rome Beauty? An agent who is selling acreage for a 
 company down the Yakima offered me five dollars for that 
 apple yesterday. He wanted it for a window display over 
 at his Seattle office. But look at these Jonathans." His 
 sensitive fingers touched the fruit lingeringly with a sort 
 of caress, and the glow deepened in his face. " They 
 represent the main crop. And talk about color ! Did you 
 ever see wine and scarlet and gold blend and shade nicer 
 than this?" 
 
 She shook her head. " Unless it was in a Puget Sound 
 cloud effect at sunset. That is what it reminds me of ; a 
 handful of Puget Sound sunset." 
 
 The station master laughed softly. " That's about it, 
 sure. Now taste one and tell me what the flavor of a 
 Wenatchee Jonathan is like. No, that's not quite ripe; 
 try this." 
 
 She set her small white teeth in the crimson cheek and 
 tested the flavor deliberately, with the gravity of an epi- 
 cure, while the boy watched her, his whole nervous frame 
 keyed by her responsiveness to high pitch. " It's like 
 nothing else in the world," she said finally. " No, wait, 
 
58 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 yes, it is. It's like condensed wine; a blend of the best; 
 golden Angelica, red port, amber champagne, with just 
 enough of old-fashioned cider to remind you it is an 
 apple." 
 
 The station master laughed again. " Say, but you've 
 got it all in, fine." He set the basket at her feet and 
 stood looking down at her an uncertain moment. " I 
 would like awfully well to send you a box," he added, and 
 the flush of his bellflower was reflected in his cheek. 
 
 She gave him a swift upward glance and turned her 
 face to the desert. " Thank you, but when one is travel- 
 ing, it is hard to give a certain address." In the pause 
 that followed, she glanced again and smiled. " I would 
 like one or two of these samples, though, if you can spare 
 them," she compromised ; " I shall be thirsty on that moun- 
 tain road." 
 
 " I can spare all you'll take." 
 
 " Thank you," she repeated hastily. " And you may 
 be sure I shall look for your orchard when I reach Wen- 
 atchee. The fruit on the trees must be beautiful." 
 
 " It is. It's worth the drive up from Wenatchee just 
 to see Hesperides Vale, and that special Eden of mine is 
 the core. You couldn't miss it ; about ten miles up and 
 right on the river road." 
 
 " I shall find it," she nodded brightly. " I am going 
 that way to see a wild tract in a certain pocket of the 
 valley. I wonder " — she started and turned a little to 
 give him her direct look — " if by any possibility it could 
 be brought under your Peshastin ditch? " 
 
 He shook his head. " Hardly. I wouldn't count on 
 it. Most of those pockets back in the benches are too 
 high. Some of them are cut off^ by ridges from one to six 
 thousand feet. Maybe your agent will talk of pumping ' 
 water from the canal, but don't you bite. It means an ex- 
 pensive electric plant and several miles of private flume. 
 
APPLES OF EDEN 59 
 
 And perhaps he will show you how easy it's going to be to 
 tap the new High Line that's building down the Wen- 
 atchee and on to the plateau across the Columbia thirty 
 miles. But it's a big proposition to finance; in places 
 they'll have to bore through granite cliffs ; and if the day 
 ever comes when it's finished far enough to benefit your 
 tract, I doubt the water would reach your upper levels. 
 And say, what is the use of letting him talk you into buy- 
 ing a roof garden when, for one or two hundred dollars an 
 acre, you can still get in on the ground floor? " 
 
 She did not answer. Her eyes were turned again to 
 the desert, and a sudden weariness clouded her face. In 
 that moment she seemed older, and the strong light brought 
 out two lines delicately traced at the corners of her beauti- 
 ful mouth that had not been apparent before. 
 
 *' But, say," the young man went on eagerly, " let me 
 tell you a little more about the Vale. It's sheltered in 
 there. The mountains wall it in, and you don't get the 
 fierce winds off the Columbia desert. The snow never 
 drifts ; it lies flat as a carpet all winter. And we don't 
 have late frosts ; never have to stay up all night watching 
 smudge pots to keep the trees warm. And those steep 
 slopes catch the early spring sun and cast it off like big 
 reflectors ; things start to grow before winter is gone. 
 And I don't know what makes it so, but the soil on those 
 low Wenatchee benches is a little different from any other. 
 It looks like the Almighty made his hot beds there, all 
 smooth and level, and just forgot to turn the water on. 
 And take a project like the Peshastin, run by a strong 
 company with plenty of capital; the man along the canal 
 only has to pay his water rate, so much an irrigated acre ; 
 nothing towards the plant, nothing for flume construction 
 and repairs. And, say, I don't want to bore you, I don't 
 want to influence you too far, but I hate to see a woman 
 — a lady — throw her money away right in sight of a 
 
60 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 sure proposition; even if you can't go into improved or- 
 chards, any Hesperides investment is safe. It means at 
 least double the price to you within two years. I've 
 bonded forty acres more of wild land joining my tract, 
 and I shall plant thirty of it in the fall. The last ten 
 will be cleared and reserved for speculation. The piece 
 comes within a stone's throw of the Great Northern's 
 tracks. There's a siding there now, and when the Vale 
 comes into full bearing, they are bound to make it a ship- 
 ping station. Then I'm going to plat that strip into 
 town lots and put it on the market." He paused while her 
 glance, returning from the desert, met his in a veiled side- 
 look, and the flush of the bellflower again tinged his cheek. 
 " I mean," he added, " I'd be mighty glad to let you 
 in." 
 
 The blue sparkles played under her lashes. " Thank 
 you, it sounds like riches, but — " 
 
 She stopped, leaving the excuse unsaid. The station 
 master had turned his face suddenly towards the Colum- 
 bia ; he was not listening to her. Then, presently, the 
 sound that had caught his alert ear reached her own 
 faintly. Somewhere out in the solitudes a train had 
 whistled. '' The westbound freight ! " she exclaimed softly. 
 '' Isn't it the westbound freight ? " 
 
 He nodded. " She's signalling Beverley. They'll call 
 me in a minute." And he started around to the office 
 door. 
 
 She rose and followed to the corner to look for Tisdale. 
 Midway the road doubled a knoll and was lost, to reap- 
 pear, a paler streak, on the gray slope where the ranch 
 house stood ; and it was there, at the turn, she first noticed 
 a cloud of dust. It advanced rapidly, but for a while she 
 was not able to determine whether it enveloped a rider or 
 a man on foot; she was certain there was no led horse. 
 Then a gust of wind parted the cloud an instant, and the 
 
APPLES OF EDEN 61 
 
 sparkle suffused her whole face. He was returning as she 
 had hoped, afoot. 
 
 She stood watching the moving cloud; the man's bulk 
 began to detach from it and gathered shape. Between 
 pauses, the click of the telegraph reached her, then sud- 
 denly the shriek of the whistle cut the stillness. The train 
 must have crossed the Columbia and was winding up 
 through the dunes. She went along the platform and 
 picked up her hat, which she had left on the suitcase with 
 her coat. While she pinned it on and tied her veil over 
 it, the freight signalled twice. It was so close she caught 
 the echo of the thundering trucks from some rocky cut. 
 When the call sounded a third time, it brought an an- 
 swer from the silk special, far off in the direction of Ellens- 
 burg. She lifted her coat and turned again to watch Tis- 
 dale. He had quickened his pace, but a shade of sus- 
 pense subdued the light in her face. 
 
 Since the whistle of the special, the telegraph instru- 
 ment had remained silent, and presently she heard the sta-" 
 tion master's step behind her. " Well," he said, " it's Nip 
 and Tuck, sure. But say, he can sprint some. Does it 
 easy, too, like one of those cross-country fellows out of 
 a college team. I'd back him against the freight." 
 
 " If he misses it," and the suspense crept into her voice, 
 " I must go without him, and I suppose I can be sure of 
 a hotel at Ellensburg? " 
 
 " You'll find fair accommodations at Kittitas. But he 
 isn't going to miss the freight, and it will be hours saved 
 to you if Lighter lets you have the colts." 
 
 She lifted her coat, and he held it while she slipped her 
 arms in the sleeves. '' I've 'most forgotten how to do 
 this," he said ; " it's so long since I've seen a girl — or a 
 lady. I'm afraid I've bored you a lot, but you don't 
 know how I've enjoyed it. It's been an epoch seeing you 
 in this wilderness." 
 
62 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " It's been very interesting to me, I'm sure," she re- 
 plied gravely. " I've learned so much. I wonder if, 
 should I come this way again, I would find all this desert 
 blossoming? " 
 
 " I shouldn't be surprised ; settlement's bound to follow 
 a new railroad. But say, look into Hesperides Vale while 
 you are at Wenatchee, and if my proposition seems good 
 to you at one hundred dollars an acre, and that is what 
 I'm paying, drop me a line. My name is Bailey. Hen- 
 derson Bailey, Post-Office, Wenatchee, after the end of the 
 month." 
 
 He waited with expectation in his frank brown eyes, but 
 the girl stood obliviously watching Tisdale. He reached 
 the platform and stopped, breathing deep and full, while 
 he shook the dust from his hat. " I am sorry, madam," 
 he said, " but their only saddle-horse pulled his rope-stake 
 this morning and went off with the wild herd. You will 
 have to take this freight back to Kittitas." 
 
 " How disappointing ! " she exclaimed. " And you 
 were forced to tramp back directly through this heat and 
 dust." 
 
 " This is the lightest soil I ever stepped on " — he 
 glanced down over his powdered leggings and shoes ; the 
 humor broke gently in his face — "and there's just one 
 kind deeper, — the Alaska tundra." 
 
 With this he hurried by her to the office. Presently the 
 freight whistled the siding, and Bailey picked up the bag- 
 gage and went down to make arrangements with the train- 
 men. The girl followed, and when Tisdale came back, she 
 stood framed in the doorway of the waiting caboose, while 
 a brakeman dusted a chair, which he placed adroitly fac- 
 ing outside, so that she might fo^et the unmade bunks 
 and greasy stove. " It isn't much on accommodations," 
 he said conciliatingly, " but you can have it all to your- 
 selves ; as far as you go, it's your private car." 
 
APPLES OF EDEN 63 
 
 The other train thundered into the station and past; 
 the freight began to move, and Tisdale swung himself 
 aboard. Then the station master, remembering the 
 apples at the last moment, ran with the basket, crowned 
 still by the Rome Beauty for which he had refused five 
 dollars, and dropped it as a parting tribute at her feet. 
 
 " Thank you ! Thank you for everything ! " Her soft 
 voice fluted back to Bailey, and she leaned forward a little, 
 raising her hand with a parting salute. " Good-by ! " 
 
 Then, as she settled back in her chair, her swift side- 
 glance swept Tisdale. It was incredible he had removed 
 so much dust in that brief interval, but plainly, some- 
 where in that miserable station, he had found water and 
 towels ; he had not seemed more fit that morning in the ob- 
 servation car. The hand he laid on the wall as a brace 
 against the rocking of the light caboose was on a level 
 with her eyes, and they rested there. It was a strong, 
 well-made hand, the hand of the capable draughtsman, 
 sensitive yet controlled, and scrupulously cared for. " I 
 hope I pass muster," he said, and the amusement played 
 gently in his face, " for I am going to venture to intro- 
 duce myself. Possibly you have heard Judge Feversham 
 speak of me. I am Hollis Tisdale — Miss Armitage." 
 
 In the instant he hesitated on the name, she gave him 
 another swift upward glance, and he caught a question in 
 her eyes ; then the sparkles rose, and she looked off^ again 
 to the point where the railroad track was lost among the 
 dunes. " Of course I have heard of you," she admitted. 
 " We — Mrs. Feversham — recognized you this morning 
 in Snoqualmie Pass and would have spoken to thank you 
 for your service had you not hurried aboard your train. 
 She has known you by sight and has wished to meet you 
 personally a long time. But I — I — as you must know 
 — I—" 
 
 She had turned once more to give him the direct look of 
 
64 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 her unveiled eyes, and meeting his her voice failed. The 
 color flamed and went in her face ; then, her glance falling 
 to the basket at her feet, she bent and took the largest 
 apple. "Did you ever see such a marvel?" she asked. 
 " It came from that station master's orchard in the Wenat- 
 chee valley. He called it a Rome Beauty. Divide it, 
 please ; let us see if the flavor is all it promises." 
 
 " If it is " — and Tisdale took the apple and felt in 
 his pocket for his knife — " the ground that grew the tree 
 is a bonanza." He waited another moment, watching the 
 changing color in her face, then turned and walked to the 
 upper end of the caboose, where he deliberately selected a 
 stool which he brought forward to the door. Her con- 
 fusion puzzled him. Had she been about to confess, as he 
 had at first conjectured, that Miss Armitage was an in- 
 cognito used to satisfy the Press reporter and so avoid 
 publicity? It was clear she had thought better of the im- 
 pulse, and he told himself, as he took the seat beside her 
 and opened his knife, he was to have no more of her confi- 
 dence than Jimmie Daniels. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 NIP AND TUCK 
 
 BAILEY was right; the colts were beauties. But at 
 the time Tisdale arrived at the Kittitas stables, 
 Lighter, having decided to drive them to North Yakima, 
 was putting the pair to a smart buggy. They were not 
 for hire at double or treble the usual day rate. 
 
 " I want to sell this team," the trader repeated flatly. 
 " I don't want to winter 'em again, and my best chance to 
 show 'em is now, down at the fair. I can keep 'em in good 
 shape, making it in two stages and resting 'em over night 
 on the road, and be there by noon to-morrow." 
 
 One of the horses reared, lifting the stable-boy off his 
 feet, and Lighter sprang to take the bit in his powerful 
 grasp. " Steady, Tuck, steady ! Whoa, whoa, back now, 
 back, steady, whoa ! " The animal stood, frothing a little, 
 his beautiful coat moist, every muscle tense. " See there, 
 now ! Ain't he peaceable.? Nothing mean under his whole 
 hide; just wants to go. The other one will nip your fin- 
 gers once in a while, if you don't watch out, but he don't 
 mean anything, either; it's all in fun." 
 
 He gave his place to the boy again and stepped back to 
 Tisdale's side, still watching his team, while a second 
 stableman hurried to fasten the traces. " The fact is," 
 he went on, dropping his voice confidentially, " I've got 
 wind of a customer. He's driving through from the Sound 
 to the races in his machine. A friend of mine wired me. 
 Mebbe you know him. It's one of those Morgansteins of 
 Seattle; the young feller. He saw these bays last year 
 
66 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 when thej took the blue ribbon and said he'd keep an eye 
 on 'em. They were most too fly then for crowded streets 
 and spinning around the boulevard 'mongst the automo- 
 biles, but they're pretty well broke now. Steady, Nip, 
 whoa there ! " 
 
 " But," said Tisdale quietly, " young Morganstein met 
 with an accident this morning in Snoqualmie Pass. An 
 axle was broken, and he was thrown out of his machine. 
 His leg was injured, and he took the train back to Seattle/ 
 I happened to be on the eastbound at the siding where it 
 all occurred." 
 
 Lighter gave him a skeptical glance between narrowed 
 lids. " Then, if he can't come himself, I guess he'll send 
 his man. He told that friend of mine he counted on hav- 
 ing another look at this team." 
 
 Tisdale's brows contracted. " See here, I want to drive 
 to Wenatchee ; what is the best you can do for me? " 
 
 " Why, let's see. My best livery rig is on the Wenat- 
 chee road now. One of them High Line fellers hired the 
 outfit with a driver to take him through to the valley. If 
 you'd be'n here when they started, likely they'd be'n glad 
 to accommodate you. And the sorrels is out with a pic- 
 nic to Nanum canyon. That leaves the roans. They 
 come in half an hour ago. A couple of traveling sales- 
 men had 'em out all the forenoon, and these drummers 
 drive like blue blazes; and it's a mean pull through to 
 Wenatchee. But wait till to-morrow and, with an early 
 start, you can make it all right with the roans. That's 
 the best I can do, unless you want a saddle-horse." 
 
 Tisdale walked back to the stalls and, convinced at a 
 glance the jaded roans were impossible for that day, at 
 least, stopped to look over the saddle animals. He saw 
 that there were two promising travelers, but it would be 
 necessary to impress an indifferent third to carry the bag- 
 gage. Besides, judging from all he had seen, the re- 
 
NIP AND TUCK 67 
 
 sources of Kittitas did not include a ready-made lady's 
 habit. He returned and stood another silent moment 
 watching the lithe, impatient bays. Finally his eyes 
 moved to the entrance and down the road to the railroad 
 station where Miss Armitage was waiting. She was seated 
 on a bench near the door. He could distinguish her gray 
 figure in relief against the reddish-brown wall. 
 
 Directly he swung around. " What is your price ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Lighter's hand dropped from the edge of the buggy seat. 
 He stepped back to the heads of his team. " You get in, 
 Harry," he said. " Drive 'em five or six blocks. Keep 
 your eyes open." 
 
 Harry gathered the reins warily and sprang in; 
 Lighter released his hold, then hurried forward to the 
 driveway and stood with Tisdale watching the team. 
 " Ain't they a sight? " he said. 
 
 And they were. Their coats shone like satin in the 
 sun; they stepped airily, spurning the dust of Kittitas, 
 and blew the ashen powder from their nostrils ; then with- 
 out warning the splendid span was away. 
 
 Tisdale repeated: " What is your price? " 
 
 Lighter's shrewd eyes swept his new customer over; it 
 was as though he made an estimate of how much Tisdale 
 could pay. " Five hundred dollars," he said. " Five hun- 
 dred — if it's spot cash." 
 
 "And the outfit?" 
 
 " Let me see. Harness is practically new ; buggy first- 
 class. I'll make it an even seven hundred for the whole 
 business; outfit and team." 
 
 There was a brief silence. As a rule, a man drawing 
 the salary of the Geological Survey does not spend seven 
 hundred dollars lightly. He bridles his impulses to own 
 fine driving-horses until at least he has tried them. And 
 this sum, just at that time, meant something of a drain on 
 
68 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Tisdale's bank account. He knew if he bought the 
 Weatherbee tract and reclaimed it, he must hedge on his 
 personal expenses for a year or two ; he had even talked 
 with Banks a little about a loan to open the project and 
 keep it moving until the next season's clean-up, when the 
 Aurora should make good. He stirred, with a quick up- 
 ward lift of his head, and looked once more in the direction 
 of the station. 
 
 The girl rose and began to walk the platform. \ 
 
 Tisdale swung back and met the trader's calculating 
 gaze. " Where is your bank ? " he asked. 
 
 The business was quickly transacted and, when Lighter 
 and his customer stepped out of the bank, Harry was 
 there, driving the bays slowly up and down the street. In 
 the moment they waited for him to draw up, the trader 
 looked Tisdale over again. " Your easiest way to get this 
 team over to the Sound is to drive through Snoqualmie 
 Pass, the way you came." 
 
 " But," said Tisdale, knitting his brows, " I told you I 
 wanted this team to drive to the Wenatchee valley." 
 
 " You can't drive on through the Cascades from there 
 and, if you try to ship these colts aboard a Great North- 
 ern train, you'll have trouble." 
 
 " I shall probably leave them to winter in the valley. 
 Unless " — Tisdale paused, smiling at the afterthought — 
 " I decide to sell them to young Morganstein when I get 
 back to Seattle." 
 
 Lighter laughed dryly. " I thought so. I sized you 
 up all right at the start. I says to myself : ' He don't 
 look like a feller to run a bluff,' and I says : * Young Mor- 
 ganstein ain't the sort to pick up any second-hand outfit,' 
 but I thought all along you was his man." 
 
 " I see." The humor played softly in Tisdale's face. 
 " I see. But you thought wrong." 
 
 Lighter's lids narrowed again skeptically. " Those let- 
 
NIP AND TUCK 69 
 
 ters you showed to identify yourself cinched it. Why, one 
 was signed by his brother-in-law, Miles Feversham, and 
 your draft was on the Seattle National where the Morgan- 
 steins bank. But it's all right; I got my price." He 
 nudged Tisdale slyly and, laughing again, moved to the 
 heads of the team. " Now, sir, watch your chance ; they're 
 chain lightning the minute you touch the seat." 
 
 Tisdale was ready. At last he felt the tug of the lines 
 in his grasp, the hot wind stung his face, and he was 
 speeding back in the direction of the station. The girl 
 came to the edge of the platform as he approached, and 
 while the solitary man from the freight office caught the 
 first opportunity to store the baggage under the seat, and 
 the second to lift in the basket of samples from Bailey's 
 orchard, she tied her veil more snugly under her chin and 
 stood measuring the team with the sparkles breaking in 
 her eyes. Then she gathered her skirts in one hand and 
 laid the other lightly on the seat. 
 
 " Don't try to help me," she said breathlessly. " Just 
 hold them." And the next instant she was up beside him, 
 and her laugh fluted in exhilaration as they whirled 
 away. 
 
 Kittitas fell far behind. They were racing directly 
 across the seven miles of level towards a pass in a lofty 
 range that marked the road to Wenatchee. Far to the 
 left lines of poplars showed where the irrigating canals 
 below Ellensburg watered the plain, and on the right the 
 dunes and bluffs of the unseen Columbia broke the horizon. 
 But the girl was watching Tisdale's management of the 
 horses. " What beauties ! " she exclaimed. " And Nip 
 and Tuck ! " Her lips rippled merriment. " How well 
 named. Wait, be — care — ful — they are going to take 
 that ho-le. Oh, would you mind giving those reins to 
 me?" 
 
 " I wish I could." He shook his head, while the amuse- 
 
70 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 ment played gently at the corners of his mouth. " I know 
 all about a team of huskies, and it doesn't make much dif- 
 ference what I have under a saddle, but these kittens in 
 harness are rather out of my line." 
 
 " Then trust yourself to me ; please do. I used to drjve 
 just such a pair." 
 
 " Oh, but your hands couldn't stand this, and those 
 gloves would be ribbons in half an hour." 
 
 " They are heavier than they look ; besides, there are 
 the shops at Wenatchee ! " As if this settled the matter she 
 said : " But we must change places. Now." She slipped 
 into his seat as he rose, and took the reins dexterously, 
 with a tightening grip, in her hands. " Whoa, whoa, 
 Nip ! " Her voice deepened a little. " Steady, Tuck, 
 steady ! That's right ; be a man." 
 
 There was another silent interval while he watched her 
 handling of the team, then, " I did not know there could be 
 a pair in all the world so like Pedro and Don Jose," she 
 said, and the exhilaration softened in her face. " They 
 were my ponies given me the birthday I was seventeen. A 
 long time ago — " she sighed and flashed him a side-glance, 
 shaking her head — " but I shall never forget. We lived 
 in San Francisco, and my father and I tried them that 
 morning in Golden Gate park. The roads were simply 
 perfect, and the sea beach at low tide was like a hardwood 
 floor. After that we drove for the week-end to Monterey, 
 then through the redwoods to Santa Cruz and everywhere." 
 She paused reminiscently. " Those California hotels are 
 fine. They pride themselves on their orchestras, and 
 wherever we went, we found friends to enjoy the dancing 
 evenings after table d'hote. That was in the winter, but 
 it was more delightful in the spring. We drove far south 
 then, through Menlo Park and Palo Alto, where the great 
 meadows were vivid with alfalfa, and fields on fields were 
 yellow with poppies or blue with lupine; on and on into 
 
NIP AND TUCK 71 
 
 the peach and almond country. I can see those blossom- 
 ing orchards now ; the air was flooded with perfume." 
 
 Her glance moved from the horses out over the sage- 
 covered levels, and the contrast must have dropped like a 
 curtain on her picture, for the light in her face died. Tis- 
 dale's look followed the road up from the plain and rested 
 on the higher country; his eyes gathered their far-seeing 
 gaze. He had been suddenly reminded of Weatherbee. It 
 was in those California orchards he had spent his early 
 life. He had known that scent of the blossoming almond ; 
 those fields of poppies and lupine had been his playground 
 when he was a child. It was at the university at Palo Alto 
 that he had taken his engineering course; and it was at 
 one of those gay hotels, on a holiday and through some 
 fellow student, he had met the woman who had spoiled his 
 life. 
 
 The moment passed. One of the horses broke, and in- 
 stantly the driver was alert. And while she alternately 
 admonished and upbraided, with a firm manipulation of 
 the reins, the humor began to play again in Tisdale's face. 
 They were approaching the point where the road met the 
 highway from Ellensburg, and in the irrigated sections 
 that began to divide the unreclaimed land, harvesters were 
 reaping and binding ; from a farther field came the noise of 
 a threshing machine; presently, as the bays turned into 
 the thoroughfare, the way was blocked by a great flock of 
 sheep. 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed, " there must be thousands of them ; 
 how can the ones in the center breathe? Whoa, Nip, 
 whoa now! Do you think you are one of those lambs? 
 And there's no chance to go around; it is fenced with 
 barbed wire on both sides ; we simply must drive through^ 
 No, let me, please. Steady, now. Tuck, steady, whoa." 
 
 They had passed the mounted herders, and the colts 
 broke their way playfully, dancing, curveting with bowing 
 
72 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 necks, into the midst of the flock. Soon the figures of the 
 advance shepherds loomed through the dust. They were 
 turning the sheep into a harvested field. They rolled in 
 over the yellow stubble like a foaming sea. Far away, out- 
 lined like a sail against an island rick, the night tent of 
 these nomads was already pitched. 
 
 Tisdale laughed softly. " Well, madam, that was skil- 
 ful piloting. A bidarka couldn't have been safer riding in 
 a skiddery sea." 
 
 " A bidarka ? " she questioned, ruffling her brows. 
 
 Tisdale nodded. " One of those small skin canoes the 
 Alaskan natives use. And it's touchy as a duck; comes 
 bobbing up here and there, but right-side up every time. 
 And it's frail looking, frail as an eggshell, yet I would 
 stake a bidarka against a lifeboat in a surf. Do you 
 know? " — he went on after a moment — " I would like to 
 see you in one, racing out with the whitecaps up there in 
 Bering Sea ; your face all wet with spray, and your hair 
 tucked away in the hood of a gray fox parka. Nothing 
 else would show ; the rest of you would be stowed below in a 
 wonderful little water-tight compartment."^ 
 
 " It sounds delightful," she said, and the sparkles broke 
 in her eyes. 
 
 After that there was a long silence. The bays fell into 
 an even trot. The mountains loomed near, then before 
 them, on the limits of the plain, a mighty herd of cattle 
 closed the road. The girl rose a little in her place and 
 looked over that moving sea of backs. " We must drive 
 through again," she said. " It's going to be stifling but 
 there's no possible way around. No," she protested, when 
 he would have taken the reins, " I'm able. I learned once, 
 years ago, on a great ranch in southern California. I'd 
 rather." She settled in her seat smiling a little. " It's 
 in the blood." 
 
 Tisdale reached and took the whip. They had passed 
 
NIP AND TUCK 73 
 
 the drivers and were pushing into the herd. Sometimes a 
 red-eyed brute turned with lowered horns and dripping 
 mouth, then backed slowly out of the way of the team. 
 Sometimes, in a thicker press, an animal wheeled close to 
 the tires and, stemming the current, sounded a protest. 
 But the young horses, less playful now, divided the great 
 herd and came at last safely out of the smother. The 
 road began to lift, as they rounded the first rampart of 
 the range, and Tisdale's glance fell to her hands. " Those 
 gloves are done for, as I expected," he exclaimed. " I'll 
 wager your palms are blistered. Come, own they hurt." 
 
 She nodded. " But it was worth it, though you may 
 drive now, if you wish. It's my wrists ; they have been 
 so long out of practice. You don't know how they 
 a — che." 
 
 " So," he said, when he had taken the reins, " so you are 
 as fond of horses as this." 
 
 " Horses like these, yes. I haven't felt as happy and 
 young since I gave up Pedro and Don Jose." 
 
 Tisdale turned a little to look in her face. She had 
 said " young " with the tone of one whose youth is past, 
 yet the most conservative judge could not place her age a 
 day over twenty-five. And she was so buoyant, so vibrant. 
 His pulses quickened. It was as though currents of her 
 vitality were being continually transmitted through his 
 veins. 
 
 As they ascended, the plain unfolded like a map below ; 
 harvest fields, pastures of feeding cattle or sheep, meadows 
 of alfalfa, unreclaimed reaches of sage-brush, and, far off 
 among her shade-trees, the roofs of Ellensburg reflecting 
 the late sun. Above the opposite range that hemmed the 
 valley southward some thunder-heads crowded fast towards 
 a loftier snow-peak. Far away across the divide, white, 
 symmetrical, wrought of alabaster, inlaid with opal, lifted 
 a peerless dome. 
 
74 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " Mount Rainier ! " exclaimed Tisdale. 
 
 " I knew it." Her voice vibrated softly. " Even at 
 this distance I knew. It was like seeing unexpectedly, in 
 an unfamiliar country, the head of a noble friend lifting 
 above the crowd." 
 
 Tisdale's glance returned to her face. Surprise and 
 understanding shone softly in his own. She turned, and 
 met the look with a smile. It was then, for the first time, 
 he discovered unsounded depths through the subdued lights 
 of her eyes. " You must have known old Rainier inti- 
 mately," he said. 
 
 She shook her head. " Not nearer than Puget Sound. 
 But I have a marvelous view from my hotel windows in 
 Seattle, and often in long summer twilights from the deck 
 of Mr. Morganstein's yacht, I've watched the changing 
 Alpine glow on the mountain. I always draw my south 
 curtains first, at Vivian Court, to see whether the dome is 
 clear or promises a wet day. I've learned a mountain, 
 surely as a person, has individuality ; every cloud effect is 
 to me a different mood, and sometimes, when I've been most 
 unhappy or hard-pressed, the sight of Rainier rising so 
 serene, so pure, so high above the fretting clouds, has 
 given me new courage. Can you understand that, Mr. 
 Tisdale.'^ How a mountain can become an influence, an 
 inspiration, in a life? " 
 
 " I think so, yes." Tisdale paused, then added quietly: 
 " But I would like to be the first to show you old Rainier 
 at close range." 
 
 At this she moved a little ; he felt the invisible barrier 
 stiffen between them. " Mr. Morganstein promised to 
 motor us through to the National Park Inn when the new 
 Government road was finished, but we've been waiting for 
 the heavy summer travel to be over. It has been like the 
 road to Mecca since the foot of the mountain has been ac- 
 cessible." 
 
NIP AND TUCK ' 75 
 
 There was a silence, during which Tisdale watched the 
 pulling team. Her manner of reminding him of his posi- 
 tion was unmistakable, but it was her frequent reference 
 to young Morganstein that began to nettle him. Why 
 should she wish specially to motor to Rainier with that 
 black-browed, querulous nabob.'' Why had she so often 
 sailed on his yacht.? And why should she ever have been 
 unhappy and hard-pressed, as she had confessed.? She 
 who was so clearly created for happiness. But to Tis- 
 dale her camaraderie with Nature was charming. It was 
 so very rare. A few of the women he had known hitherto 
 had been capable of it, but they had lived rugged lives; 
 the wilderness gave them little else. And of all the men 
 whom he had made his friends through an eventful career, 
 there was only Foster who sometimes felt the magnitude of 
 high places, — and there had been David Weatherbee. At 
 this thought of Weatherbee his brows clouded, and that 
 last letter, the one that had reached him at Nome and which 
 he still carried in his breast pocket, seemed suddenly to 
 gather a vital quality. It was as though it cried out: 
 " I can't stand these everlasting ice peaks, Hollis ; they 
 crowd me so." 
 
 Miss Armitage sat obliviously looking off once more 
 across the valley. The thunder-heads, denser now and 
 driving in legions along the opposite heights, stormed over 
 the snow peak and assailed the far, shining dome. 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed, " see Rainier now ! That blackest 
 cloud is lifting over the summit. Rain is streaming from 
 it like a veil of gauze; but the dome still shines through 
 like a transfigured face ! " 
 
 Tisdale's glance rested a moment on the wonder. His 
 face cleared. " If we were on the other side of the Cas- 
 cades," he said, " that weather-cap would mean a storm 
 before many hours ; but here, in this country of little rain, 
 I presume it is only a threat." 
 
76 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 The bays began to round a curve and presently Rainier, 
 the lesser heights, all the valley of Kittitas, closed from 
 sight. They had reached the timber belt; poplars 
 threaded the 'parks of pine, and young growths of fir, like ^ 
 the stiff groves of a toy village, gathered hold on the ^ 
 sharp mountain slopes. Sometimes the voice of a creek, 
 hurrying down the canyon to join the Yakima, broke the 
 stillness, or a desert wind found its way in and went wail- 
 ing up the water-course. And sometimes in a rocky 
 place, the hoof-beats of the horses, the noise of the wheels, 
 struck an echo from spur to spur. Then Tisdale com- 
 menced to whistle cautiously, in fragments at first, with 
 his glance on the playing ears of the colts, until satisfied 
 they rather liked it, he settled into a definite tune, but 
 with the flutelike intonations of one who loves and is ac- 
 customed to make his own melody. 
 
 He knew that this woman beside him, since they had 
 left the civilization of the valley behind, half repented her 
 adventure. He felt the barrier strengthen to a wall, over 
 which, uncertain, a little afraid, she watched him. At 
 last, having finished the tune, he turned and surprised the 
 covert look from under her curling black lashes. 
 
 " I hope," he said, and the amusement broke softly in 
 his face, " all this appraisal is showing a little to my 
 credit." 
 
 The color flamed pinkly in her face. She looked away. 
 *' I was wondering if you blamed me. I've been so uncon- 
 servative — so — so even daring. Is it not true? " 
 
 " No, Miss Armitage, I understand how you had to de- 
 cide, in a moment, to take that eastbound train in Sno- 
 qualmie Pass, and that you believed it would be possible 
 to motor or stage across to Wenatchee from the Mil- 
 waukee road." 
 
 " Yes, but," she persisted, " you think, having learned 
 my mistake, I should have stayed on the freight train as 
 
NIP AND TUCK 77, 
 
 far as EUensburg, where I could have waited for the next 
 passenger back to Seattle." 
 
 " If you had, you would have disappointed me. That 
 would have completely spoiled my estimate of you." 
 
 " Your estima'te of me ? " she questioned. 
 
 '* Yes." He paused and his glance moved slowly, a lit- 
 tle absently, up thje unfolding gorge. " It's a fancy of 
 mine to compare a woman, on sight, with some kind of 
 flower. It may be a lily or a rose or perhaps it's a flaunt- 
 ing tulip. Once, up in the heart of the Alaska forest, it 
 was just a sweet wood anemone." He paused again, look- 
 ing off" through the trees, and a hint of tenderness touched 
 his mouth. " For instance," he went on, and his voice 
 quickened, " there is your friend, Mrs. Feversham. I 
 never have met her, but I've seen her a good many times, 
 and she always reminds me of one of those rich^ dark 
 roses florists call Black Prince. And there's her sister, 
 who makes me think of a fine, creamy hyacinth ; the sturdy 
 sort, able to stand on its own stem without a prop. And 
 they are exotics, both of them;, their personality, wher- 
 ever they are, has the eff^ect of a strong perfume." 
 
 He paused again, so long that this time his listener ven- 
 tured to prompt him. " And I ? " she asked. 
 
 " You ? " He turned, and the color flushed through his 
 tan. " Why, you are like nothing in the world but a 
 certain Alaska violet I once stumbled on. It was out of 
 season, on a bleak mountainside, where, at the close of a 
 miserable day, I was forced to make camp. A little thing 
 stimulates a man sometimes, and the sight of that flower 
 blooming there when violet time was gone, lifting its head 
 next to a snow-field, nodding so pluckily, holding its own 
 against the bitter wind, buoyed me through a desperate 
 hour." 
 
 She turned her face to look down through the treetops 
 at the complaining stream. Presently she said : " That 
 
78 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 is better than an estimate ; it is a tribute. I wish I might 
 hope to live up to it, but sooner or later," and the vibra- 
 tion played softly in her voice, " I am going to disap- 
 point you." 
 
 Tisdale laughed, shaking his head. " My first impres- 
 sions are the ones that count," he said simply. " But do 
 you want to turn back now? " 
 
 " N — o, unless you — do." 
 
 Tisdale laughed again mellowly. " Then it's all right. 
 We are going to see this trip through. But I wish I could 
 show you that Alaska mountainside in midsummer. Im- 
 agine violets on violets, thousands of them, springing 
 everywhere in the vivid new grass. You can't avoid 
 crushing some, no matter how carefully you pick your 
 steps. There's a rocky seat half-way up on a level spur, 
 where you might rest, and I would fill your lap with those 
 violets, big, long-stemmed ones, till the blue lights danced 
 in your eyes." 
 
 They were doing that now, and her laugh fluted softly 
 through the wood. For that moment the barrier between 
 them lost substance; it became the sheerest tissue, a cur- 
 tain of gauze. Then the aloofness for which he waited 
 settled on hcfr. She looked away, her glance again seek- 
 ing the stream. " I can't imagine anything more delight- 
 ful," shje said. 
 
 A nough and steep breadth of road opened before them, 
 and for a while the bays held his attention, then in a bet- 
 ter stretch, h,e felt her swift side-glance again reading his 
 face. " Do you know," she said, " you are not at all the 
 kind* of man I was led to expect." 
 
 " No ? " He turned interestedly, with the amusement 
 shading the corners of his mouth. " What did you 
 hear? " 
 
 " Why, I heard that you were the hardest man in the 
 world to know ; the most elusive, shyest." 
 
NIP AND TUCK 79 
 
 Tisdale's laugh rang, a low note from the depths of his 
 mellow heart. " And you believed that? " 
 
 She nodded, and he caught the blue sparkles under her 
 drooping lids. " You know how Mrs. Feversham has 
 tried her best to know you ; how she sent you invitations 
 repeatedly to dinner or for an evening at Juneau, Valdez, 
 Fairbanks, and you invariably made some excuse." 
 
 " Oh, but that's easily explained. Summers, when she 
 timed her visits to Alaska, I was busy getting my party 
 into the field. The working season up there is short." 
 
 " But winters, at Seattle and in Washington even, it 
 has been the same." 
 
 "Winters, why, winters, I have my geological reports 
 to get in shape for the printer ; interminable proofs to go 
 over; and there are so many necessary people to meet in 
 connection with my work. Then, too, if the season has 
 been spent in opening country of special interest, I like to 
 prepare a paper. for the geographical society; that keeps 
 me in touch with old friends." 
 
 " Old friends," she repeated after a moment. " Do yoa 
 know it was one of them, or rather one of your closest 
 friends, who encouraged my delusion in regard to 
 you?" 
 
 " No, how was it? " • 
 
 " Why, he said you were the hardest man in the world 
 to turn, a man of iron when once you made up your mind, 
 but that Mrs. Feversham was right; you were shy. He 
 had known you to go miles around, on occasion, to avoid 
 a town, just to escape meeting a woman. And he told 
 us — of course I can repeat it since it is so ridiculously 
 untrue — that it was easier to bridle a trapped moose 
 than to lead you to a ballroom; but that once there, no 
 doubt you would gentle fine." 
 
 She leaned back in her seat, laughing softly, though it 
 was obviously a joke at her own expense as well as Tis- 
 
80 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 dale's. *' And I believed it," she added. " I believed it 
 — every word." 
 
 Tisdale laughed too, a deep undemote. " That sounds 
 like Billy Foster. I wager it was Foster. Was it ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 She nodded aflSrmatively. 
 
 " Then Foster has met you." Tisdale's voice rang a 
 little. " He knows you, after all." 
 
 " Yes, he could hardly help knowing me. His business 
 interests are with my closest friends, the Morgansteins ; 
 they think a great deal of him. And he happens to piay 
 a remarkably good hand at bridge ; we always depend on 
 him to make up a table when he is in town." 
 
 Tisdale's eyes rested a thoughtful moment on the road 
 ahead. Strange Foster never had mentioned her. But. 
 that showed how blind, how completely infatuated with 
 the Spanish woman the boy was. His face set austerely. 
 Then suddenly he started ; his grasp tightened on the reins 
 so that the colts sprang to the sharp grade. " Do you 
 happen to know that enchantress, too ? " he asked. 
 
 " Whom ? " questioned Miss Armitage. 
 
 *' I mean Mrs. Weatherbee. I believe she counts the 
 Morgansteins among her friends, and you said you were 
 staying at Vivian Court, where her apartments are." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know — her. I " — the color flamed and 
 went in her face; her glance fell once more to the steep 
 slope, searching out the narrowing stream through the 
 trees. " I — 've known Beatriz Weatherbee all my life. 
 I — I think a great deal of her." 
 
 " Madam, madam 1 " Tisdale protested, " don't tell me 
 that. You have known her, lived near her, perhaps, in 
 California, those years when you were growing up ; shared 
 the intimacies young girls enjoy. I understand all that, 
 but don't say you care anything for her now." 
 
 Miss Armitage lifted her face. Her eyes did not sparkle 
 
NIP AND TUCK 81 
 
 then; they flamed. "Why shouldn't I, Mr. Tisdale? 
 And who are you to disparage Beatriz Weatherbee ? You 
 never have known her. What right have you to condemn 
 her.? " 
 
 " This right, Miss Armitage ; she destroyed David 
 Weatherbee. And I know what a life was lost, what a 
 man was sacrificed." 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 A NIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 
 
 THEY drove on for a long interval in silence. The 
 colts, sobered by the sharp pull to the divide, kept an 
 even pace now that they had struck the down-grade, and 
 Tisdale's gaze, hard still, uncompromising, remained fixed 
 absently on the winding road. Once, when the woman be- 
 side him ventured to look in his face, she drew herself a lit- 
 tle more erect and aloof. She must have seen the futility 
 of her effort to defend her friend, and the fire that had 
 flashed in her eyes had as quickly died. It was as though 
 she felt the iron out-cropping in this man and shrank 
 from him baffled, almost afraid. Yet she held her head 
 high, and the delicate lines, etched again at the corners 
 of her mouth, gave it a saving touch of decision or forti- 
 tude. 
 
 But suddenly Hollis drew the horses in. Miss Ar- 
 mitage caught a great breath. The way was blocked by 
 a fallen pine tree, which, toppling from the bluff they were 
 skirting, had carried down a strip of the road and started 
 an incipient slide. " We can't drive around," he said at 
 last, and the humor broke the grim lines of his mouth. 
 " We've got to go through." 
 
 She looked hastily back along the curve, then ahead 
 down the steep mountainside. " We never could turn in 
 this pla — ace, but it isn't possible to drive through. 
 Fate is against us." 
 
 " Why, I think Fate favored us. She built this barri- 
 cade, but she left us an open door. I must unhitch, 
 though, to get these kittens through." 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 83 
 
 As he spoke he put the reins in her hands and, spring- 
 ing out, felt under the seat for the halters. The girl's 
 glance moved swiftly along the tilting pine, searching for 
 that door. The top of the tree, with its debris of 
 branches, rested prone on the slope below the road; but 
 the trunk was supported by a shoulder of the bluff on 
 which it had stood. This left a low and narrow portal 
 under the clean bole between the first thick bough and the 
 wall. " But the buggy ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " That's the trouble." Tisdale found one halter as he 
 spoke and reached for the other. " It is getting this trap 
 over that will take time. But I pledge myself to see you 
 through these mountains before dark; and when we strike 
 the levels of the Columbia, these colts are going to make 
 their record." 
 
 " You mean we can't hope to reach Wenatchee before 
 dark.?" Her voice shook a little. "And there isn't a 
 house in sight — anywhere. Mr. Tisdale, we haven't even 
 seen another traveler on this road." 
 
 " Well, this is luck ! " He was drawing a coil of new 
 rope from under the seat. " This is luck ! Lighter must 
 have meant to picket his horses. Did I tell you he was 
 starting to drive these bays through to the fair at North 
 Yakima? And here is a hatchet — he expected to cut 
 fire-wood — and this looks like his lunch-box. Yes," — 
 and he lifted the lid to glance in — " here are biscuits, 
 sliced ham, all we need. Lighter must have intended to 
 spend a night on the road. And here is that second hitch- 
 ing-strap. Now, we are all right ; the outfit is complete." 
 
 He took the precaution to tie one of the horses before 
 he commenced to unfasten the traces, and he worked 
 swiftly, dexterously, while the girl watched him, directing 
 him sometimes from her seat in the buggy. Presently he 
 lifted the remaining strap, but before he could snap the 
 hook in the ring, the colt's ears flattened back, and he 
 
84 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 gripped Tisdale's hand. Instantly Miss Armitage 
 snatched the whip and was on her feet. " Whoa, Nip," 
 she cried, and cut the vixen lightly between the ears. 
 " Whoa, now, whoa ! " 
 
 The young horse released his hold and broke forward, 
 with HoUis dragging at the bit. He ducked with the colt 
 under the barrier and, keeping his feet with difficulty, ran 
 hugging the bluff. Rocks, slipping beneath the bay's in- 
 cautious hoofs, rattled down the steep slope. Finally 
 mastered by that tugging weight, he settled to an unsta- 
 ble pace and so passed the break in the road. 
 
 Miss Armitage had left the buggy. She followed to the 
 opening and stood watching Tisdale until, unable to find 
 a safe hitching-place, he turned another bend. The re- 
 maining horse pulled at his halter and neighed shrilly for 
 his mate. She went to him. After a moment she untied 
 him and led him through the passage. He followed eas- 
 ily, crowding her sometimes, yet choosing his steps with the 
 caution of a superior animal in a hard situation. Mid- 
 way over the break in the road, where it was narrowest, he 
 halted with a forefoot on a perilous table of granite, feel- 
 ing, testing its stability. " That's right, be careful," she 
 admonished, allowing the strap to slacken while she, her- 
 self, balanced her weight on the rocking slab. " But it is 
 safe enough — you see. Now, now. Tuck, come on." 
 
 But as she started on, Tisdale reappeared at the 
 curve and, waving her hand to reassure him, she took an 
 incautious step. The slab, relieved suddenly of her 
 weight, tilted back and at the same instant caught on its 
 lowered edge the weight of the following horse. He 
 backed off, jerking the halter taut, but she kept her hold, 
 springing again to the surface of the rock. Loose splin- 
 ters of granite began to clatter down the slope; then, in 
 the moment she paused to gather her equilibrium, she felt 
 Tisdale's arm reaching around to take the strap. " Creep 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 85 
 
 by me," he said quietly. " No, between me and the bluff, 
 sidewise; there's room." She gained safe ground and 
 stood waiting while he brought the bay across. A last 
 rain of rock struck an answering echo through the gorge. 
 
 " What made you ? " he asked. " You knew I would 
 hurry back. What made you? handicapped, too, by those 
 skirts and abominable heels." 
 
 " I saw you were hurt — the vixen meant to hurt — 
 and I knew I could manage Tuck. I — I thought you 
 might need me." 
 
 Her breath was coming hard and quick ; her eyes were 
 big and shadowy and, looking into their depths, the light 
 began to play softly in his own. " You thought right," 
 he said. " I am going to." 
 
 He turned to lead the horse around to the cleft where 
 he had left his mate. Miss Armitage followed. She re- 
 garded his broad back, pursing her lips a little and ruf- 
 fling her brows. *' It is only a bruise," he said presently 
 over his shoulder, " and it served me right. Lighter 
 warned me of that trick." 
 
 Nevertheless the handkerchief with which he had 
 wrapped the bruise was showing a red stain, and past the 
 break in the road he changed the halter to his left hand. 
 The hit chin g-place he had chosen was in a cleft formed by 
 a divided spur of the mountain. It was roofed by the 
 boughs of two pines, and the boles of the trees offered se- 
 cure hold. She seated herself on a boulder, set benchwise 
 against the rocky wall, and watched him critically while 
 he tied the second horse. 
 
 " How pleasant," she said intrepidly ; " it is like com- 
 ing unexpectedly into a room ready furnished in brown 
 and green." 
 
 Tisdale turned. " I could make you comfortable in 
 this pocket, if it came to that," he said. " It's sheltered 
 and level as a floor, and I could make you a bed, springy 
 
86 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 and fragrant, of boughs; the camp-fire would close the 
 door. And you needn't go hungry with Lighter's lunch 
 and your apples ; or thirsty with my drinking-cup to fill 
 down there at the stream." 
 
 Even before he finished speaking her brows arched in 
 protest, and he felt the invisible barrier stiffen hard as a 
 wall. " We really must hurry, Mr. Tisdale," she said, 
 rising. *' Though it may be impossible to reach Wenat- 
 chee to-night, we must find some sort of house. And 
 where there is a house, there must be housekeeping and " 
 — her voice wavered — " a woman." 
 
 " Of course," he answered. " And we have at least two 
 hours of daylight left. Don't worry ; I am going now to 
 hurry that carriage around." 
 
 He had said " of course," but while he went back to the 
 buggy, his mind reviewed the sordid shelters he had found 
 in just such solitudes, where a woman's housekeeping was 
 the exception. Men in communities employed camp cooks, 
 but most prospectors, ranchers, and cattlemen depended 
 on themselves. There had been times when he himself 
 had been forced to make bread. He had learned that first 
 winter he had spent in Alaska with Weatherbee. At the 
 thought of that experimental mixture, he smiled grimly. 
 Then, suddenly, he imagined this gently nurtured woman 
 confronted by a night in such a shack as they had occu- 
 pied. He saw her waiting expectantly for that impossi- 
 ble chaperon; and, grasping the situation, struggling 
 pluckily to cover her amazement and dismay ; he saw him- 
 self and Weatherbee nerving each other to offer her that 
 miserable fare. He hoped they would find a housekeeper 
 at the first house on that mountain road, but that lunch 
 of Lighter's gave him a sense of security, like a reserve 
 fund, inadequate, yet something against imminent panic. 
 
 Miss Armitage did not return to her seat when he was 
 gone. She fell to pacing the level ; to the upper spur and 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 87 
 
 back; to the lower wall and return; then, finally, it was 
 a few yards further to the bend, to discover what progress 
 Tisdale had made. The buggy was not yet in sight, but 
 the new rope stretched diagonally from beyond the breach 
 in the road to a standing tree on the bluff above her, and 
 he was at work with the hatchet, cutting away an upright 
 bough on the fallen pine. Other broken limbs, gathered 
 from the debris, were piled along the slide to build up the 
 edge. When his branch dropped, he sprang down and 
 dragged it lengthwise to reinforce the rest. Presently he 
 was on the log again, reaching now for the buggy tongue. 
 He set his knee as a brace on the stump of the limb, his 
 muscular body bent, lifted, strained. Then the front 
 wheels rolled up across the bole ; he slipped to the ground 
 and grasped the outer one, steadying it down. After a 
 moment, when he had taken in the slack of the line, the re- 
 maining tires slowly followed, and he began to ease the ve- 
 hicle along the patched roadway. The rain of rock was 
 renewed ; fragments of granite shifted under the bulkhead 
 of boughs; the buggy heeled lower, lower; then, at the 
 final angle, began to right while the rope strung taut. 
 The narrowest point was passed, and Tisdale stopped a 
 breathing space. 
 
 It was characteristic of the man to see the humor of the 
 situation in that moment while he stood wiping the per- 
 spiration from his face. Jove, how Foster would enjoy 
 seeing him labor like this for a girl. He imagined the boy 
 sitting up there at some coign of vantage on the bluff, 
 admonishing, advising him dryly, while he laughed in his 
 sleeve. It was undeniably funny. Alone, with one of 
 Lighter's saddle-horses under him, his baggage secured be- 
 hind the saddle, he might have been threading the dunes 
 of the Columbia now. This incipient slide need not have 
 caused him ten minutes' delay, and eight, nine o'clock at 
 the latest, "would have found him putting up for the night 
 
88 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 at the hotel in Wenatchee. But here he was hardly over 
 the divide; it was almost sunset, but he was dragging a 
 buggy by hand around a mountain top. He hoped Foster 
 never would find out what he had paid for these bays — 
 the team of huskies that had carried him the long trek 
 from Nome to the Aurora mine and on through Rainy Pass 
 had cost less. Still, under the circumstances, would not 
 Foster himself have done the same.? She was no ordinary 
 woman; she was more than pretty, more than attractive; 
 there was no woman like her in all the world. To travel 
 this little j ourney with her, listen to her, watch her charms 
 unfold, was worth the price. And if it had fallen to Fos- 
 ter, if he were here now to feel the spell of her, that Span- 
 ish woman would lose her hold. Then he remembered that 
 Foster knew her; she had admitted that. It was incon- 
 ceivable, but he had known her at the time he confessed 
 his infatuation for Weatherbee's wife. The amusement 
 went out of Tisdale's face. He bent, frowning, to free the 
 buggy of the rope. 
 
 It was then Miss Armitage, exhilarated at his success, 
 hurried forward from the bend. " Oh," she cried radi- 
 antly, " how resourceful, how strong you are. It looked 
 simply impossible ; I couldn't guess what you meant to do, 
 and now we have only to hitch the team and drive on to 
 Wenatchee. But," she added gravely and shook her head, 
 " it was defying Fate." 
 
 He turned, regarding her from under still cloudy brows, 
 though the genial lines began to deepen anew. " I told 
 you Fate was on our side. She threw those boughs there 
 in easy reach. She might as well have said : ' There's 
 some lumber I cut for you ; now mend your road.' " 
 
 " Perhaps, well, perhaps," the girl laughed softly. 
 " But if Fate had said that to any other man, at least to 
 any man I know, he would not have heard." 
 
 But the Columbia was still far off when darkness closed. 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 89 
 
 and with sunset the thunder-heads they had watched across 
 the Kittitas Valley gathered behind them. It was as 
 though armies encamped on the heights they had left, 
 waiting for night to pass. Then searchlights began to 
 play on the lower country ; there was skirmishing along the 
 skyline ; blades flashed. 
 
 At last, between the lightning flashes, the blackness was 
 so dense it was hardly possible for Tisdale to see the road, 
 and he could not trust the nervous team to keep the track ; 
 it was necessary to stop, at least to wait until the moon 
 should rise. But while he was preparing to tell her so, 
 the silence was broken by the barking of a dog. Instantly 
 it was swelled by a deeper baying, and the echo rang a 
 continuous clamor through the gorge. Then a faint illu- 
 mination brought out in silhouette a final bluff ahead; 
 rounding it, they saw a low-roofed habitation, and in the 
 open door a woman with a lamp. 
 
 One of the dogs stood bristling and growling beside her ; 
 the other, barking furiously, sprang from the porch so 
 that for a moment Tisdale was busy with the plunging 
 team. Then the woman spoke, and the setter, whimpering, 
 snapping furtively, crept back to her feet. 
 
 " We have been delayed by an accident," Tisdale ex- 
 plained briefly, " and I want you to take this lady in for 
 the night. Make her comfortable as possible, and I will 
 see it is worth your while." 
 
 " This ain't much of a road-house." The woman held 
 the lamp higher to scrutinize the lady's face. " We only 
 got one room, an' the best I can do is to double up 
 with the kids an' give you my bed." 
 
 " That will do very well," answered Tisdale quickly. 
 " I can take care of myself. Of course there's a stable 
 somewhere out here in the dark, and a bale or two of hay." 
 
 " No, we got a shed up, but we're short on feed. We're 
 short on 'bout everything: flour, potatoes, bacon, beans. 
 
90 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 We've just took up this here claim, an' things ain't 
 growed. But my man's gone down to Wenatchee to fetch 
 a load." Then, seeing this fact was hardly one to solace 
 her transient guests, she laughed shortly and went into 
 the cabin to set the lamp on a table and bring a lantern 
 that hung on the farther wall. 
 
 Tisdale turned to help Miss Armitage down. " We 
 may be able to find better accommodations towards the 
 Columbia, when the moon rises," he said, " but I can't be 
 as sure of another — chaperon." Then, looking into her 
 face, he added in his minor key : " I am sorry, but you 
 will make the best of things, I know. And the night will 
 pass. Come." 
 
 She slipped down beside him and stood holding her skirts 
 out of the powdery soil, while her wide eyes searched that 
 interior through the open door. Tisdale lifted the bag- 
 gage from the buggy to the porch, then the woman re- 
 turned with the lantern and, followed by the dogs, went to 
 show him where he might stable the horses. After a mo- 
 ment Miss Armitage ventured up the low steps to the 
 threshold. It was a portable cabin such as she had no- 
 ticed from the train window at intervals where construc- 
 tion was incomplete along the new railroad. It was bat- 
 tered and weak, showing old earmarks of transportation, 
 but it was furnished with a rusty cook-stove, some bench 
 chairs, and two beds, which stood in the farther corners 
 and nearly filled that half of the room. A few heavy 
 dishes, the part of a loaf of bread, and several slices of in- 
 differently fried bacon were on the table, between the 
 lamp and a bucket containing a little water. Presently, 
 still holding her skirts, she crossed the grimy floor and 
 stood inspecting with a mingled fascination and dread 
 those ancient beds. Both were destitute of linen, but one 
 was supplied with a tumbled heap of coarse, brown blan- 
 kets. In the other, beneath a frayed comforter, two small 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 91 
 
 boys were sleeping. Their sun-baked faces were over- 
 hung with thatches of streaked blond hair, and one rest- 
 less arm, throwing off the sodden cover, partly exposed 
 the child's day attire, an unclean denim blouse tucked into 
 overalls. She turned in sudden panic and hurried back to 
 the porch. 
 
 In a little while she noticed her suitcase, opened it, and 
 found her cologne; with this she drenched a fresh hand- 
 kerchief and began to bathe her face and hands. Then 
 she drew one of the bench chairs through the doorway and, 
 seating herself with her back to the room, kept on dab- 
 bing her lips and her cheeks with the cool, delicately pun- 
 gent perfume, and so gathered up the remnants of her 
 scattered fortitude. Finally, when the lantern glimmered 
 again, and she was able to distinguish the two returning 
 figures, she had laid aside her hat and coat, and she was 
 ready to smile, if not radiantly at least encouragingly, at 
 Tisdale as he came up the steps. 
 
 The woman went in to shake out and spread the blan- 
 kets with a pretence at making the bed, and he followed 
 to the threshold, where he took a swift and closer inven- 
 tory of the room. Its resources were even more meager 
 than he had supposed. He swung around and looked up 
 through the darkness towards that sheltered cleft they 
 had left near the Pass. He did not say anything, but the 
 girl watching him answered his thought. " I wish it had 
 been possible. It would have been delightful — the 
 ground was like a carpet, clean and soft and fragrant — 
 under those pines." 
 
 " I wish we had even had the forethought to bring down 
 an armful of those boughs. But, after all, it might have 
 been worse. At least you need not go hungry, with that 
 lunch of Lighter's and your apples, to say nothing of the 
 sandwiches I asked the steward to make before I left the 
 train. And to-morrow, when you are safe with your 
 
92 THiE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 friends at Wenatchee, you are going to forget this miser- 
 able experience like an unpleasant dream." 
 
 " I am not ungrateful," she said quickly. " I enjoyed 
 every moment of that drive. And besides the apples, I 
 have tea. I always tuck a little in my suitcase when we 
 are touring with Mrs. Feversham, because she uses a 
 different blend." 
 
 She bent as she spoke, to find the tea, which she pro- 
 duced together with a small kettle and alcohol burner. 
 Her evident desire to contribute her share, the fine show 
 of courage that accepted and made the best of the inevi- 
 table, went straight to Tisdale's heart. " Tea," he re- 
 peated mellowly, " tea and all the outfit. Well, that was 
 mighty thoughtful of you. I won't even have to make a 
 fire. But wait a minute ; I am going to lift that table out 
 here where it is cooler." 
 
 With two seats, there was barely room for it on the 
 porch. Then, while he filled the kettle and lighted the 
 burner, she spread the cloth, a fine damask towel supplied 
 also from her baggage. On the whole it was a rather 
 gay little supper and, considering the limitations of the 
 menu, it bridged a long interval. Tisdale, who had been 
 accustomed to drink tea black and bitter on a hard trail, 
 but habitually refused it socially, tasted his cup with de- 
 liberation. " Miss Armitage," he exclaimed, " you can't 
 delude me. Whatever this beverage may be, I am sure it 
 is no ordinary tea." 
 
 She was pouring a second cup when his glance fell from 
 her face to her hands. They were delicately made, artis- 
 tic, with wilful little thumbs, yet they impressed him with 
 a certain resourcefulness, a strength in reserve. Sud- 
 denly the light from the lantern which he had hung on a 
 nail in the wall above the table, struck an exceedingly 
 large ruby she wore on her left hand. It glowed blood- 
 red, scintillated, flamed. He saw the stone was mounted 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 93 
 
 with diamonds in a unique setting of some foreign work- 
 manship, and he told himself it was probably an heirloom ; 
 it was too massive, too ornate for a betrothal ring; still 
 he moved uneasily and set the cup down untasted. His 
 eyes returned to her face, questioning, doubting. He 
 was like a musician surprised to detect in a beautiful sym- 
 phony the first false note. 
 
 After that the conversation lagged. It was not cool 
 on the porch. A broadside of lightning sweeping the 
 cabin showed it stood in a narrow valley walled by pre- 
 cipitous, barren slopes and widening gulfwise towards the 
 Columbia desert. The pent air seemed surcharged. It 
 was as though that table was set in a space between run- 
 ning dynamos, and when a stronger flash came. Miss Ar- 
 mitage instinctively grasped her chair, holding herself 
 from contact with an unseen and terrible force. Once, 
 during an interlude, the silence was broken by a strange, 
 faint cry. 
 
 " Did you hear.? " she asked breathlessly. " What was 
 it.?" 
 
 Tisdale smiled into her troubled eyes. " Why, just a 
 cougar; lonesome, I guess, and calling his mate. But it's 
 all right. Sounds carry in these mountain gorges, and his 
 cry was picked up by some cross wind miles from here. 
 Look at those dogs ! They wouldn't stay curled up there 
 on the ground asleep, too indifferent to prick up an ear, 
 if a cougar, or even a coyote, were near." 
 
 Still she was not wholly reassured. She leaned for- 
 ward, listening, trying to fathom the darkness with a lurk- 
 ing terror in her eyes. At last, when Tisdale rose to say 
 good night, she, too, left her chair. She laid her hand 
 on the edge of the table as though that might steady her 
 voice. *" Are you going to the stable ? " she asked. " Did 
 you find a possible bed.? " 
 
 Hollis laughed. " You needn't trouble about me. I 
 
94 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 am the sort of fellow to find the soft side of a plank. 
 Yes, it's true. There have been times when I've slept lux- 
 uriously on a board, with just my coat rolled up for a 
 pillow." 
 
 There was a brief pause while her imagination grasped 
 the thought ; then : " You must have been very tired," 
 she said. 
 
 " I was," he answered dryly and reached to take the lan- 
 tern from the wall. At the foot of the steps he halted 
 and put the light down to pick up his bag, which he 
 opened. " Here's a bunch of my handkerchiefs," he said. 
 " They are bigger than yours. They should make you at 
 least a pillow-case. Good night." 
 
 The setter rose to follow inquiringly at his heels; the 
 lantern swung gently to his tread and, as his shape dis- 
 appeared in the gloom, his whistle, sweet, soft, almost 
 tender, fluted back to her. It was the " Good night " 
 from the opbra of Martha. And Miss Armitage smiled in 
 the face of Fear and turned resolutely to go in. 
 
 But the next moment she was back again over the thresh- 
 old. " Mr. Tisdale ! " she called, and the currents held so 
 long in check surged in her voice. " Mr. Tisdale ! " 
 
 Instantly the lantern swung an arc. He came quickly 
 back to the steps. " Well," he said, breaking the pause, 
 " what is the trouble ? " 
 
 " I know I must seem foolish — but — please don't ga 
 — yet." Her position on the edge of the porch brought 
 her face almost on a level with his. Her eyes in the semi- 
 darkness were luminously big; her face, her whole body, 
 quivered. She leaned a little towards him, and her near- 
 ness, the low, vibrant intensity of her voice, set his pulses 
 singing. 
 
 " I really can't stay in that room," she explained. 
 "Those beds all but touch, and she, the mother, has 
 crowded in, dressed as she is, to sleep with the children. 
 
ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD 95 
 
 There isn't any air to breathe. I — I really can't make 
 myself lie down — there. I had rather spend the night 
 here on the piazza. Only — please wait — until — " 
 
 Tisdale laughed his short, mellow note. " You mean 
 you are afraid of the dark, or is it the cougar? " 
 
 " It's both and the lightning, too. There ! See how it 
 plays along those awful heights; javelins of it; whole 
 broadsides. I know it is foolish, but I can't help feeling 
 it is following me. It singles me out, threatens me as 
 though I am — guilty." 
 
 "Guilty? You? Of what?" Tisdale put down the 
 lantern and came up the steps. " See here, Miss Armi- 
 tage, come take your chair." He moved it around from 
 the table and laid his hand on her arm, impelling her into 
 the seat. " Now face it out. Those flashes of heat light- 
 ning are about as dangerous as the Aurora Borealis. 
 You ought to know that." 
 
 Then, because the personal contact had set his blood 
 racing, he moved away to the edge of the porch and stood 
 frowning off^ up the gorge. He knew she covered her face 
 with her hands ; he believed she was crying, and he desired 
 beyond all reason to take her to his heart and quiet her. 
 He only said : " But I understand. I have seen strong 
 men just as foolish before an electrical storm, and the 
 bravest woman I ever knew lost her grip one still morning 
 just from solitude." 
 
 There was another silence, then suddenly she lifted her 
 head. " I am sorry," she said, " but it is all over. I 
 shall try my best not to annoy you any more." 
 
 " Annoy me ? Why, you haven't. What makes you 
 think that?" Tisdale turned, and the mellowness stole 
 into his voice. " I didn't expect you to creep in and go 
 to sleep tranquilly alongside that bunch of sage." 
 
 At this she smiled. " You have found a flower to fit 
 even her." 
 
96 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " I never made a misfit — yet," he answered and waited, 
 looking into her face, reading her through. 
 
 " But you have doubts," she supplemented, " and I 
 warned you I should disappoint you. I warned you at the 
 start." 
 
 Tisdale laughed again, softly. " The odds were all 
 against that Alaska violet," he said, " but she weathered it 
 through." And seating himself on the steps, he looked up 
 again to the night-enshrouded Pass. The air was cooler ; 
 a light wind, drawing down from the divide, brought a hint 
 of dampness ; it was raining somewhere, far off. " My 
 doubts are all right," he added, " and I am going to stay 
 here as long as you want me to." 
 
VIII 
 
 THE BRAVEST WOMAN HE EVER KNEW 
 
 PRESENTLY, during one of the interludes when dark- 
 ness enveloped the gulf, she began to entertain Tis- 
 dale with an experience in the Sierras, a little adventure 
 on one of those journeys with her father, when she had 
 driven Pedro and Don Jose. But though she told the 
 story with composure, even with a certain vivacity and 
 charm, as she might have narrated it to a small and inti- 
 mate audience in any safe drawing-room, her self-control 
 was a transparency through which he saw her anxiety 
 manceuvering, in spite of his promise, to keep him there. 
 
 "Strange, is it not?" she went on, "how things will 
 take the gloss of humor, looking back. That cloudburst 
 was anything but funny at the time ; it was miserably ex- 
 asperating to stand there drenched, with the comfortable 
 quarters of the mining company in sight, cut off by an 
 impassable washout. And it was wretched driving all 
 those miles to our hotel in wet clothes, with not so much 
 as a dry rug to cover us ; yet afterwards, whenever I tried 
 to tell about it, I failed to gain a shred of sympathy. 
 People laughed, as you are doing now." 
 
 " And you laughed with them," answered Tisdale 
 quickly, " because looking back you caught the right per- 
 spective. It is always so. Another incident that seemed 
 trivial in passing will loom up behind us like a cliff on the 
 horizon. And it is so with people. The man who held 
 the foreground through sheer egoism sinks to his proper 
 place in obscurity, while a little, white-faced woman we 
 knew for a day stands out of the past like a monument." 
 
98 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 His brows clouded; he turned from the lantern light to 
 look off again to the shrouded mountain tops. " And 
 looking back," he added, " the man you thought you knew 
 better than the rest, the partner, friend, to whom, when 
 you were reminded and it suited your convenience, you 
 were ready to do a service, stands out from the shadows 
 clearly defined. It is under the test of those high lights 
 behind that his character shines. You wonder at his 
 greatness. His personality takes a stronger, closer hold, 
 and you would give the rest of your life just to go back 
 and travel the old, hard road again with him." 
 
 There was a long silence, broken once more by that far, 
 wailing cry on the wind. Miss Armitage started. She 
 laid her hand on Tisdale's shoulder, the nearest object, in 
 a tightening grip, while for a breathless moment she leaned 
 forward, trying to penetrate the darkness of the gorge. 
 The action seemed to remind him of her presence, and he 
 turned to look at her. " Frightened again ? " he asked. 
 
 Her hand fell ; she settled back in her seat. " N-o, not 
 very much, but it took me off guard. It sounds so deso- 
 late, so — so — supernatural ; like the cry of a doomed 
 soul." 
 
 Tisdale smiled. " That describes it, but you never 
 have heard it at close range." 
 
 She shivered; her glance moved again in apprehension 
 to the night-enshrouded Pass* " Have you, Mr. Tis- 
 dale? " 
 
 " Yes, lonesome nights by a mountain camp-fire, with 
 just the wind piping down a ravine, or a cataract break- 
 ing over a spur to fill the interlude." 
 
 " Oh, that must have been terrifying," and the shiver 
 crept into her voice. " But what did you do ? " 
 
 " Why, I hurried to pull the embers together and throw 
 on more spruce boughs. A cougar is cautious around a 
 fire." 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 99 
 
 There was another silence, then, " I was thinking of 
 your little, white-faced woman," said Miss Armitage. 
 " She baffles me. Was she your bravest woman or just 
 your anemone? Would you mind telling me? " 
 
 " So you were thinking of her. That's odd ; so was I." 
 Tisdale changed his position, turning to lean on the edge 
 of the porch with his elbow resting on the floor. " But it 
 was that Gordon setter there that reminded me of her. 
 Her dog had the same points, though he had been better 
 trained." He paused briefly, then said : " She was both. 
 She was like that small, white flower which grows in the 
 shelter of the Alaska woods — sweet and modest and frail 
 looking — yet she was the bravest woman and the strong- 
 est when it came to endurance I ever knew." 
 
 " It happened, of course, in Alaska," Miss Armitage 
 ventured, breaking the pause, " You knew her there ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was in Alaska and about five years ago. The 
 season I gave up getting rich in a hurry and went back to 
 geological work. I had spent the winter on the Tanana 
 with David Weatherbee. We had staked a promising 
 placer, and we were ready to begin sluicing with the first 
 spring thaw, when he sold his interest unexpectedly to 
 meet an obligation down in the States. That nettled me, 
 and I sold out my own share to the same men and accepted 
 a position with the department, who had written to ask me 
 to take charge of a party working above Seward. 
 Weatherbee started with me, but I left him to prospect 
 along the headwaters of the Su^itna. My surveys kept me 
 in the neighborhood of Turnagain Arm until midsummer, 
 when I moved camp up the river to the mouth of an un- 
 explored tributary. It was the kind of stream to lure a 
 prospector or a sportsman, clear, rapid, broken by rif- 
 fles and sand-bars, while the grassy shores looked favor- 
 able for elk or caribou. To bridge the delay while the 
 last pack-horses straggled in and the men were busy pitch- 
 
100 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 ing tents and putting things into shape, I decided to go 
 on a short hunting trip. I traveled light, with only a 
 single blanket rolled compactly for my shoulder strap, in 
 case the short night should overtake me, with a generous 
 lunch that Sandy, the cook, had supplied, but at the end 
 of two hours' steady tramping I had sighted nothing. I 
 had reached a wooded ravine and a snow-peak, apparently 
 the source of the stream, closed the top of the gorge. It 
 was the heart of the wilderness, over a hundred miles from 
 a settlement and off the track of road-houses, but a few 
 rods on I came upon the flume and dump of a placer mine. 
 The miner's cabin stood a little farther up the bank under 
 a clump of spruce, but the place seemed abandoned. 
 Then I noticed some berry bushes near the sluice had been 
 lately snapped off^, where some heavy animal had pushed 
 through, and a moment later, in the moist soil at a small 
 spillway, I picked up the trail of a large bear. 
 
 " The tracks led me up the rough path towards the 
 cabin, but midway I came to a fallen tree. It must have 
 been down a week or more, but no attempt had been made 
 to clear the trail or to cut through, so, pushing up over 
 the matted boughs, I leaped from the bole to avoid the 
 litter beyond At the same instant I saw under me, 
 wedged in the broken branches, the body of my bear. He 
 was a huge grizzly, and must have made an easy and ugly 
 target as he lumbered across the barricade. I found one 
 bullet had taken him nearly between the eyes, while an- 
 other had lodged in the shoulder. And it was plain the 
 shots were aimed from the window, with the rifle probably 
 resting on the sill. 
 
 " As I went on up the path, the loud baying of a dog 
 came from the cabin, then a woman's face, young and 
 small and very white, appeared at the window. Seeing 
 me, she turned quickly and threw open the door. The 
 next instant her hand fell to the neck of a fine Gordon 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMaK 7kOV 
 
 setter and, tugging at his collar, she drew back and stood 
 surveying me from head to foot. ' It's all right, madam,' 
 I said, stopping before her. ' Don't try to hold him. 
 The bear won't trouble you any more. You made a 
 mighty fine shot.' 
 
 " ' Oh,' she said, and let the dog go, * I am so glad you 
 have come.' And she sank into a chair, shaking and sob- 
 bing." 
 
 " You mean," exclaimed Miss Armitage breathlessly, 
 " it was she who killed the bear.? " 
 
 Tisdale nodded gently. " I wish I could make you un- 
 derstand the situation. She was not a sportswoman. 
 She was city bred and had been carefully reared — accus- 
 tomed to have things done for her. I saw this at a glance. 
 Only her extremity and the fear that the dog would be 
 hurt nerved her to shoot." 
 
 " Oh, I see, I see," said Miss Armitage. " Fate had 
 brought her, left her in that solitary place — alone." 
 
 " Fate ? " Tisdale questioned. " Well, perhaps, but not 
 maliciously; not in jest. On second thought I would not 
 lay it to Fate at all. You see, she had come voluntarily, 
 willingly, though blindly enough. She was one of the few 
 women who are capable of a great love." 
 
 Tisdale waited, but the woman beside him had no more 
 to say. " I saw I must give her time to gather her self- 
 control," he went on, " so I turned my attention to the 
 setter, who was alternately springing on me and excitedly 
 wagging his tail. I like a good dog, and I soon had him 
 familiarly snuffing my pockets; then he stretched himself 
 playfully, with an inquiring, almost human yawn; but 
 suddenly remembering the bear, he stood pointing, head 
 up, forepaw lifted, and made a rush, baying furiously. 
 
 " ' It's all right, madam,' I repeated and stepped into 
 the room. * You made a fine shot, and that bearskin is 
 going to make a great rug for your floor.' 
 
102 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " She lifted her face, downing a last sob, and gave me a 
 brave little smile. ' It isn't altogether the bear,' she 
 explained. ' It's partly because I haven't seen any 
 one for so long, and partly because, for a moment, I 
 thought you were my husband. I've been worried about 
 him. He has been gone over three weeks, and he never 
 stayed longer than five days before. But it was a relief 
 to have you come.' 
 
 " It sounds differently when I repeat it. You lose the 
 sweet shyness of her face, the appeal in her eyes not yet 
 dry, and that soft minor chord in her voice that reminds 
 me now of a wood-thrush. 
 
 " ' I understand,' I hurried to say, ' the solitude has 
 grown intolerable. I know what that means. I have lived 
 so long in the eternal stillness sometimes that the first pat- 
 ter of a rain on the leaves came like the tramp of an army, 
 and the snapping of a twig rang sharp as a pistol shot.' 
 
 " ' You do understand,' she said. ' You have been 
 through it. And, of course, you see my husband had to 
 leave me. The trail up the canyon is the merest thread. 
 It would have been impossible for me, and I should have 
 only hindered him, now, when every day counts.' 
 
 " ' You mean,' I said, ' he has left his placer to prospect 
 for the main lode above.? ' And she answered yes. That 
 every gravel bar made a better showing ; the last trip had 
 taken him above the tree line, and this time he expected 
 to prospect along the glacier at the source of the stream. 
 Sometimes erosions laid veins open, and any hour ' he 
 might stumble on riches.' She smiled again, though her 
 lip trembled, then said it was his limited outfit that trou- 
 bled her most. He had taken only a light blanket and a 
 small allowance of bacon and bread. 
 
 " ' But,' I reassured her, ' there is almost a certainty he 
 has found game at this season of the year.' 
 
 " She looked at the rifle she had set by the window 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 103 
 
 against the wall. * I haven't been able to persuade him 
 to take the gun,' she explained, ' for a long time. He 
 doesn't hunt any more.' She stopped, watching me, and 
 locked her slim hands. Then, ' He is greatly changed,' 
 she went on. ' The last time he came home, he hardly 
 noticed me. He spent the whole evening sitting with his 
 eyes fixed on the floor — without a word. And the next 
 morning, before I was awake, he was gone.' 
 
 " At last her real fear was clear to me. There is a ter- 
 rible fascination about those Alaska gold streams. Each 
 gravel bar has just showing enough to lead a man on and 
 on. He hugs the belief from hour to hour he is on the 
 brink of a great find, until he has eyes for nothing but the 
 colors in the sand. He forgets hunger, weariness, every- 
 thing, and finally, if rescue fails him, he sinks in complete 
 collapse. More than once I had come on such a wreck, 
 straying demented, babbling, all but famished in the hills. 
 And I was sorry for that little woman. I understood the 
 pitch she must have reached to speak so freely to a pass- 
 ing stranger. But it was hard to find just the right thing 
 to say, and while I stood choosing words, she hurried to ex- 
 plain that two days before she had taken the dog and 
 tramped up-stream as far as she had dared, hoping to meet 
 her husband, and that she had intended to go even farther 
 that day, but had been prevented, as I saw, by the bear, 
 who had prowled about the cabin the greater part of the 
 night. The setter's continual barking and growling had 
 failed to drive him away. 
 
 " ' If you had gone this morning,' I said, ' I should have 
 missed you ; then I shouldn't have known about your hus- 
 band. I am on my way up this canyon, and I shall look 
 for him. And, when I find him, I shall do my best to 
 bring him in touch with the outside world again.' " 
 
 Tisdale paused. The abrupt slope that over-topped the 
 portable cabin began to take shape in the darkness. It 
 
104 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 had the appearance of a sail looming through fog. Then 
 the shadows scattered, and the belated moon, lifting over 
 the dunes beyond the Columbia, silvered the mouth of the 
 gorge. It was as though that other distant canyon, of 
 which he was thinking, opened before him into unknown 
 solitudes. 
 
 Miss Armitage leaned forward, watching his face, wait- 
 ing for the issue of the story. 
 
 " And. you found him? " she asked at last. 
 
 "Yes. In the end." Tisdale's glance returned and, 
 meeting hers, the grim lines in his face relaxed. " But 
 there was a long and rough tramp first. She urged me 
 to take the setter, and I saw the advantage in having a 
 good dog with me on such a search; any cleft, or thicket, 
 or sprinkle of boulders, might easily conceal a man's body 
 from one passing only a few feet off — but, much as he 
 favored me, he was not to be coaxed far from his mistress ; 
 so I suggested she should go, too. 
 
 *' ' Oh,' she said, catching at the chance, ' do you think 
 Jerry can make up for the delay, if I do.^^ I will travel 
 my best, I promise you.' And she led the way, picking 
 up the faint trail and setting a pace that I knew must soon 
 tire her, while the dog brushed by us, bounding ahead and 
 rushing back and expressing his satisfaction in all sorts of 
 manoeuvers. 
 
 " In a little while, above the timber — the tree line is 
 low on those Alaska mountainsides — we came to a broad, 
 grassy bog set deep between two spurs, and she was forced 
 to give me the lead. Then the canyon walls grew steeper, 
 lifting into rugged knobs. Sometimes I lost the pros- 
 pector's trail in a rock-choked torrent and picked it up 
 again, where it hung like a thin ribbon on a heather-grown 
 slope ; but it never wound or doubled if there was foothold 
 ahead. It led up stairs of graywacke, along the brink of 
 slaty cliffs that dropped sheer, hundreds of feet to the 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 105 
 
 stream below. Still she kept on pluckily, and whenever I 
 turned to help her, I found her there at my elbow, ready. 
 Now and then in breadths of level, where it was possible to 
 walk abreast, we talked a little, but most of the distance 
 was covered in silence. I felt more and more sorry for 
 her. She was so eager, patient, watchful, forever scan- 
 ning the pitches on either side. And if the setter made a 
 sudden break, scenting a hare perhaps, or starting a 
 ptarmigan, she always stopped, waiting with a light in 
 her face ; and when he j ogged back to her heels, the expec- 
 tation settled into patience again. 
 
 " Finally we came to a rill where I urged her to rest ; 
 and when I had spread my blanket on a boulder, she took 
 the seat, leaning comfortably against a higher rock, and 
 watched me while I opened the tin box in which Sandy had 
 stored my lunch. She told me my cook made a good sand- 
 wich and knew how to fry a bird Southern fashion. Then 
 she spoke of the Virginia town where she had lived before 
 her marriage. The trip west had been her wedding jour- 
 ney, and her husband, who was an architect, had intended 
 to open an office in a new town on Puget Sound, but at 
 Seattle he caught the Alaska fever. 
 
 " ' The future looked very certain and brilliant then,' she 
 said, with her smile, ' but as long as I have my husband, 
 nothing else counts. I could live out my life, be happy 
 here in this wilderness, anywhere, with him. If I could 
 only have him back — as he used to be.' " 
 
 Tisdale's voice softened, vibrating gently, so that the 
 pathos of it all must have impressed the coldest listener. 
 The woman beside him trembled and lifted her hand to 
 her throat. 
 
 " I can't remember all she told me," he went on, " but 
 her husband had left her in Seattle when he started north, 
 and the next season, when he failed to return for her, she 
 had sailed to Seward in search of him. She had tried to 
 
106 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 influence him to give up the placer, when she saw the 
 change in him; at least to go down to one of the coast 
 towns and take up the work for which he had prepared, 
 but he had delayed, with promises, until he was beyond 
 listening to her. 
 
 " ' Of course he may stumble on riches any hour, as he 
 believes,' she said finally, ' but not all the comforts or 
 luxuries in the world are worth the price.' She did not 
 break down, as she had in the cabin, but somehow I could 
 hear the tears falling in her voice. I can yet, and see 
 them big and shining deep in her eyes. 
 
 " But she was off again, making up the delay, before 
 I could fasten my pack, and when I overtook her in a level 
 stretch and halted a moment to frolic with the dog, her 
 face brightened. Then she spoke of a little trick she had 
 taught him, — to go and meet his master and fetch his hat 
 to her. Sometimes she had hidden it in shrubs, or among 
 rocks, but invariably he had brought it home. 
 
 " At last we made a turn and saw the front of the 
 glacier that closed the top of the gorge. The stream 
 gushed from a cavern at the foot, and above the noise of 
 water sounded the grinding and roaring of subterranean 
 forces at work. Once in a while a stone was hurled 
 through. But that is impossible to explain. You must 
 have been on intimate terms with a glacier to grasp the 
 magnitude. Still, try to imagine the ice arching that cave 
 like a bridge and lifting back, rimmed in moraine, far and 
 away to the great white dome. And it was all wrapped in 
 a fine Alpine splendor, so that she stopped beside me in a 
 sort of hushed wonder to look. But I could hear her 
 breath, laboring hard and quick, and she rocked uncer- 
 tainly on her feet. I laid my hand on her arm to steady 
 her. It was time we turned back. For half an hour I 
 had been gathering courage to tell her so. While I hesi- 
 tated, allowing her a few minutes to take in the glory, the 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 107 
 
 setter ran nosing ahead, up over the wreckage along the 
 edge of the glacier, and on across the bridge. I waited 
 until he disappeared in a small pocket, then began : " You 
 know, madam, what all this color means. These twilights 
 linger, and it will be easier traveling down-grade, but we 
 must hurry, to have you home before dark.' 
 
 " She turned to answer but stopped, looking beyond me 
 to the bridge. Then I saw the setter had caught her at- 
 tention. He was coming back. His black body moved in 
 strong relief against the ice-field, and I noticed he had 
 something in his mouth. It seemed about the size and 
 color of a grouse, — a ptarmigan, no doubt. Then it 
 flashed over me the thing was a hat. At the same mo- 
 ment I felt her tremble, and I had just time to see that her 
 face had gone white, when she sank against me, a dead 
 weight. I carried her a few yards to a bank of heather 
 and laid her down, and while I was filling my folding cup 
 at the stream, the dog bounded over the rocks and dropped 
 the thing on her breast. It was a hat, a gray felt with a 
 good brim, such as a prospector, or indeed any man who 
 lives in the open, favors ; but the setter's actions, — he 
 alternately rushed towards the glacier and back to his 
 mistress, with short yelps, — warned me to be careful, and 
 I tucked the hat out of sight, between two stones. The 
 dog had it out instantly, bent on giving it to her, but I 
 snatched it from him and threw it into the torrent, where 
 it struck upright, floating lightly on the brim, and lodged 
 in a shallow. He followed and came bounding back with 
 it, while I was raising the cup to her lips, and I had barely 
 a chance to crowd it into my blanket roll when she opened 
 her eyes. ' He had Louis' hat,' she said and drifted into 
 unconsciousness again. 
 
 " I took my flask from my pocket and, blaming myself 
 for bringing her that hard trip, mixed a draught. It 
 revived her, and in a moment she started up. * Where is 
 
108 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 the hat ? ' she asked, looking about her. ' Jerry had it on 
 the ice-bridge.' 
 
 " At the sound of her voice, the dog, who had been try- 
 ing to get at the hat, commenced his manoeuvers to attract 
 her across the gorge, bounding ahead, calling her with his 
 short, excited barks, and making all the signs of a hunt- 
 ing dog impatient to lead to the quarry. She tried to get 
 to her feet, but I put my hand on her shoulder. ' Wait, 
 madam,' I said. ' You must rest a little longer before you 
 try to start back. You were so tired you fainted. And 
 your eyes must have played you a trick.' 
 
 " * You mean,' she began and stopped. 
 
 " I am not much of a dissembler, and I found it hard to 
 meet her look, but I answered with all the assurance I 
 could muster. ' I mean, madam, you are mistaken about 
 that hat.' 
 
 " She waited a moment, watching the setter, then her 
 glance moved back incredulously to me. ' Then what ex- 
 cites Jerry? ' she asked. 
 
 " ' Why,' I hurried to answer, ' just another bunch of 
 ptarmigan, probably. But while you are resting here, I 
 will go over into that pocket to satisfy him.' 
 
 " The setter, content with my company, ran ahead, and 
 I followed him across the ice-bridge. The pocket was 
 thickly strewn with broken rock, but at the upper end 
 there was a clear space grown with heather. And it was 
 there, as I feared, between a bluff and a solitary thumb- 
 shaped boulder that the dog had found his master." 
 
 Tisdale paused, looking off again with clouding brows 
 to the stormy heights. Eastward the moon in a clear sky 
 threw a soft illumination on the desert. The cry of the 
 cougar had ceased. The electrical display was less bril- 
 liant ; it seemed farther off. Miss Armitage moved a lit- 
 tle and waited, watching his face. 
 
 " But of course," she ventured at last, " you mixed an- 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 109 
 
 other draught from your emergency flask. The stimulant 
 saved his life." 
 
 " No." Tisdale's glance came slowly back. " He was 
 beyond any help. A square of canvas was set obliquely on 
 the glacier side, and that and the blanket which covered 
 him proved the place was his camp; but the only traces 
 of food were a few cracker or bread crumbs in a trap made 
 of twigs, and a marmot skin and a bunch of ptarmigan 
 feathers to show the primitive contrivance had worked. 
 There was no wood in the neighborhood, but the ashes of a 
 small fire showed he must have carried fuel from the belt 
 of spruce half-way down the gorge. If he had made such 
 a trip and not gone on to the cabin, it clearly proved his 
 mental condition. Still in the end there had been a glim- 
 mer of light, for he had torn a leaf from his notebook and 
 written first his wife's name and then a line, out of which 
 I was only able to pick the words ' give ' and ' help ' and 
 * States.' Evidently he had tried to put the paper into 
 his poke, which had dropped, untied, from his hand with 
 the pencil he had used. The sack was nearly full; it had 
 fallen upright in a fold of the blanket, so only a little of 
 the gold, which was very coarse and rough and bright, had 
 spilled. I made all this inventory almost at a glance, and 
 saw directly he had left his pan and shovel in the gravels 
 of a stream that cascaded over the wall and through the 
 pocket to join the creek below the glacier. Then it came 
 over me that I must keep the truth from her until she was 
 safely back at the cabin, and I put the poke in my pocket 
 and hurried to do what I could. 
 
 " The setter hampered me and was frantic when I 
 turned away, alternately following me a few yards, whin- 
 ing and begging, and rushing back to his master. Finally 
 he stopped on the farther side of the ice-bridge and set up 
 a prolonged cry. . His mistress had come to meet me and 
 she waited at the crossing, supporting herself with her 
 
110 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 hands on a great boulder, shoulders forward, breath 
 hushed, watching me with her soul in her eyes. At last I 
 reached her. * Madam,' I began, but the words caught in 
 my throat. I turned and looked up at the splendor on the 
 mountain. The air drew sharp across the ice, but a sud- 
 den heat swept me ; I was wet with perspiration from head 
 to foot. ' Madam,' and I forced myself to meet her eyes, 
 ' it is just as I expected; the dog found — nothing.' 
 
 " She straightened herself slowly, still watching me, then 
 suddenly threw her arms against the rock and dropped her 
 face. ' Come,' I said, ' we must start back. Come, I 
 want to hurry through to my camp for a horse.' 
 
 " This promise was all she needed to call up her supreme 
 self-control, and she lifted her face with a smile that cut 
 me worse than any tears. ' I'm not ungrateful,' she said, 
 * but — I felt so sure, from the first, you would find him.' 
 
 " * And you felt right,' I hurried to answer. ' Trust me 
 to bring him through.' 
 
 '' I whistled the setter, and she called repeatedly, but he 
 refused to follow. When we started down the trail, he 
 watched us from his post at the farther end of the ice- 
 bridge, whining and baying, and the moment she stopped 
 at the first turn to look back, he streaked off once more for 
 that pocket. ' Never mind,' I said, and helped her over a 
 rough place, * Jerry knows he is a good traveler. He will 
 be home before you.' But it was plain to me he would not, 
 and try as I might to hurry her out of range of his cry, 
 it belled again soon, and the cliffs caught it over and over 
 and passed it on to us far down the gorge." 
 
 There was one of those speaking silences in which the 
 great heart of the man found expression, and the woman 
 beside him, following his gaze, sifted the cloudy Pass. 
 She seemed in that moment to see that other canyon, 
 stretching down from the glacier, and those two skirting 
 the edge of cliffs, treading broken stairs, pursued by the 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 111 
 
 cry of the setter into the gathering gloom of the Arctic 
 night. 
 
 " It grew very cold in that gorge," he went on, " and I 
 blamed myself for taking her that trip more and more. 
 She never complained, never stopped, except to look back 
 and listen for the dog, but shadows deepened under her 
 eyes ; the patient lines seemed chiseled where they had 
 been only lightly drawn, and when she caught me watching 
 her and coaxed up her poor little smile, I could have 
 picked her up in my arms and carried her the rest of the 
 way. But we reached the tree-line before she came to her 
 limit. It was at the turn in a cliff, and I stopped, looking 
 down across the tops of a belt of spruce, to locate the 
 cabin. ' There it is,' I said. ' You see that little brown 
 patch down there in the blur of green. That is your 
 house. You are almost home.' 
 
 " She moved a step to see better and stumbled, and she 
 only saved herself by catching my arm in both hands. 
 Then her whole body fell to shaking. I felt unnerved a lit- 
 tle, for that matter. It was a dangerous place. I had 
 been recklessly foolish to delay her there. But when I 
 had found a safe seat for her around the cliff, the shiver- 
 ing kept up, chill after chill, and I mixed a draught for 
 her, as I had at the glacier. 
 
 " ' This will warm your blood,' I said, holding the cup 
 for her. * Come, madam, we must fight the cold off for an- 
 other hour ; that should see you home. After I have made 
 a good fire, I am going to show you what a fine little sup- 
 per I can prepare. Bear steaks at this season are prime.' 
 
 " I laughed to encourage her, and because the chills were 
 still obstinate, I hurried to unstrap my blanket to wrap 
 around her. And I only remembered the hat when it 
 dropped at her feet. She did not cry out but sat like a 
 marble woman, with her eyes fixed on it. Then, after a 
 while, she bent and lifted it and began to shape it gently 
 
112 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 with her numb little fingers. She was beyond tears, and 
 the white stillness of her face made me more helpless than 
 any sobbing. I could think of nothing to say to comfort 
 her and turned away, looking off in the direction of the 
 cabin. It seemed suddenly a long distance off. 
 
 " Finally she spoke, slowly at first, convincing herself. 
 ' Jerry did bring it across the ice-bridge. He found Louis 
 and stayed to watch, as I thought. Sir, now tell me the 
 truth.' 
 
 " I turned back to her, and it came bluntly enough. 
 Then I explained it was not an accident or anything ter- 
 rible ; that the end had come easily, probably the previous 
 night, of heart failure. ' But I couldn't nerve myself to 
 tell you up there,' I said, ' with all those miles of hard 
 travel before you; and I am going back to-morrow, as I 
 promised, to bring him through.' 
 
 " She had nothing to say but rose and held out her 
 hand. In a little while I began to lead her down through 
 the belt of spruce. I moved very slowly, choosing steps, 
 for she paid no attention to her footing. Her hand rested 
 limply in mine, and she stumbled, like one whose light has 
 gone out in a dark place." 
 
 Tisdale's story was finished, but Miss Armitage waited, 
 listening. It was as though in the silence she heard his 
 unexpressed thoughts. 
 
 " But her life was wrecked," she said at last. " She 
 never could forget. Think of it! The terror of those 
 weeks ; the long-drawn suspense. She should not have 
 stayed in Alaska. She should have gone home at the be- 
 ginning. She was not able to help her husband. Her in- 
 fluence was lost." 
 
 " True," Tisdale answered slowly. " Long before that 
 day I found her, she must have known it was a losing fight. 
 But the glory of the battle is not always to the victor. 
 And she blamed herself that she had not gone north with 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 113 
 
 her husband at the start. You see she loved him, and love 
 with that kind of woman means self-sacrifice; she counted 
 it a privilege to have been there, to have faced the worst 
 with him, done what she could." 
 
 Miss Armitage straightened, lifting her head with that 
 movement of a flower shaken on its stem. " Every woman 
 owes it to herself to keep her self-respect," she said. 
 " She owes it to her family — the past and future genera- 
 tions of her race — to make the most of her life." 
 
 " And she made the most of hers," responded Tisdale 
 quickly. " That was her crowning year." He hesitated, 
 then said quietly, with his upward look from under slightly 
 frowning brows : " And it was just that reason, the debt 
 to her race, that buoyed her all the way through. It con- 
 trolled her there at the glacier and gave her strength to 
 turn back, when the setter refused to come. Afterwards, 
 in mid-winter, when news of the birth of her son came down 
 from Seward, I understood." 
 
 An emotion like a transparent shadow crossed his lis- 
 tener's face. " That changes everything," she said. " But 
 of course you returned the next day with a horse to do as 
 you promised, and afterwards helped her out to civiliza- 
 tion." 
 
 " I saw Louis Barbour buried, yes." Tisdale's glance 
 traveled ofi^ again to the distant Pass. " We chose a low 
 mound, sheltered by a solitary spruce, between the cabin 
 and the creek, and I inscribed his name and the date on 
 the trunk of the tree. But my time belonged to the Gov- 
 ernment. I had a party in the field, and the Alaska season 
 is short. It fell to David Weatherbee to see her down to 
 Seward." 
 
 " To David Weatherbee ? " Miss Armitage started. 
 Protest fluctuated with the surprise in her voice. " But 
 I see, I see ! " and she settled back in her seat. " You sent 
 him word. He had known her previously." 
 
114 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " No. When I left him early in the spring, he intended 
 to prospect down the headwaters of the Susitna, you re- 
 member, and I was carrying my surveys back from the 
 lower valley. We were working toward each other, and 
 I expected to meet him any day. In fact, I had mail for 
 him at my camp that had come by way of Seward, so I 
 hardly was surprised the' next morning, when I made the 
 last turn below the glacier with my horse to see old 
 Weatherbee coming over the ice-bridge. 
 
 " He had made a discovery at the source of that little 
 tributary, where the erosion of the glacier had opened a 
 rich vein, and on following the stream through graywackes 
 and slate to the first gravelled fissure, he had found the 
 storage plant for his placer gold. He was on his way out 
 to have the claim recorded and get supplies and mail when 
 he heard the baying setter and, rounding the mouth of the' 
 pocket, saw the camp and the dead prospector. After- 
 wards, when he had talked with the woman waiting down 
 the canyon, he asked to see her husband's poke and com- 
 pared the gold with the sample he had panned. It was the 
 same, coarse and rough, with little scraps of quartz cling- 
 ing to the bigger flakes sometimes, and he insisted the 
 strike was Barbour's. He tried to persuade her to make 
 the entry, but she refused, and finally they compromised 
 with a partnership." 
 
 " So they were partners." Miss Armitage paused, then 
 went on with a touch of frostiness : " And they traveled 
 those miles of wilderness alone, for days together, out to 
 the coast." 
 
 "Yes." Tisdale's glance, coming back, challenged 
 hers. " Sometimes the wilderness enforces a social code 
 of her own. Miss Armitage," — his voice vibrated softly, 
 — " I wish you had known David Weatherbee. But im- 
 agine Sir Galahad, that whitest knight of the whole Round 
 Table, Sir Galahad on that Alaska trail, to-day. And 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 115 
 
 Weatherbee was doubly anxious to reach Seward. There 
 was a letter from his wife in that packet of mail I gave 
 him. She had written she was taking the opportunity to 
 travel as far as Seward with some friends, who were mak- 
 ing the summer tour of the coast. But he was ready to 
 cut the trip into short and easy stages to see Mrs. Barbour 
 through. ' It's all right,' he said at the start. ' Leave 
 it to me. I am going to take this lady to my wife.' " 
 
 " And — at Seward ? " questioned Miss Armitage, 
 breaking the pause. 
 
 " At Seward his wife failed him. But he rented a snug 
 cottage of some people going out to the States and had 
 the good fortune to find a motherly woman, who knew 
 something about nursing, to stay with Mrs. Barbour. It 
 was Christmas when her father arrived from Virginia to 
 help her home, and it was spring before she was able to, 
 make the sea voyage as far as Seattle." 
 
 " Expenses, in those new, frontier towns, are so impos- 
 sible ; I hope her father was able " — she halted, then added 
 hurriedly, flushing under Tisdale's searching eyes, " but, 
 of course, in any case, he reimbursed Mr. Weatherbee." 
 
 " He did, you may be sure, if there was any need. But 
 you have forgotten that poke of Barbour's. There was 
 dust enough to have carried her through even an Alaska 
 winter ; but an old Nevada miner, on the strength of that 
 showing, paid her twenty thousand dollars outright for 
 her interest in the claim." 
 
 Miss Armitage drew a deep breath. " And David 
 Weatherbee, too ? He sold his share — did he not — and 
 stayed on at Seward.'' " 
 
 " Yes, he wasted the best weeks of the season in Seward, 
 waiting for his wife. But she never came. She wrote 
 she had changed her mind. He showed me that letter one 
 night at the close of the season when he stopped at my 
 camp on his way back to the Tanana. It was short but 
 
116 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 long enough to remind him there were accounts pressing; 
 one particularly that she called a ' debt of honor.' She 
 hadn't specified, but I guessed directly she had been ac- 
 cepting loans from her friends, and I saw it was that that 
 had worried him. To raise the necessary money, he had 
 been obliged to realize on the new placer. His partner 
 had been waiting to go in to the claim with him, and 
 Weatherbee's sudden offer to sell made the mining man 
 suspicious. He refused to buy at any price. Then David 
 found an old prospector whom he had once befriended and 
 made a deal with him. It was five hundred dollars down, 
 and two thousand out of the first year's clean-up. And 
 he sent all of the ready money to her and started in to 
 make a new stake below Discovery. But the inevitable 
 stampede had followed on the Nevada man's heels, and the 
 strike turned out small. 
 
 " It was one of those rich pockets we find sometimes 
 along a glacier that make fortunes for the first men, while 
 the rank and file pan out defeat and disappointment. 
 There was the quartz body above, stringers and veins of it 
 reaching through the graywackes and slate, but to handle 
 it Weatherbee must set up a stamp-mill ; and only a line of 
 pack-mules from the Andes, and another line of steam- 
 ships could transport the ore to the nearest smelter, on 
 Puget Sound. So — he took up the long trek northward 
 again, to the Tanana. Think of it ! The irony of it ! " 
 
 Tisdale rose and turned on the step to look down at 
 her. The light from the lantern intensified the furrows 
 between his brooding eyes. " And think what it meant to 
 Weatherbee to have seen, as he had, day after day, hour 
 after hour, the heart of another man's wife laid bare, while 
 to his own he himself was simply a source of revenue." 
 
 Miss Armitage too rose and stood meeting his loot. 
 Her lip trembled a little, but the blue lights flamed in her 
 eyes. " You believe that," she said, and her voice dropped 
 
THE BRAVEST WOMAN 117 
 
 into an unexpected note. " You believe he threw away 
 that rich discovery for the few hundreds of dollars he sent 
 his wife ; but I know — she was told — differently. She 
 thought he was glad to — escape — at so small a price. 
 He wrote he was glad she had reconsidered that trip; 
 Alaska was no place for her." 
 
 " Madam," Tisdale remonstrated softly, " you couldn't 
 judge David Weatherbee literally by his letters. If you 
 had ever felt his personality, you would have caught the 
 undercurrent, deep and strong, sweeping between the lines. 
 It wasn't himself that counted; it was what was best for 
 her. You couldn't estimate him by other men ; he stood, 
 like your white mountain, alone above the crowd. And he 
 set a pedestal higher than himself and raised his wife there 
 to worship and glorify. A word from her at any time 
 would have turned the balance and brought him home ; her 
 presence, her sympathy, even that last season at the 
 Aurora mine, would have brought him through. I wish 
 you had seen his face that day I met him below the glacier 
 and had told him about the woman waiting down the gorge. 
 ' My God, Tisdale,' he said, ' suppose it had been my 
 wife.' " 
 
 Miss Armitage stood another moment, locking her hands 
 one over the other in a tightening grip. Her lip trembled 
 again, but the words failed. She turned and walked un- 
 certainly the few steps to the end of the porch. 
 
 " You believe she might have influenced him, but I do 
 not. Oh, I see, I see, how you have measured him by your 
 own great heart. But " — she turned towards him and 
 went on slowly, her voice fluctuating in little, steadying 
 pauses — ^" even if you were right, you might be generous ; 
 you might try to imagine her side. Suppose she had not 
 guessed his — need — of her ; been able to read, as you 
 did, between the lines. Sometimes a woman waits to be 
 told. A proud woman does." She came back the few 
 
118 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 3teps. " Beatriz Weatherbee isn't the kind of woman you 
 think she is. She has faults, of course, but she has tried 
 to make the best of her life. If she made a mistake — or 
 thought she had — no one else knew it. She braved it 
 through. She's been high-strung, too." 
 
 Tisdale put up his hand. " Don't say any more ; don't 
 try to excuse her to me. It's of no use. Good night." 
 But a few feet from the porch he stopped to add, less 
 grimly : " I should have said good morning. You see 
 how that pyramid stands out against that pale streak of 
 horizon. There is only time for a nap before sunrise. 
 Day is breaking." 
 
 She was silent, but something in the intensity of her 
 gaze, the unspoken appeal that had also a hint of dread, 
 the stillness of her small face, white in the uncertain light 
 when so lately he had seen it sparkle and glow, brought 
 him back. 
 
 " I've tired you out," he said. " I shouldn't have told 
 you that story. But this outlook to-night reminded me 
 of that other canyon, and I thought it might help to bridge 
 over the time. There's nothing can tide one through an 
 unpleasant situation like hearing about some one who 
 fared worse. And I hadn't meant to go so far into de- 
 tails. I'm sorry," and he held out his hand, " but it was 
 your interest, sympathy, something about you, that drew 
 me on." 
 
 She did not answer directly. She seemed to need the 
 moment to find her voice and bring it under control. 
 Then, " Any one must have been interested," she said, and 
 drew away her hand. " You have the story-teller's gift. 
 And I want to thank you for making it all so clear to me ; 
 it was a revelation." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE DUNES OF THE COLUMBIA 
 
 BEHIND them, as Tisdale drove down, the heights they 
 had crossed were still shrouded in thunder-caps, but 
 before them the end of the Wenatchee range lifted clear- 
 cut, in a mighty promontory, from the face of the desert. 
 Already the morning sun gave a promise of heat, and as 
 the bays rounded a knoll, Miss Armitage raised her hands 
 to shade her eyes. 
 
 " What color ! " she exclaimed. " How barbarous ! 
 How ages old! But don't say this is the Columbia, Mr. 
 Tisdale. I know it is the Nile. Those are the ruins of 
 Thebes. In a moment we shall see the rest of the pyra- 
 mids and the Sphinx." 
 
 Tisdale brought the horses around a sand-pit in the road 
 which began to parallel the river, rolling wide and swift 
 and intensely blue, where the rapids ceased, then he 
 glanced at the other shore, where fantastic columns and 
 broken walls of granite rose like a ruined city through a 
 red glory. 
 
 " It is worth coming from New York to see, but you 
 have traveled abroad. Do you know, that disappoints me. 
 A true American should see America first." 
 
 "Then I confess." The girl laughed softly. "I 
 haven't been nearer the Nile than a lantern-slide lecture 
 and the moving-picture show. But my father knew Egypt 
 when he was a boy; maybe I've inherited some memories, 
 too." 
 
120 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Her enthusiasm was irresistible. Looking into her glow- 
 ing face, the mirth-provoking lines broke and re-formed at 
 the comers of his own mouth and eyes. 
 
 " But," he explained after a moment, " this desert of 
 the Columbia is not old ; it's tremendously new ; so new that 
 Nature hasn't had time to take the scaffolding away. You 
 know — do you not — this was all once a great inland 
 sea.? Countless glacial streams brought wash down from 
 the mountains, filling the shallows with the finest alluvial 
 earth. Then, in some big upheaval, one or perhaps sev- 
 eral of these volcanic peaks poured down a strata of lava 
 and ash. As the ice tongues receded, the streams gradu- 
 ally dried ; only the larger ones, fed far back in the range, 
 are left to-day." 
 
 " How interesting ! " Her glance swept upward and 
 backward along the heights and returned to the levels. 
 " And naturally, as the bed of the sea was laid bare, these 
 last streams found the lowest depression, the channel of 
 the Columbia." 
 
 Her quickness, her evident desire to grasp the great 
 scheme of things, which other women received with poorly 
 veiled indifference, often hurried to evade, warmed his 
 scientist soul. " Yes," he answered, " Nature remem- 
 bered, while she was busy, to construct the main flume. 
 She might as well have said, when it was finished : ' Here 
 are some garden tracts I reclaimed for you. Now get to 
 work ; show what you can do.' " 
 
 " And are you going to ? " Her voice caught a little ; 
 she watched his face covertly yet expectantly, her breath 
 arrested, with parted lips. 
 
 " Perhaps. I am on my way to find a certain garden 
 spot that belonged to David Weatherbee. He knew more 
 about reclamation than I, for he grew up among your Cali- 
 fornia orchards, but I have the plans he drew ; I ought to 
 be able to see his project through." 
 
THE DUNES OF THE COLUMBIA 121 
 
 " You mean you may buy the land, Mr. Tisdale, if — • 
 things — are as you expect ? " 
 
 " Yes, provided I have Mrs. Weatherbee's price." 
 " What do you consider the tract is worth .? " 
 '' I couldn't make a fair estimate before I have been 
 over the ground. Seattle promoters are listing Wenatchee 
 fruit lands now, but the Weatherbee tract is off the main 
 valley. Still, the railroad passes within a few miles, and 
 the property must have made some advance since he bought 
 the quarter section. That was over nine years ago. He 
 was a student at Stanford then and spent a summer vaca- 
 tion up here in the Cascades with a party of engineers who 
 were running surveys for the Great Northern. One day 
 he was riding along a high ridge at the top of one of 
 those arid gulfs, when he came to a bubbling spring. It 
 was so cool and pleasant up there above the desert heat 
 that he set up a little camp of his own in the shade of some 
 pine trees that rimmed the pool, and the rest of the season 
 he rode to and from his work. Then he began to see the 
 possibilities of that alluvial pocket under irrigation, and 
 before he went back to college he secured the quarter sec- 
 tion. That was his final year, and he expected to return 
 the next summer and open the project. But his whole fu- 
 ture was changed by that unfortunate marriage. His 
 wife was not the kind of woman to follow him into the 
 desert and share inevitable discomfort and hardship until 
 his scheme should mature. He began to plan a little Eden 
 for her at the core, and to secure more capital he went to 
 Alaska. He hoped to make a rich strike and come back 
 in a year or two with plenty of money to hurry the project 
 through. You know how near he came to it once, and why 
 he failed. And that was not the only time. But every 
 year he stayed in the north, his scheme took a stronger 
 hold on him. He used to spend long Arctic nights elabo- 
 rating, making over his plans. He thought and brooded 
 
122 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 on them so much that finally, when the end came, up there 
 in the Chugach snows, he set up an orchard of spruce 
 twigs — " 
 
 " I know, I know," interrupted Miss Armitage. 
 " Please don't tell it over again. I — can't — bear it." 
 And she sank against the back of the seat, shuddering, 
 and cover'ed her eyes with her hands. 
 
 Tisdale looked at her, puzzled. " Again.? " he re- 
 peated. " But I see you must have heard the story 
 through Mr. Feversham. I told it at the clubhouse the 
 night he was in Seattle." 
 
 " It's impossible to explain ; you never could under- 
 stand." She sat erect, but Tisdale felt her body tremble, 
 and she went on swiftly, with little breaks and catches: 
 " You don't know the hold your story has on me. I've 
 dreamed it all over at night; I've wakened cold and wet 
 with perspiration from head to foot, as though I — too — 
 were struggling through those frozen solitudes. I've been 
 afraid to sleep sometimes, the dread of facing — it — is so 
 strong." 
 
 Watching her, a sudden tenderness rose through the 
 wonder in Tisdale's face. 
 
 " So you dreamed you were fighting it through with me ; 
 that's strange. But I see the story was too hard for you ; 
 Feversham shouldn't have told it." He paused and his 
 brows clouded. " I wish I could make Weatherbee's wife 
 dream it," he broke out. " It might teach her what he en- 
 dured. I have gone over the ground with her in imagina- 
 tion, mile after mile, that long trek from Nome. I have 
 seen her done for, whimpering in a comer, like the weakest 
 husky in the team, there at the Aurora mine, and at her 
 limit again up in Rainy Pass. And once lately, the night 
 of the club supper, while I was lying awake in my room, 
 looking off through the window to the harbor lights and 
 the stars, I heard her crying deeply from the heart. She 
 
THE DUNES OF THE COLUMBIA 123 
 
 did not seem like herself then, but a different woman I was 
 mighty sorry for." 
 
 Miss Armitage turned and met his look, questioning, 
 hardly comprehending. " That sounds occult," she said. 
 
 "Does it.f^ Well, perhaps it is. But a man who has 
 lived in the big spaces has his senses sharpened. He sees 
 farther; feels more." 
 
 There was a silent moment. The colts, topping a low 
 dune, felt the pressure of the fills on the down-grade, and 
 the nigh horse broke, turning the front wheel into a tangle 
 of sage. " Mr. Tisdale," she cried a little tremulously, 
 " do you think this is a catboat, tacking into a squall? 
 Please, please let me drive." 
 
 Her eflPort was supreme. It relieved the tension, and 
 when the change was made, she drew to the edge of the 
 seat, holding her head high like that intrepid flower to 
 which he had compared her. 
 
 " You mean," she said evenly, " the terrible silence of 
 your big spaces keys up the subjective mind. That, of 
 course, was the trouble with Mrs. Barbour's husband. He 
 allowed it to dominate him. But a man like you " — and 
 she gave him her swift, direct look, and the shadow of a 
 smile touched her mouth — " well-balanced, strong, would 
 have kept the danger down. I should never be afraid — 
 for you. But," she hurried on, " I can understand too 
 how in the great solitudes some men are drawn together. 
 You have shown me. I did not know before I heard your 
 story how much a man can endure for a friend — and 
 sacrifice." 
 
 Tisdale looked off over the desert. " Friendship up 
 there does mean something," he answered quietly. " Mere 
 companionship in the Alaska wilderness is a test. I don't 
 know whether it's the darkness of those interminable win- 
 ters, or the monotony that plays on a man's nerves, but 
 I have seen the closest partners get beyond speaking to 
 
124 ,THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 each other. It's a hfe to bring out the good and the bad 
 in a man ; a life to make men hate ; and it can forge two 
 men together. But David Weatherbee never had an 
 enemy. He never failed a man. In a crisis he was great. 
 If things had been reversed " — he set his lips, his face 
 hardened — " if Weatherbee had been in my place, there 
 at Nome, with a letter of mine in his hands, he wouldn't 
 have thrown away those four days." 
 
 " Yes, he would. Consider. He must have taken time 
 to prepare for that terrible journey. How else could he 
 have carried it through? " She leaned forward a little, 
 compelling his glance, trying to reason down the tragedy 
 in his face. 
 
 " How can you blame yourself? " she finished brokenly. 
 " You must not. I will not — let you." 
 
 " Thank you for saying that." Tisdale's rugged fea- 
 tures worked. He laid his hand for an instant over hers. 
 " If any one in the world can set me right with myself, 
 it is you." 
 
 After that they both were silent. They began to round 
 the bold promontory at the end of the Wenatchee range ; 
 the Badger loomed on the rim of the desert, then Old 
 Baldy seemed to swing his sheer front like an opened 
 portal to let the blue flood of the Columbia through. The 
 interest crept back to her face. Between them and those 
 guardian peaks a steel bridge, fine as a spider web, was 
 etched on the river, then a first orchard broke the areas of 
 sage, the rows of young trees radiating from a small, new 
 dwelling, like a geometrical pattern. Finally she said: 
 " I would like to know a little more about Mrs. Barbour. 
 Did you ever see her again, Mr. Tisdale? Or the child? " 
 " Oh, yes. I made it a point the next winter, when I 
 was in Washington, to run down into Virginia and look 
 them up. And I have always kept in touch with them. 
 She sends me new pictures of the boy every year. He 
 
THE DUNES OF THE COLUMBIA 125 
 
 keeps her busy. He was a rugged little chap at the start, 
 did his best to grow, and bright ! " — Tisdale paused, 
 shaking his head, while the humorous lines deepened — 
 " But he had to be vigorous to carry the name she gave 
 him. Did I tell you it was Weatherbee Tisdale.? Think 
 of shouldering the names of two full-sized men on that 
 atom. But she picked a nice diminutive out of it — ' Bee.' 
 
 " It was a great christening party," he went on reminis- 
 cently. " She arranged it when she passed through 
 Seattle and had several hours to wait for her train. The 
 ceremony was at Trinity, that stone church on the first 
 hill, and the Bishop of Alaska, who was waiting too, of- 
 ficiated. I was in town at the time, getting my outfit to- 
 gether for another season in the north, but Weatherbee 
 had to assume his responsibilities by proxy." 
 
 " Do j'^ou mean David Weatherbee was the child's god- 
 father.? " 
 
 " One of them, yes." Tisdale paused, and his brows 
 clouded. " I wish the boy had been his own. That 
 would have been his salvation. If David Weatherbee had 
 had a son, he would be here with us now, to-day." 
 
 Miss Armitage was silent. She looked off up the un- 
 folding watercourse, and the great weariness Tisdale had 
 noticed that hour before dawn settled again on her face. 
 
 He laid his hand on the reins. *' You are tired out," 
 he said. " Come, give the lines to me. You've deceived 
 me with all that fine show of spirits, but I've been selfish, 
 or I must have seen. The truth is, I've been humoring 
 this hand." 
 
 " You mean," she said quickly, " this vixen did hurt you 
 yesterday more than you would admit.? " 
 
 " Oh, no, but the friction of the reins can make even a 
 scratch uncomfortable after a while, and my glove is get- 
 ting tight. A little peroxide, when we reach a pharmacy, 
 will fix it all right." 
 
126 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 But Miss Armitage watched him doubtfully. She as- 
 sured him she was not tired and that she loved to drive. 
 Had she not told him so at the start? Then, as they 
 left the promontory, her glance followed the road ahead. 
 The bridge was no longer fine as a spider web; it was a 
 railroad crossing of steel, and the long eaves of the Great 
 Northern depot lifted near, flanked by the business blocks 
 of a town. " Wenatchee ! " she exclaimed ; and wavering, 
 asked : " IsnH this Wenatchee ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Armitage, I am afraid that it is. You are 
 back to civilization. A few minutes more and, if you 
 will give me their address, you will be safe with your 
 friends." 
 
 " I did not say I had any friends in Wenatcnee, Mr. 
 Tisdale. I am going on to Hesperides Vale. But please 
 leave me at any quiet hotel. I can't thank you enough 
 for all your kindness and patience," she went on hur- 
 riedly. " For making this trip possible. All I can hope 
 to do is share the expense." And she found the inside 
 pocket of her coat and drew out a small silver purse. 
 
 Tisdale, driving slowly, divided his attention between 
 his team and the buildings on either side. " There is a 
 public garage," he said, " and a rival establishment oppo- 
 site. You will have no trouble to finish your trip by auto- 
 mobile, as you planned. It will be pleasant making the 
 run up the valley this evening, when it is cool." 
 
 Miss Armitage opened her purse. " The rates must be 
 considerably higher on a rough mountain road than on 
 the Seattle boulevard, and, of course, one couldn't expect 
 to hire Nip and Tuck at ordinary rates." 
 
 Tisdale drew in, hesitating, before a hotel, then re- 
 laxed the reins. " The building seems modern, but we 
 may find a quiet little inn up some side street with more 
 shade." 
 
 " I presume you will drive on up the valley," she said. 
 
THE DUNES OF THE COLUMBIA 127 
 
 after a moment, " and start back to Kittitas to-morrow. 
 Or will it be necessary to rest the team a day? " 
 
 " I shall drive on to that tract of Weatherbee's this 
 afternoon; but I expect to take the westbound train to- 
 night, somewhere up the valley." 
 
 " I see," she said quickly and tried to cover her dis- 
 may, " you intend to ship the team back to Kittitas by 
 way of Seattle. I'm afraid " — her voice broke a little, 
 the color flushed pinkly to her forehead, her ears, and her 
 glance fell to the purse in her lap — " but please tell me 
 the charges." 
 
 " Madam," and the ready humor crinkled the comers 
 of his mouth, " when I ship these horses back to Lighter, 
 he is going to pay the freight." 
 
 She drew a quick breath of relief, but her purse re- 
 mained open, and she waited, regarding Tisdale with an 
 expectant, disconcerting side-glance of her half-veiled 
 eyes. " And the day rates for the use of the team? " she 
 asked. 
 
 For a moment he was busy turning the horses. They 
 had reached a second hotel, but it proved less inviting 
 than the first, and the side streets they had crossed af- 
 forded no quiet inn, or indeed any dwelling in the shade. 
 " After all," he said, " a room and bath on the north side, 
 with windows looking up the Columbia, should make you 
 fairly comfortable through the heat of the day." But 
 the girl waited, and when his eyes fell to that open purse, 
 his own color burned through the tan. There was no help 
 for it; she must know the truth. He squared his shoul- 
 ders, turning a little toward her. '' There are no ex- 
 penses to share. Miss Armitage. I — happened to own 
 this team, and since we were traveling the same way, I was 
 glad to offer you this vacant seat." 
 
 " Do you mean you bought these horses — outright — • 
 at Kittitas?" 
 
128 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " Yes, the opportunity was too good to miss." He tried 
 to brave the astonishment in her eyes, but his glance 
 moved directly to the colts. " And, you see, if I should 
 buy that tract of Weatherbee's, I am going to need a 
 team." 
 
 " Doubtless," answered Miss Armitage slowly. " Still, 
 for breaking wild land or even cultivating, one would 
 choose a steadier, heavier team. But they are beauties, 
 Mr. Tisdale, and I know a man in Seattle who is going to 
 be disappointed. I congratulate you on being able to se- 
 cure them." She closed the purse at last and reluctantly 
 put it away, and she added, with the merriment dimpling 
 her lips : " Fate certainly was with me yesterday." 
 
 They had reached the hotel, and as he drew up to the 
 curb, a man came from the lobby to hold the bays. Sev- 
 eral traveling salesmen stood smoking and talking outside 
 the entrance, while a little apart a land promoter and his 
 possible capitalist consulted a blue print ; but there was a 
 general pause as Tisdale sprang out, and the curious 
 scrutiny of wayfarers in a small town was focussed on the 
 arrivals. 
 
 " It looks all right," he said quietly, helping her down, 
 " but if you find anything wrong, or should happen to 
 want me, I shall be at that other hotel until two o'clock. 
 Good-by!" 
 
 He saw the surprise in her face change to swift appreci- 
 ation. Then " Good-by," she answered and walked to- 
 wards the door. -But there she stopped. Tisdale, look- 
 ing back as he gave her suitcase to a boy, saw her lips 
 part, though she did not speak. Then her eyelids 
 drooped, the color played softly in her face, and she 
 turned to go in. There had been no invitation in her at- 
 titude, yet he had felt a certain appeal. It flashed over 
 him she did not want to motor up the valley ; she wished to 
 drive on with him. Too proud, too fine to say so, she was 
 
THE DUNES OF THE COLUMBIA 129 
 
 letting her opportunity go. He hurried across the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 " Miss Armitage," he said, and instantly she turned ; 
 the sparkles leaped in her eyes; she came towards him a 
 few steps and stopped expectantly. " If I start up the 
 valley at two " — and he looked at his watch — " that will 
 be a rest of nearly three hours. It means the heat of the 
 day, but if it seems better than motoring over a country 
 road with a public chauffeur, I would be glad to have you 
 drive for me." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 ' 'XTOW I know the meaning of Wenatchee. It's some- 
 -i-^ thing racy, Mr. Tisdale, and a little wicked, yet 
 with unexpected depths, and just the coolest, limpid hazel- 
 green." 
 
 Tisdale's pulses quickened; his blood responded to her 
 exhilaration. " Yes, only " — and he waited to catch the 
 glance she lifted from the stream — " your green is blue, 
 and you forgot to count the sparkles in." 
 
 As he spoke, the bays paced off the bridge. They 
 sprang, gathering themselves lightly for a sharp ascent 
 and for an interval held the driver's close attention. The 
 town and the Columbia were behind, and the road, which 
 followed the contour of the slopes rising abruptly from the 
 Wenatchee, began a series of sudden turns ; it cut shelf- 
 wise high across the face of a ridge; spurs constantly 
 closed after them ; there seemed no way back or through, 
 then, like an opening gate, a bluff detached from the wall 
 ahead, and they entered another breadth of valley. In 
 the wide levels that bordered the river, young orchards 
 began to supplant the sage. Looking down from the 
 thoroughfare, the even rows and squares seemed wrought 
 on the tawny background like the designs of a great car- 
 pet. Sometimes, paralleling the road, the new High Line 
 canal followed an upper cut ; it trestled a ravine or, stopped 
 by a rocky cliff, bored through. Where a finished spill- 
 way irrigated a mountainside, all the steep incline be- 
 tween the runnels showed lines on lines of diminutive trees, 
 pluckily taking root-hold. 
 
A WOMAN'S HEART-STRINGS 131 
 
 A little after that, near an old mission, they dropped to 
 a lower bench and passed an apple orchard in full bear- 
 ing. Everywhere boughs laden with a gold or crimson 
 harvest were supported by a network of scaffolding. It 
 was marvelous that fruit could so crowd and cling to a 
 slender stem and yet round and color to such perfection. 
 Miss Armitage slowed the horses down and looked up the 
 shady avenues. Presently a driveway divided the tract, 
 leading to a dwelling so small it had the appearance of a 
 toy house; but on the gatepost above the rural delivery 
 box the name of the owner shone ostentatiously. It was 
 " Henderson Bailey, Hesperides Vale." 
 
 "Do you see.?" she asked. "This is that station 
 master's orchard, where the Rome Beauty grew." 
 
 But the team was troublesome again. The road made a 
 turn, rounding the orchard, and began the descent to a 
 bridge. On the right a great water-wheel, supplied with 
 huge, scoop-shaped buckets, was lifting water from the 
 river to distribute it over a reclaimed section. The bays 
 pranced toward it suspiciously. " Now, now. Tuck," she 
 admonished, " be a soldier." The colt sidled gingerly. 
 " Whoa, Nip, whoa ! " and, rearing lightly, they took the 
 approach with a rush. 
 
 As they quieted and trotted evenly off the bridge, a 
 large and brilliant signboard set in an area of sage-brush 
 challenged the eye. Miss Armitage fluted a laugh. 
 
 " Buy one of these Choice Lots," 
 
 she read, with charming, slightly mocking exaggeration. 
 
 " Buy to-day. 
 
 " To-morrow will see this Property the Heart of a City. 
 " Buy before the Prices Soar. 
 " Talk with Henderson Bailey. 
 
132 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " This surely is Hesperides Vale," she added. 
 
 The amusement went out of Tisdale's face. " Yes, 
 madam, and your j oumey's end. Probably the next post- 
 box will announce the name of your friends." 
 
 She did not answer directly. She looked beyond the 
 heads of the team to the top of the valley, where two 
 brown slopes parted like drawn curtains and opened a blue 
 vista of canyon closed by a lofty snow-peak. The sun 
 had more than fulfilled its morning promise of heat, but a 
 soft breeze began to pull from that white summit down the 
 watercourse. 
 
 " I did not tell you I had friends in Hesperides Vale," 
 she said at last. Her eyes continued to search the far 
 blue canyon, but her color heightened at his quick glance 
 of surprise, and she went on with a kind of breathless- 
 ness. 
 
 "I — I have a confession to make. I — But hasn't it 
 occurred to you, Mr. Tisdale, that I might be interested in 
 this land you are on your way to see ? " 
 
 His glance changed. It settled into his clear, calculat- 
 ing look of appraisal. Under it her color flamed ; she 
 turned her face farther away. " No," he answered 
 slowly, " No, that had not occurred to me." 
 
 " I should have told you at the beginning, but I thought, 
 at first, you knew. Afterward — but I am going to ex- 
 plain now," and she turned resolutely, smiling a little to 
 brave that look. " Mr. Morganstein had promised, when 
 he planned the trip to Portland, that he would run over 
 from Ellensburg to look the property up. He believed it 
 might be feasible to plat it into five-acre tracts to put on 
 the market. Of course we knew nothing of the difficulties 
 of the road; we had heard it was an old stage route, and 
 we expected to motor through and return the same day. 
 So, when the accident happened to the car in Snoqualmie 
 Pass, and the others were taking the Milwaukee train home, 
 
A WOMAN'S HEART-STRINGS 133 
 
 I decided, on the impulse of the moment, to finish this side 
 trip to Wenatchee and return to Seattle by the Great Nor- 
 thern. I admit seeing you on the eastbound influenced 
 me. We — Mrs. Feversham — guessed you were on your 
 way to see this land, and when the porter was uncertain of 
 the stage from Ellensburg, but that you were leaving the 
 trail below Kittitas, I thought you had found a newer, 
 quicker way. So — I followed you." 
 
 Tisdale's brows relaxed. He laughed a little softly, 
 trying to ease her evident distress. " I am glad you did. 
 Miss Armitage. I am mighty glad you did. But I see," 
 he went on slowly, his face clouding again, " I see Mrs. 
 Weatherbee had been talking to you about that tract. 
 It's strange I hadn't thought of that possibility. I'll 
 wager she even tried to sell the land off a map, in Seattle. 
 I wonder, though, when this Weatherbee trip was arranged 
 to look the property over, that she didn't come, too. But 
 no doubt that seemed too eager." 
 
 The blue lights flashed in her eyes ; her lip trembled. 
 " Be fair," she said. " You can aff*ord to be — gener- 
 ous." 
 
 " I am going to be generous. Miss Armitage, to you." 
 The ready humor touched his mouth again, the corners of 
 his eyes. " I am going to take you over the ground with 
 me; show you Weatherbee's project, his drawn plans. 
 But afterwards, if you outbid me — " 
 
 " You need not be afraid of that," she interrupted 
 quickly. "I — you must know " — she paused, her lashes 
 drooped — " I — am not very rich," she finessed. 
 
 Tisdale laughed outright. " Neither am I. Neither 
 am I." Then, his glance studying the road, he said : " I 
 think we take that branch. But wait ! " He drew his 
 map from his pocket and pored over it a moment. " Yes, 
 we turn there. After that there is just one track." 
 
 For an instant Miss Armitage seemed to waver. She 
 
134 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 sent a backward look to the river, and the glance, return- 
 ing, swept Tisdale; then she straightened in her seat and 
 swung the bays into the branch. It cut the valley diag- 
 onally, away from the Wenatchee, past a last orchard, 
 into wild lands that stretched in level benches under the 
 mountain wall. One tawny, sage-mottled slope began to 
 detach from the rest; it took the shape of a reclining 
 brazen beast, partly leopard, partly wolf, and a line of 
 pine trees that had taken root in a moist strata along 
 the backbone had the effect of a bristling mane. 
 
 " That is Weatherbee's landmark," said Tisdale. « He 
 called it Cerberus. It is all sketched in true as life on his 
 plans. The gap there under the brute's paw is the en- 
 trance to his vale." 
 
 As they approached, the mountain seemed to move; it 
 took the appearance of an animal, ready to spring. 
 Miss Armitage, watching, shivered. The dreadful expec- 
 tation she had shown the previous night when the cry of 
 the cougar came down the wind, rose in her face. It was 
 as though she had come upon that beast, more terrifying 
 than she had feared, lying in wait for her. Then the mo- 
 ment passed. She raised her head, her hands tightened on 
 the reins, and she drove resolutely into the shadows of the 
 awful front. " Now," she said, not quite steadily, " now 
 I know how monstrously alive a mountain can seem." 
 
 Tisdale looked at her. " You never could live in 
 Alaska," he said. " You feel too much this personality of 
 inanimate things. That was David Weatherbee's trouble. 
 You know how in the end he thought those Alaska peaks 
 were moving. They got to ' crowding ' him-." 
 
 The girl turned a little and met his look. Her eyes, 
 wide with dread, entreated him. " Yes, I know," she said, 
 and her voice was almost a whisper. " I was thinking of 
 him. But please don't say any more. I can't — bear it 
 — here." 
 
A WOMAN'S HEART-STRINGS 135 
 
 So she was thinking of Weatherbee. Her emotion 
 sprang from her sympathy for him. A gentleness that 
 was almost tenderness crept over Tisdale's face. How 
 fine she was, how sensitively made, and how measureless her 
 capacity for loving, if she could feel like this for a man of 
 whom she had only heard. 
 
 Miss Armitage, squaring her shoulders and sitting very 
 erect once more, her lips closed in a straight red line, 
 drove firmly on. A stream ran musically along the road- 
 side, — a stream so small it was marvelous it had a voice. 
 As they rounded the mountain, the gap widened into the 
 mouth of the vale, which lifted back to an upper bench, 
 over-topped by a lofty plateau. Then she swung the team 
 around and stopped. The way was cut off by a barbed 
 wire fence. 
 
 The enclosure was apparently a corral for a flock of 
 Angora goats. There was no gate for the passage of 
 teams ; the road ended there, and a rough sign nailed to a 
 hingeless wicket warned the wayfarer to " Keep Out." On 
 a rocky knob near this entrance a gaunt, hard-featured 
 woman sat knitting. She measured the trespassers with a 
 furtive, smouldering glance and clicked her needles with 
 unnecessary force. 
 
 Tisdale's eyes made a swift inventory of the poor 
 shelter, half cabin, partly shed, that evidently housed both 
 the woman and her flock, then searched the barren field for 
 some sort of hitching post. But the few bushes along the 
 stream were small, kept low, doubtless, by the browsing 
 goats, and his glance rested on a fringe of poplars be- 
 yond the upper fence. 
 
 " There's no way around," he said at last, and the 
 amusement broke softly in his face. " We will have to go 
 through." 
 
 " The wicket will take the team singly," she answered, 
 " but we must unhitch and leave the buggy here." 
 
136 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " And first, if you think you can hold the colts that 
 long, I must tackle this thistle." 
 
 " I can manage," she said, and the sparkles danced in 
 her eyes, '' unless you are vanquished." 
 
 The woman rose and stood glowering w^hile he sprang 
 down and drew the wooden pin to open the wicket. 
 Then, " You keep off my land," she ordered sharply. 
 
 " I will, madam," he answered quietly, " as soon as I am 
 satisfied it is yours." 
 
 " I've lived on this claim 'most five years," she screamed. 
 " I'm homesteading, and when I've used the water seven 
 years, I get the rights." She sprang backward with a 
 cattish movement and caught up a gun that had been con- 
 cealed in some bushes. " Now you go," she said. 
 
 But Tisdale stayed. He stood weighing her with his 
 steady, appraising eyes, while he drew the township plat 
 from his pocket. 
 
 " This is the quarter section I have come to look up. 
 It starts here, you see," — and having unfolded the map, 
 he turned to hold it under her glance — " at the mouth 
 of this gap, and lifts back through the pocket, taking in 
 the slopes to this bench and on up over this ridge to in- 
 clude these springs." 
 
 The woman, curbing herself to look at the plat, allowed 
 the rifle to settle in the curve of her arm. " I piped the 
 water down," she said. " This stream was a dry gully. I 
 fenced and put up a house." 
 
 " The tract was commuted and bought outright from 
 the Government over seven years ago." Tisdale's voice 
 quickened ; he set his lips dominantly and folded the map. 
 " I have copies of the field notes with me and the owner's 
 landscape plans. And I am a surveyor, madam. It won't 
 take me long to find out whether there is a mistake. But, 
 before I go over the ground, I must get my horses through 
 to a hitching-place. I will have to lower that upper 
 
A WOMAN'S HEART-STRINGS 137 
 
 fence, but if you will keep jour goats together, I promise 
 to put it back as soon as the team is through." 
 
 " You let that fence alone." Tisdale had started to 
 cross the field, and she followed, railing, though the gun 
 still rested in the hollow of her arm. " If one of those 
 goats breaks away, the whole herd'U go wild. I can't 
 round 'em in without my dog. He's off trailing one of the 
 ewes. She strayed yesterday, and he'll chase the mountain 
 through if he has to. It's no use to whistle ; he won't come 
 back without her. You let that fence be. You wouldn't 
 dare to touch it," she finished impotently, " if I had a 
 man." 
 
 "Haven't you?" Tisdale swung around, and his 
 voice dropped to its soft undernote. " That's mighty 
 hard. Who laid all that water-pipe.? Who built your 
 house.? " 
 
 " I did," she answered grimly. " The man who hauled 
 my load of lumber stopped long enough to help set the 
 posts, but I did the rest." 
 
 " You did.? " Tisdale shook his head incredulously. 
 " My ! My ! Made all the necessary improvements, sin- 
 gle-handed, to hold your homestead and at the same time 
 managed these goats." 
 
 The woman's glance moved to the shack and out over 
 the barren fields, and a shade of uncertainty crept into 
 her passionate eyes. " The improvements don't make 
 much of a show yet; I've had to be off so much in the 
 mountains, foraging with the herd. But I was able to 
 hire a boy half a day with the shearing this spring, and 
 from now on they're going to pay. There are twenty- 
 eight in the bunch, counting the kids, and I started with 
 one old billy and two ewes." 
 
 " My ! My ! what a record ! " Tisdale paused to look 
 back at Miss Armitage, who had turned the bays, allow-- 
 ing them to pace down a length of road and back. 
 
138 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " But," he added, walking on, " what led you to choose 
 goats instead of sheep? " 
 
 " I didn't do the choosing " ; she moved abreast of Hol- 
 lis, " it was a fool man." 
 
 " So," he answered softly, with a glimmer of amuse- 
 ment in his eyes, " there is a man, after all." 
 
 " There was," she corrected grimly. " The easiest fel- 
 low to be talked over under the sun ; the kind always chas- 
 ing off after a new scheme. First it was a mineral claim ; 
 then he banked the future on timber, and when he got 
 tired waiting for stumpage to soar, he put up a dinky 
 sawmill to cut his own trees. He was doing well, for him, 
 getting out ties for a new railroad — it was down in Ore- 
 gon — when he saw the chance to trade for a proved-up 
 homestead. But it was the limit when he started out to 
 buy a bunch of sheep and came back with that old Angora 
 billy and two ewes." 
 
 " I see." They were near the fence, and Tisdale 
 swerved a little to reach a stout poplar that formed the 
 corner post. He saw that the wire ends met there and 
 felt in his pocket for his knife. " I see. And then he 
 left the responsibility to his wife." 
 
 " The wedding hadn't come off," she said sharply. " It 
 was fixed for the seventeenth of June, and that was only 
 May. And I told him I couldn't risk it — not in the face 
 of those goats." 
 
 " And he? " pressed Hollis gently. This thistle, iso- 
 lated, denied human intercourse, was more easily handled 
 than he had hoped. 
 
 " He said it suited him all right. He had been wanting 
 to go to Alaska. Nothing but that wedding had kept 
 him back." 
 
 Tisdale stopped and opened his knife. " And he 
 went? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." The woman's face worked a little, and she 
 
A WOMAN'S HEART-STRINGS 139 
 
 stood looking at him with hard, tragic eyes. " He sold 
 the homestead for what he could get to raise the money 
 to take him to Dawson. He was gone in less than twenty- 
 four hours and before daylight, that night he left, I heard 
 those goats ma-a-ing under my window. He had staked 
 them there in the front yard and tucked a note, with his 
 compliments, in the door. He wrote he didn't know of 
 anything else he could leave thkt would make me remem- 
 ber him better." 
 
 Tisdale shook his head. " I wish I had been there." 
 He slipped the knife in between the ends of the wires and 
 the bole, clawing, prying, twisting. " And you kept 
 them ? " he added. 
 
 " Yes, I don't know why, unless it was because I knew 
 it was the last thing he expected. But I hated them worse 
 than snakes. I couldn't stand it having them around, 
 and I hired a boy to herd them out on his father's farm. 
 Then I went on helping Dad, selling general merchandise 
 and sorting mail. But the post-office was moved that 
 year five miles to the new railroad station, and they put 
 in a new man. Of course that meant a line of goods, too, 
 and competition. Trade fell off, then sickness came. 
 It lasted two years, and when Dad was gone, there wasn't 
 much left of the store but debt." She paused a moment, 
 looking up to the serene sky above the high plateau. A 
 sudden moisture softened her burning eyes, and her free 
 hand crept to her throat. " Dad was a mighty fine man," 
 she said. " He had a great business head. It wasn't his 
 fault he didn't leave me well fixed." 
 
 Tisdale laid the loosened wire down on the ground and 
 started to work on another. " But there was the man in 
 Alaska," he said. " Of course you let him know." 
 
 " No, sir." Her eyes flashed back to Tisdale's face. 
 " You wouldn't have caught me writing to Johnny Banks, 
 then. I'm not that kind. The most I could do was to see 
 
140 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 what I could make of the goats. I commenced herding 
 them myself, but I hadn't the face to do it down there in 
 Oregon, where everybody knew me, and I gradually worked 
 north with them until I ended here." 
 
 Tisdale had dropped his knife. He stooped to pick it 
 up. " That's where you made your mistake," he said. 
 
 The woman drew a step nearer, watching his face; 
 tense, breathless. Clearly he had turned her thoughts 
 from the fence, and he slipped the knife in farther and 
 continued to pry and twist the wire loose. " How do you 
 know it was a mistake? " she asked at last. 
 
 Tisdale laid the second wire down. "Well, wasn't it.'' 
 To punish yourself like this, to cheat yourself out of the 
 best years of your life, when you knew how much Banks 
 thought of you. But you seem to have overlooked his 
 side. Do you think, when he knows how you crucified 
 yourself, it's going to make him any happier .^^ He car- 
 ried a great spirit bottled in that small, wiry frame, but 
 he got to seeing himself through your eyes. He was 
 ashamed of his failures — he had always been a little 
 sensitive about his size — and it wasn't the usual enthusi- 
 asm that started him to Alaska ; he was stung into going. 
 It was like him to play his poor joke gamily, at the last, 
 and pretend he didn't care. A word from you would have 
 held him — you must have known that — and a letter 
 from you afterwards, when you needed him, would have 
 brought him back. Or you might have joined him up 
 there and made a home for him all these years, but you 
 chose to bury yourself here in the desert of the Columbia, 
 starving your soul, wasting your best on these goats." 
 He paused with the last loosened wire in his hands and 
 stood looking at her with condemning eyes. " What made 
 you?" he added, and his voice vibrated softly. "What 
 made you ? " 
 
 The woman's features worked; tears filled her eyes. 
 
A WOMAN'S HEART-STRINGS 141 
 
 They must have been the first in many months, for they 
 came with the gush that follows a probe. " You know 
 him," she said brokenly. " You've seen him lately, up 
 there in Alaska." 
 
 " I think so, yes. The Johnny Banks I knew in the 
 north told me something about a girl he left down in Ore- 
 gon. But she was a remarkably pretty girl, with merry 
 black eyes and a nice color in her cheeks. Seems to me 
 she used to wear a pink gown sometimes, and a pink rose 
 in her black hair, and made a picture that the fellows 
 busy along the new railroad came miles on Sundays to 
 see." 
 
 A bleak smile touched the woman's mouth. " Dad al- 
 ways liked to see me wear nice clothes. He said it ad- 
 vertised the store." Then her glance fell to her coarse, 
 wretched skirt, and the contrast struck poignantly. 
 
 Tisdale moved the wires back, clearing a space for the 
 bays to pass. " There was one young engineer," he went 
 on, as though she had not spoken ; " a big, handsome fel- 
 low, who came oftener than the rest. Banks thought it 
 was natural she should favor him. The little man be- 
 lieves yet that when he was out of the way she married 
 that engineer." 
 
 The woman was beyond speech. Tisdale had pene- 
 trated the last barrier of her fortitude. The bitterness, 
 pent so long, fostered in solitude, filled the vent and surged 
 through. Her shoulders shook, she stumbled a few steps 
 to the poplar and, throwing up her arm against the bole, 
 buried her face, sobbing, in her sleeve. 
 
 Tisdale looked back across the field. Miss Armitage 
 was holding the team in readiness at the wicket. " I am 
 going now," he said. " You will have to watch your 
 goats until I get the horses through. But if you will 
 write that letter, madam, while I'm at work, I'll be glad to 
 mail it for you." 
 
142 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 The woman looked up. A sudden hope transfigured her 
 face. " I wish I dared to. But he wouldn't know me 
 now ; I've changed so. Besides, I don't know his address." 
 
 " That's so." Tisdale met her glance thoughtfully. 
 " But leave it to me. I think I can get into touch with 
 him when I am back in Seattle." 
 
 Miss Armitage watched him as he came swiftly across 
 the field. " Oh," she cried, when he reached the waiting 
 team, "how did you accomplish it.? Are you a magi- 
 cian.?" 
 
 HoUis shook his head. " I only tried to play a little 
 on her heart-strings, to gain time, and struck an unex- 
 pected chord. But it's all right. It's going to do her 
 good." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE LOOPHOLE 
 
 THE afternoon sun shone hot in that pocket ; the arid 
 slopes reflected the glare; heat waves lifted; the 
 snow-peak was shut out, and when a puff^ of wind found 
 the gap it was a breath from the desert. Miss Armitage, 
 who had trailed pluckilj after Tisdale through the sage- 
 brush and up the steep face of the bench, rested on the 
 level, while he hurried on to find the easiest route to the 
 high plateau and the spring. He had left her seated on 
 a flat rock in the shade of a sentinel pine tree, looking over 
 the vale to Cerberus and the distant bit of the Wenatchee 
 showing beyond the mouth, but as he came back along the 
 ridge, he saw she had turned her shoulder on the crouch- 
 ing mountain. At his far " Hello ! " she waved her hand 
 to him and rose to start across the bench to meet him. 
 He was descending a broken stairway below two granite 
 pillars that topped a semi-circular bluffs and, springing 
 from a knob to avoid a dry runnel, he shaped his way 
 diagonally to abridge the distance. He moved with in- 
 credible swiftness, swinging by his hands to drop from a 
 ledge, sliding where he must, and the ease and expediency 
 with which he accomplished it all brought the admiration 
 sparkling to her eyes. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said, as he drew near, " but there 
 isn't any easy way. It's too bad to have traveled so far 
 and miss the spring, for the whole project hinges on it; 
 but the climb is impossible for you in this heat." 
 
144 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " Then you found the spring? " she asked quickly. 
 " It was all the plans promised? " 
 
 " Yes." He began to walk on across the bench, suiting 
 his steps to hers. " And Weatherbee had put in a small 
 dam there to create his first reservoir. I found his old 
 camp, too; a foundation of logs, open now to the sky, 
 with a few tatters left of the canvas that had roofed it 
 over." There was a silent moment, then he added, with 
 the emotion still playing gently in his voice : " I wish I 
 could show you that place; the pool is crystal clear and 
 cool, rimmed in pines, like a basin of opals." 
 
 When they reached the flat rock in the shade of the 
 pine tree, he took the reclamation plan from his inner 
 pocket and seated himself beside her. " This is Weather- 
 bee's drawing," he said. " See how carefully he worked in 
 the detail. This is the spring and that upper reservoir, 
 and this lower one is a natural dry basin up there under 
 that bluff, a little to the left of those granite chimneys; 
 you can see its rocky rim. All it needs is this short flume 
 sketched in here to bring the water down, and a sluice- 
 gate to feed the main canal that follows this bench we 
 are on. Spillways would irrigate a peach orchard along 
 this slope below us and seep out through this level around 
 us to supply home gardens and lawn. Just imagine it ! " 
 He paused, while her glance followed his brief compari- 
 sons, moving from the plan to the surface of the bench 
 and down over the slope to the vale. " Imagine this tract 
 at the end of four years ; a billowing sea of green ; with 
 peach trees in bearing on this mountainside; apples, the 
 finest Jonathans, Rome Beauties if you will, beginning to 
 make a showing down there. Water running, seeping 
 everywhere; strawberries carpeting the ground between 
 the boles ; alfalfa, cool and moist, filling in ; and even Cer- 
 berus off there losing his sinister shape in vineyards." 
 " Then it is feasible," she exclaimed softly, and the 
 
THE LOOPHOLE 145 
 
 sparkles broke subdued in her eyes. " And the price, Mr. 
 Tisdale; what would you consider a fair price for the 
 property as it stands now, unimproved? " 
 
 Tisdale rose. He paused to fold the drawing and put 
 it away, while his glance moved slowly down over the vale 
 to the goat-keeper's cabin and her browsing flock. " You 
 must see, Miss Armitage," he said then, " that idea of 
 Mr. Morganstein's to plat this land into five-acre tracts 
 for the market couldn't materialize. It is out of range 
 of the Wenatchee valley projects; it is inaccessible to the 
 railroad for the small farmer. Only the man with capital 
 to work it on a large scale could make it pay. And the 
 property is Mrs. Weatherbee's last asset ; she is in urgent 
 need of ready money. You should be able to make easy 
 terms with her, but I warn you, if it comes to bidding, I 
 am prepared to off*er seven thousand dollars." 
 
 He turned, frowning a little, to look down at her and, 
 catching those covert sparkles of her side-glance, smiled. 
 
 " You may have it," she said. 
 
 " Wait. Think it over," he answered. " I am going 
 down to the gap now to find the surveyor's monument and 
 trace the section line back to the top of the plateau. 
 Rest here, where it's cooler, and I will come down this 
 way for you when I am through. Think the project over 
 and take my word for the spring; it's well worth the in- 
 vestment." 
 
 Doubtless Miss Armitage followed his suggestion, for 
 she sat thoughtfully, almost absently, watching him down 
 the slope. At the foot of the vale, the goat-woman joined 
 him, and it was clear he again used his magic art, for 
 presently he had her chaining for him and holding an im- 
 pi*ovised flag, while he estimated the section line. But 
 finally, when they left the bed of the pocket and began to 
 cross-cut up the opposite mountainside, the girl rose and 
 looked in the direction of the spring. It was cooler; a 
 
146 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 breeze was drawing down from the upper ridge; a few 
 thin clouds like torn gauze veiled the sky overhead; the 
 blue lost intensity. She began to walk across the bench 
 towards the granite chimneys. In a little while she found 
 the dry reservoir, walled, where the plateau lifted, in the 
 semi-circular bluff; then she stopped at the foot of an 
 arid gully that rose between this basin and a small shoul- 
 der which supported the first needle. "This was the stair- 
 way she had seen Tisdale descend, and presently she com- 
 menced to climb it slowly, grasping bunches of the 
 tenacious sage or jutting points of rock to ease her 
 weight. 
 
 The stairs ended in a sharp incline covered with debris 
 from the decomposing pillars ; splinters of granite shifted 
 under her tread; she felt the edges cutting through her 
 shoes. Fragments began to rattle down ; one larger rock 
 crashed over the bluff into the dry basin. Then, at last, 
 she was on the level, fighting for breath. She turned, 
 trembling, and braced herself against the broken chimney 
 to look back. She shrank closer to the needle and shook 
 her head. It was as though she said : " I never could go 
 back alone." 
 
 But when her glance moved to the opposite mountain- 
 side, Tisdale was no longer in sight. And that shoulder 
 was very narrow; it presented a sheer front to the vale, 
 like the base of a monument, so that between the chimney 
 and the drop to the gully there was little room in which to 
 stand. She began to choose a course, picking her foot- 
 hold cautiously, zigzagging as she had seen Hollis do on 
 the slope above. Midway another knob jutted, supporting 
 a second pillar and a single pine tree, but as she came 
 under the chimney she was forced to hurry. Loose chip- 
 pings of granite started at every step. They formed lit- 
 tle torrents, undermining, rushing, threatening to sweep 
 her down; and she reached the ledge in a panic. Then 
 
THE LOOPHOLE 147 
 
 she felt the stable security of the pine against her body 
 and for a moment let herself go, sinking to the foot of the 
 tree and covering her eyes with her hands. 
 
 Up there a stiff wind was blowing, and presently she 
 saw the snow-peak she had missed in the vale. The ridge 
 lifted less abruptly from this second spur, and in a little 
 while she rose and pushed on, lagging sometimes, stum- 
 bling, to the level of the plateau. The Wenatchee range, 
 of which it was a part, stretched bleak and forbidding, 
 enclosing all those minor arid gulfs down to the final, long, 
 scarred headland set against the Columbia desert. She 
 was like a woman stranded, the last survivor, on an in- 
 hospitable coast. Turning to look across the valley of 
 the Wenatchee, she saw the blue and glaciered crests of 
 the Chelan mountains, and behind her, over the neck of a 
 loftier height, loomed other white domes. And there yes- 
 terday's thunder-caps, bigger and blacker, with fringed 
 edges, drove along the sky line. One purplish mass was 
 streaming like a sieve. For an interval the sun was ob- 
 scured, and her glance came back to the vale below where 
 Cerberus reclined, watchful, his tawny head lifted slightly 
 between two advanced paws. Suddenly the lower clouds 
 grew brilliant, and shafts of light breaking through 
 changed the mountain before her to a beast of brass. 
 
 She turned and began to pick her way through grease 
 brush and insistent sage towards a grove of pines. In a 
 little while she saw water shining through the trees. She 
 hesitated — it was as. though she had come to the thresh- 
 old of a sanctuary — then went on under the boughs to 
 the opal pool. 
 
 She remained in the grove a long time. When she re- 
 appeared, the desert eastward was curtained in a gray 
 film. Tom breadths of it, driven by some local current 
 of air, formed tented clouds along the promontory. It 
 was as though yesterday's army was marshalled against 
 
148 THE MM OF THE DESERT 
 
 other hosts that held the Chelan heights. A twilight in- 
 distinctness settled over the valley between. Rain, a 
 downpour, was near. She hurried on to the brow of the 
 plateau, but she dared not attempt to go down around 
 those crumbling chimneys alone. And Tisdale had said 
 he would come back this side of the vale. Any moment 
 he might appear. She turned to goi back to the shelter 
 of the pines. It was then a first electrical flash, like a 
 drawn sword, challenged the opposite ridge. Instantly a 
 searchlight from the encamped legions played over the 
 lower plain. She turned again, wavering, and began to 
 run on over the first dip of the slope and along to the first 
 pillar. There she stopped, leaning on the rock, trembling, 
 yet trying to force down her fear. It was useless ; she 
 could not venture over that stream of shifting granite. 
 She started back, then stopped, wavering again. After a 
 moment she lifted her voice in a clear, long call : " Mr. 
 Tis — da — le!" 
 
 " I'm coming ! " The answer rang surprisingly close, 
 from the gully above the basin. Soon she discovered him 
 and, looking up, he saw her standing clear-cut against a 
 cavernous, dun-colored cloud, which, gathering all lesser 
 drift into its gulf, drove low towards the plateau. She 
 turned her face, watching it, and it seemed to belch wind 
 like a bellows, for her skirt stiffened, and the loosened 
 chiffon veil, lifting from her shoulders, streamed like the 
 drapery of some aerial figure, poised there briefly on its 
 flight through space. Then began cannonading. Army 
 replied to army. The advancing film from the desert, 
 grown black, became an illuminated scroll; thin ribbons 
 of gold were traced on it, bowknots of tinsel. The pat- 
 tern changed continually. The legions repeated their fire ; 
 javelins, shafts, flew. Lightning passed in vertical bolts, 
 in sheets from ridge to ridge. Then the cloud approach- 
 ing the plateau spoke, and the curtain moving from the 
 
THE LOOPHOLE 149 
 
 Columbia became a wall of doom, in which great cracks 
 yawned, letting the light of eternity through. 
 
 The girl was flying down the slope to meet Tisdale. 
 She came with bent head, hands to her ears, skimming the 
 pitfalls. Under her light tread the loose debris hardly 
 stirred. Then, as he rounded the pillar, her pace slack- 
 ened. " I am afraid," she said and stumbled. " I am 
 afraid." And her trembling body sank against his arm; 
 she buried her face in his coat. " Take me away from this 
 terrible place." 
 
 Her impact had started the splintered granite moving, 
 but Hollis swung instantly and set his back to the crum- 
 bling chimney, clinging there, staying her with his arm, 
 until the slide stopped. 
 
 '' See here," he said, and his voice vibrated its soft un- 
 dernote, " you mustn't lose your grip. It's all right. 
 Old Mother Nature is just having one of her scolding fits. 
 She has to show the woman in her once in a while. But 
 it's going to end, any minute, in tears." 
 
 She lifted her face, and he paused, knitting his brows, 
 yet smiling a little, mastering the terror in her eyes with 
 his quiet, compelling gaze. " Come, Miss Armitage," he 
 said, " we must hurry. You will be wet through." 
 
 He took her hand and began to lead her quickly down 
 the rugged staircase. " Be careful," he admonished, 
 " this granite is treacherous." But she gave little heed to 
 her steps ; she looked back continually over her shoulder, 
 watching the dun cloud. Presently she tripped. Hollis 
 turned to steady her, and, himself looking up beyond her, 
 caught her in his arms and ran, springing, out of the 
 gully. 
 
 The ledge he reached formed the rim of the natural 
 reservoir and, measuring the distance with a swift glance, 
 he let himself over, easing the drop with one hand on the 
 rocky brink, while the other arm supported her. Mid- 
 
160 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 way, on a jutting knob, he gathered momentary foothold, 
 then swung to the bottom of the basin. 
 
 It was all done surely but with incredible haste, while 
 the cavernous cloud drew directly overhead. The next in- 
 stant, from its brazen depths, it spoke again. The whole 
 mountain seemed to heave. Then something mighty 
 crashed down. The basin suddenly darkened as though 
 a trap door had closed, and Tisdale, still shielding his 
 companion, stood looking up, listening, while the rever- 
 berations rang from slope to slope and filled the vale. 
 Then silence came. 
 
 Miss Armitage drew erect, though her hand rested un- 
 consciously on Tisdale's sleeve. The thing that roofed 
 the basin was black, impenetrably thick ; in it she saw no 
 possible loophole of escape. " This time," she faltered, 
 " Fate is against you." 
 
 Her breast rose and fell in deep, hurried breaths; in 
 the twilight of the basin her eyes, meeting his, shone like 
 twin stars. Tisdale's blood began to race; it rose full 
 tide in his veins. "Fate is with me," he answered, and 
 bent and kissed her mouth. 
 
 She shrank back, trembling, against the rocky wall ; she 
 glanced about her with the swift, futile manner of a crea- 
 ture helplessly trapped, then she pressed her fingers an 
 instant to her eyes and straightened. " You never will 
 forgive yourself," she said; not in anger, not in judgment, 
 but in a tone so low, so sad, it seemed to express not only 
 regret but finality. 
 
 Tisdale was silent. After a moment he turned to the 
 lower side of the basin, which afforded better foothold 
 than the wall he had descended, and began to work up from 
 niche to ledge, grasping a chance bunch of sage, a stunted 
 bush of chaparral that grew in a cranny, to steady him- 
 self. And the girl stood aloof, watching him. Finally 
 he reached a shelf that brought him in touch with the ob- 
 
THE LOOPHOLE 151 
 
 struction overhead and stopped to take out his pocket- 
 knife, with which he commenced to create a loophole. 
 Little twigs rained down; a larger branch fell, letting 
 the daylight through. The roof was a mesh of pine 
 boughs. 
 
 At last he closed his knife and, taking firm hold on a 
 fixed limb, leaned to reach his other palm down to her. 
 " Come," he said, " set your foot in that first niche — no, 
 the left one. Now, give me your hand." 
 
 She obeyed as she must, and HoUis pushed backward 
 through the aperture he had made, getting the bough un- 
 der one armpit. " Now, step to that j agged little spur ; 
 it's solid. The right one, too ; there's room." She gained 
 the upper ledge and waited, hugging the wall pluckily 
 while he worked out on the rim of the basin and, stretch- 
 ing full length, with the stem of the tree under his waist, 
 reached his arms down to her. " You will have to spring 
 a little," he directed, " and grip my shoulders hard. Now, 
 come ! " 
 
 At last she was safe beside him. In another moment he 
 was up and helped her to her feet. They stood looking 
 towards the mountain top. The dun cloud stalking now 
 with trailing skirts in the direction of the snow-peaks, 
 hurled back a parting threat. " It was the pine tree," 
 she exclaimed. " It was struck. And, see ! It has car- 
 ried down most of that chimney. Our staircase is com- 
 pletely wrecked." 
 
 Tisdale was silent. Her glance came back to him. 
 A sudden emotion stirred her face. Then all the con- 
 servatism dropped from her like a discarded cloak, and 
 he felt her intrepid spirit respond to his own. Now she 
 understood that moment in the basin ; she knew it had been 
 supreme; she was great enough to see there was nothing 
 to forgive. " You were right," she said, and her voice 
 broke in those steadying pauses that carried more expres- 
 
152 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 sion than any words. " Fate was with us again. But I 
 owe — my life — to you." 
 
 " Sometime," he answered slowly, smiling a little, " not 
 now, not here, I am going to hold you to the debt. And 
 when I do, you are going to pay me — in full." 
 
 The beautiful color, that was like the pink of coral, 
 flamed and went in her face. " We must hurry back to 
 the team," she said and turned to finish the descent to the 
 bench. " Horses are always so nervous in an electrical 
 storm." Then suddenly, as Tisdale pushed by to help 
 her in a difficult place, she stopped. " How strange ! " 
 she exclaimed. " That terrible curtain has lifted from 
 the desert. It threatened a deluge any minute, and now 
 it is moving off without a drop of rain." 
 
 " That's so," he replied. " A cross current of wind has 
 turned it up the Columbia. But the rain is there; it is 
 streaming along those Chelan summits in a downpour." 
 
 " And look ! " she cried, after a moment. " A double 
 rainbow ! See how it spans the Wenatchee ! It's a prom- 
 ise." And the turquoise lights shone once more in her 
 eyes. " Here in this desert, at last, I may come to my 
 * pot of gold.' " 
 
 " You mean," responded Tisdale, " now you have seen 
 the spring, Weatherbee's project seems possible to you. 
 Well, I have reconsidered, too. I shall not outbid you. 
 That would favor Mrs. Weatherbee too much. And my 
 interests are going to keep me in Alaska indefinitely. I 
 should be obliged to leave the plans in the hands of a 
 manager, and I had rather trust them to you." 
 
 Miss Armitage did not answer directly. She was 
 watching the arch, painted higher now, less brilliantly, on 
 the lifting film. The light had gone out of her face. 
 All the bench was in shadow; in the valley below a twi- 
 light indistinctness had fallen. Then suddenly once more 
 Cerberus stood forth like a beast of brass. She shivered. 
 
THE LOOPHOLE 153 
 
 " It isn't possible," she said. " It isn't possible. 
 Even if I dared — for David's sake — to assume the re- 
 sponsibility, I haven't the money to carry the project 
 through." 
 
 Tisdale stopped and swung around. They had reached 
 the flat rock under the sentinel pine tree. " Did you 
 know David Weatherbee? " he asked. 
 
 She was silent. He put his hands in his pockets and 
 stood regarding her with his upward look from under 
 slightly frowning brows. " So you knew David," he went 
 on. " In California, I presume, before he went to Alaska. 
 But why didn't you tell me so.? " 
 
 She waited another moment. In the great stillness 
 Hollis heard her labored breathing. She put out her 
 hand, steadying herself on the bole of the pine, then: 
 " I've wanted to tell you," she began. " I've tried to — 
 but — it was impossible to make you understand. I — I 
 hadn't the courage." 
 
 Her voice fluted and broke. The last word was almost 
 a whisper. She stood before Tisdale with veiled eyes, 
 breath still coming hard and quick, the lovely color deep- 
 ening and paling in her face, like a woman awaiting judg- 
 ment. And it came over him in a flash, with the strength 
 of conviction, that this beautiful, inscrutable girl wished 
 him to know she had loved Weatherbee. Incredible as it 
 seemed, she had been set aside for the Spanish woman. 
 And she had learned about David's project; he himself 
 perhaps had told her years ago in California. And 
 though his wife had talked with Morganstein about plat- 
 ting the land into five-acre tracts to dispose of quickly, 
 this woman had desired to see the property with a view to 
 carrying out his plans. That was why she had continued 
 the journey from Snoqualmie Pass alone. That was why 
 she had braved the mountain drive with him. She had 
 loved Weatherbee, This truth, sinking slowly, stifled his 
 
154 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 inner consciousness and, wrenched in a rising commotion, 
 something far down in the depths of him lost hold. He 
 had presumed to think, in the infinite scheme of things, 
 this one woman had been reserved for him. He had dared 
 to let her know he believed so ; he had taken advantage 
 of her helpless situation, on an acquaintance of two days. 
 His own color began to burn through the tan. " You 
 were right," he said at last, very gently, " I never can for- 
 give myself. I can't understand it ! " he broke out then, 
 " if you had been his wife, David Weatherbee would have 
 been safe with us here, to-day." 
 
 Miss Armitage started. She gave him a quick, search- 
 ing glance, then sank down upon the rock. She seemed 
 suddenly exhausted, like a woman who, hard-pressed in 
 the midst of peril, finds unexpectedly a friendly threshold. 
 
 Tisdale looked off to the brazen slopes of Cerberus. 
 It was the first time he had censured Weatherbee for any- 
 thing, and suddenly, while he brooded, protesting over 
 that one paramount mistake, he felt himself unaccount- 
 ably responsible. He was seized with a compelling desire 
 to, in some way, make it up to her. " Come," he said, 
 " you mustn't lose heart ; to-morrow, when you are rested, 
 it will look easier. And the question of ready money need 
 not trouble you. Mrs. Weatherbee has reached the point 
 where she has got to hedge on the future. Make her an 
 offer of five thousand dollars in yearly payments, say, of 
 fifteen hundred. She'll take it. Then, if you agree, I 
 will arrange a loan with a Seattle bank. I should allow 
 enough margin to cover the first reclamation expenses. 
 Your fillers of alfalfa and strawberries would bring swift 
 returns, and before your orchards came into bearing, your 
 vineyards would pay the purchase price on the whole 
 tract." 
 
 He turned to her, smiling, and surprised a despair in 
 her face that went to his heart. 
 
THE LOOPHOLE 155 
 
 " I thought, I hoped you meant to buy this land," she 
 said. 
 
 " So I did, so I do, unless you decide to. And if you 
 undertake this project, I pledge myself to see you 
 through." His voice caught a pleading undemote. " It 
 rests with you. Above every one it rests with you to even 
 things for Weatherbee. Isn't that clear to you? Look 
 ahead five years ; see this vale green and shady with or- 
 chards; the trees laden with harvest; imagine his wife 
 standing here on this bench, surveying it all. See her 
 waking to the knowledge she has let a fortune slip through 
 her hands ; see her, the purchase price spent, facing the 
 fact that another woman built her faith on David Weath- 
 erbee ; had the courage to carry out his scheme and found 
 it a bonanza. That is what is going to make her pun- 
 ishment strike home." 
 
 Miss Armitage rose. She stood a moment watching his 
 face, then, " How you hate her ! " she said. 
 
 " Hate? " Tisdale's laugh rang short and hard. 
 " Well, I grant it ; hate is the word. I hate her so much 
 I've known better than go where she was ; I've avoided 
 her as an electrician avoids charged wire. Still, if I 
 had found myself in Weatherbee's place; if I had made 
 his mistake and married her, she should have felt my 
 streak of iron. I might have stayed in Alaska as he did, 
 but she would have stayed too and made a home for me, 
 helped to fight things through." He paused and, meet- 
 ing the appeal in her eyes, his face softened. " I've dis- 
 tressed you again," he added. ^' I'm sorry ; but it isn't 
 safe for me to speak of that woman; the thought of her 
 starts my temperature rising in bounds. I want you to 
 help me forget her. Yet, down in the depths of your 
 heart you know you blame her." 
 
 " Yes, I blame her." Miss Armitage began to walk on 
 towards the edge of the bench. " I blame her, but not as 
 
156 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 you do. I know she tried to do right; she would have 
 gone to Alaska — if David had wished it — at the start. 
 And she's been courageous, too. She's smiled — laughed 
 in the face of defeat. Her closest friends never knew." 
 
 " You defend her. I wonder at that." Tisdale passed 
 her and turned to offer his help down the first abrupt 
 pitch. " How you, who are the one to censure her the 
 most, can speak for her always, as you do. But there you 
 are like Weatherbee. It was his way to take the losing 
 side; champion the absent." 
 
 " And there is where your resemblance stops," she an- 
 swered quickly. " He lacked your streak of iron. Of 
 course you know about your strange likeness to him, 
 Mr. Tisdale. It is so very marked; almost a dual per- 
 sonality. It isn't height and breadth of shoulder alone; 
 it's in the carriage, the turn of the head; and it creeps 
 into your eyes sometimes ; it gets into your voice. The 
 first time I saw you, it was startling." 
 
 Tisdale moved on, picking up the trail they had made in 
 ascending; the humor began to play reminiscently at the 
 comers of his mouth. " Yes, I know about that resem- 
 blance. When we were on the Tanana, it was ' Tisdale's 
 Twin ' and ' Dave's Double.' A man has to take a name 
 that fits up there, and we seemed to grow more alike every 
 day. But that often happens when two friends who are 
 accustomed to think in the same channels are brought into 
 continual touch, and the first year we spent in the north 
 together we were alone for weeks at a stretch, with no 
 other human intercourse, not a prospector's camp within 
 a hundred miles. The most incompatible partners, under 
 those circumstances, will pick up subconsciously tricks of 
 speech and gesture. Still, looking back, I see it was I 
 who changed. I had to live up to Weatherbee; justify 
 his faith in me." 
 
 Miss Armitage shook her head slowly. " That is hard 
 
THE LOOPHOLE 157 
 
 to believe. Whoever tried to mould jou would feel 
 through the surface that streak of iron." They had come 
 to another precipitous place, and Tisdale turned again 
 to give her the support of his hand. The position 
 brought his face on a level with hers, and involuntarily 
 she stopped. " But whatever you may say, Mr. Tisdale," 
 she went on, and as her palm rested in his the words gath- 
 ered the weight of a pact, " whatever may — happen — 
 I shall never forget your greatness to-day." She sprang 
 down beside him, and drew away her hand and looked back 
 to the summit they had left. " Still, tell me this," she 
 said with a swift breathlessness. *' If it had been David 
 Weatherbee's wife up there with you when the thunderbolt 
 struck, would it have made a difference.? I mean, would 
 you have left her to escape — or not — as she could? " 
 
 Tisdale waited a thoughtful moment. The ripple of 
 amusement was gone; the iron, so near the surface, 
 cropped through. " I can't answer that," he said. " I 
 do not know. A man is not always able to control a first 
 impulse, and before that pine tree fell there wasn't time to 
 hesitate." 
 
 At this she was silent. All her buoyancy, the charming 
 camaraderie that stopped just short of intimacy, had 
 dropped from her. It was as though the atmosphere 
 of that pocket rose and clung to her, enveloped her like a 
 nimbus, as she went down. In the pent heat her face 
 seemed cold. She had the appearance of being older. 
 The fine vertical line at the comer of her mouth, which 
 Tisdale had not noticed before, brought a tightness to his 
 throat when he ventured to look at her. How could 
 Weatherbee have been so blind? How could he have 
 missed the finer, spiritual loveliness of this woman? 
 Weatherbee, who himself had been so sensitive; whose in- 
 tuition was almost feminine. 
 
 They had reached the final step from the bench to the 
 
158 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 jfloor of the vale when HoUis spoke again. " If you do 
 decide to buy this land and open the project, I could 
 recommend a man who would make a trusty manager." 
 
 " Oh, you don't understand," she replied in desperation. 
 *' You don't understand. I should have to stay, to live 
 in this terrible place for weeks, months at a time. I 
 couldn't endure it. That dreadful mountain there at the 
 gap would forever be watching me, holding me in." 
 
 Tisdale looked at her, knitting his brows, " I told you 
 it was dangerous to allow yourself to feel the personality 
 of inanimate things too much." 
 
 *' I know. I know. And this terrible beast " — she 
 paused, trying to steady her voice ; her whole body trem- 
 bled — " would remind me constantly of those awful 
 Alaska peaks — the ones that crowded — threatened 
 him." 
 
 Tisdale's face cleared. So that was the trouble. 
 Now he understood. " Then it's all right " — - the minor 
 notes in his voice, vibrating softly, had the quality of a 
 caress — " don't worry any more. I am going to buy this 
 land of David's. Trust me to see the project through." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 HOPE is an insistent thing. It may be strangled, lie 
 cold and buried deep in the heart of a man, yet sud- 
 denly, without premonition, he may feel it rise and stretch 
 small hands, groping towards a ray of light. So in that 
 reminiscent hour while the train labored up through the 
 Cascades to the great tunnel, Tisdale told himself this 
 woman — the one woman for whom he must have been 
 waiting all these years, at whose coming old and cherished 
 memories had faded to shadows — was very near to lov- 
 ing him. Already she knew that those mysterious forces 
 she called Fate had impelled them out of their separate 
 orbits through unusual ways, to meet. Sometime — he 
 would not press her, he could be patient — but sometime 
 she would surely pay him that debt. 
 
 He dwelt with new interest on hfs resemblance to Weath- 
 erbee, and he told himself it was her constancy to David 
 that had kept her safe. Then it came over him that if 
 Weatherbee had married her instead of the Spanish 
 woman, that must have been an insurmountable barrier 
 between them to-day. As long as they lived, she must 
 have remained sacred on her pedestal, out of reach. But 
 how nobly partisan she was ; how ready to cross swords 
 for Weatherbee's wife. That was the incredible test ; her 
 capacity for loving was great. 
 
 The porter was turning on the lights. Tisdale moved a 
 little and looked across the aisle. For that one moment 
 he was glad Weatherbee had made his mistake. She 
 
160 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 was so incomparable, so adorable. Any other woman 
 must have lost attractiveness, shown at least the wear and 
 tear of that mountain journey, but her weariness appealed 
 to him as her buoyancy had not. She had taken off her 
 hat to rest her head on the high, cushioned back of the 
 seat, and the drooping curves of her short upper lip, the 
 blue shadows under those outward curling black lashes, 
 roused a new emotion, the paternal, in the depths of his 
 great heart. He wished to smooth her ruffled hair ; it was 
 so soft, so vital ; under the electric light it seemed to flash 
 little answering blue sparks. Then his glance fell to her 
 relaxed palms, open in her lap, and he felt a quick solici- 
 tude over a scratch the barbed fence must have made on 
 one small, determined thumb. 
 
 They had had trouble with the horses in the vale. Nip, 
 who had broken away during the storm, had been rounded 
 in by the goat-woman and her returning collie. The 
 travelers found her trying to extricate his halter which 
 had caught, holding him dangerously close, in the wire 
 fencing. It had taken caution and long patience to free 
 him, and more to hitch the excited team. The delay had 
 caused them to miss the westbound evening train; they 
 were forced to drive back and spend the night at Wenat- 
 chee. And the morning Oriental Limited was crowded 
 with delegates from some mystic order on an annual pil- 
 grimage. There was no room in the observation car; 
 Tisdale was able to secure only single seats on opposite 
 sides of the sleeper. 
 
 The train rumbled through the great tunnel and came 
 to a brief stop outside the west portal. It was snowing. 
 Some railroad laborers, repairing the track, worked in 
 overcoats and sweaters, hat brims drawn down, collars 
 turned up against the bitter wind. The porter opened 
 the transoms, and a piercing draught pulled through the 
 smoky, heat-laden car. Miss Armitage sat erect and in- 
 
"THE GODS WOULD DESTROY" 161 
 
 haled a full breath. She looked across at Tisdale, and the 
 sparkles broke softly in her eyes. " It's Wellington ! " 
 she exclaimed. " In a moment we shall be racing down to 
 Scenic Hot Springs and on along the Skykomish — home." 
 Then she stopped the porter. " Bring me a telegraph 
 blank, please. I want to send a message from the 
 Springs." 
 
 The limited, under way again, dropped below the cloud. 
 Great peaks and shoulders lifted everywhere; they began 
 to make the loop around an incredibly deep and fissure- 
 like gorge. It was a wonderful feat of railroad engineer- 
 ing; people on the other side of the car got to their feet 
 and came over to see. The girl, with the yellow blank in 
 her hand, drew close to Tisdale's elbow. " Oh, no," she 
 demurred, when he rose to offer his seat, " I only want 
 standing room just a moment. There's going to be a de- 
 lightful view of Scenic." 
 
 The passenger beside Hollis picked up his bag. " Take 
 my place," he said. " I am getting off at the Springs." 
 
 Then presently, when she had moved into the vacated 
 seat next the window, the peaks stood apart, and far, far 
 below the untouched forest at the summer resort stood 
 out darkly, with the gay eaves and gables of the hotel 
 etched on it like a toy Swiss chalet on a green plateau. 
 
 " Oh," she cried softly, " it never seemed as charming 
 before; but, of course, it is coming, as we have, straight 
 from the hot desert. There's the coolest, fragrant wood 
 road down there, Mr. Tisdale, from the hotel to Surprise 
 Falls. It follows the stream past deep green pools and 
 cascades breaking among the rocks. Listen. We should 
 hear the river now." 
 
 Tisdale smiled. There was nothing to be heard but the 
 echo of the running trucks and the scream of the whistle 
 repeated from cliff and spur. They were switchbacking 
 down the fire-scarred front of a mountain. He bent a lit- 
 
162 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 tie to look beyond her. It was as though they were coast- 
 ing down a tilted shelf in an oblique wall, and over the 
 blackened skeletons of firs he followed the course of the 
 river out through crowding blue buttes. Returning, his 
 glance traced the track, cross-cutting up from the gorge. 
 
 " I know Surprise Falls," he said ; " and the old Sky- 
 komish from start to finish. There's a point below the 
 Springs where the current boils through great flumes of 
 granite into a rocky basin. Long before the hotel was 
 thought of, I fished that pool." 
 
 " I know ! I know ! " she responded, glowing. " We 
 — Miss Morganstein and her brother and I — found it 
 this summer. We had to work down-stream across those 
 fissures to reach it, but it was worth the trouble. There 
 never was another such pool. It was like a mighty bowl 
 full of dissolving emeralds; and the trout loved it. We 
 caught twenty, and we built a fire on the rocks and cooked 
 them. It was delightfully cool and shady. It was one of 
 those golden days one never forgets ; I was sorry when it 
 was gone." She paused, the high wave of her excitement 
 passed. " I never could live in that treeless country," she 
 went on. " Water, running as God made it, plenty of it, 
 is a necessity to me. But please take your seat, Mr. Tis- 
 dale." She settled back in her place and began to date her 
 telegram. " I am just sending the briefest message to let 
 Mrs. Feversham know where I am." 
 
 " The porter is coming back for it now," he answered. 
 " And thank you, but I am going in the smoking- 
 car." 
 
 As he approached the vestibule, he caught her reflection 
 in the mirror at the end of the sleeper. She was looking 
 after him, and she leaned forward a little with parted lips, 
 as though she had started to call him back, but her eyes 
 clouded in uncertainty; then suddenly, the sparkle rose. 
 It suff*used her whole face. She had met his glance in the 
 
"THE GODS WOULD DESTROY" 163 
 
 glass. And the porter was waiting. She settled herself 
 once more and devoted herself to the telegram. 
 
 The lines in Tisdale's face deepened mellowly. He be- 
 lieved that, now they were so near their journey's end, she 
 wanted to be sure of an opportunity to thank him some 
 more. " I am coming back," he said inwardly, address- 
 ing the woman in the mirror, " but I must have a smoke to 
 keep my pulse normal." 
 
 But he did not return to the sleeper, for the reason that 
 at Scenic Hot Springs the Seattle papers were brought 
 aboard. The copy of the Press he bought contained the 
 account of the accident in Snoqualmie Pass. The illus- 
 trations were unusually clear, and Daniels' cuts were sup- 
 plemented by another labelled : " The Morganstein party 
 leaving Vivian Court," which also designated the group. 
 
 (Mrs. Feversham, wife of the special delegate from Alaska, 
 
 in the tonneau. 
 Her sister. Miss Morganstein, on her right. 
 Mrs. Weatherbee seated in front. 
 Frederic Morganstein driving the car.) 
 
 And under the central picture Hollis read : " Mrs. 
 Weatherbee (Miss Armitage?), as she drove the machine 
 into the embankment." 
 
 The paper rattled a little in his hands. His face flamed, 
 then settled gray and very still. Except that his eyes 
 moved, flashing from the photographs to the headlines, he 
 might have been a man hewn of granite. " One more 
 reason why the Snoqualmie highway should be improved," 
 he read. " Narrow escape of the Morganstein party. 
 Mrs. Weatherbee's presence of mind." And, half-way 
 down the page, " Mrs. Weatherbee modestly assumes an 
 incognito when interviewed by a representative of the 
 Fress.^^ 
 
 But Tisdale did not look at the story. He crushed the 
 
164 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 newspaper into the comer of his seat and turned his face 
 to the window. His cigar had gone out. He laid it 
 mechanically on the sill. So, this was the woman who had 
 wrecked David Weatherbee; who had cast her spell over 
 level-headed Foster; and already, in the less than three 
 days he had known her, had made a complete idiot of him. 
 Suppose Foster should hear about that drive through the 
 mountains that had cost him over seven hundred dollars ; 
 suppose Foster should know about that episode in the 
 basin on Weatherbee's own ground. A great revulsion 
 came over him. 
 
 Presently he began to take up detail after detail of that 
 journey. Now he saw the real impulse that had led her to 
 board the eastbound train in Snoqualmie Pass. She had 
 recognized him, conjectured he was on his way to find that 
 tract of Weatherbee's ; and she had determined to go over 
 the land with him, cajole him into putting the highest esti- 
 mate possible on the property. Even now, there in the 
 sleeper, she was congratulating herself no doubt on the 
 success of her scheme. 
 
 At the thought of the ease with which he had allowed 
 himself to be ensnared, his muscles tightened. It was as 
 though the iron in the man took shape, shook off the 
 veneer, encased him like a coat of mail. Hitherto, in 
 those remote Alaska solitudes, this would have meant the 
 calling to account of some transgressor in his camp. He 
 began to sift for the prime element in this woman's wonder- 
 ful personality. It was not physical beauty alone ; neither 
 was it that mysterious magnetism, almost electrical, yet 
 delicately responsive as a stringed instrument. One of 
 these might have kept that tremendous hold on Weatherbee 
 near, but on Weatherbee absent through those long, break- 
 ing years, hardly. It was something deeper; something 
 elusive yet insistent that had made it easier for him to 
 brave out his defeat alone in the Alaska wilderness than 
 
"THE GODS WOULD DESTROY" 165 
 
 come back to face. Clearly she was not just the handsome 
 animal he had believed her to be. Had she not called her- 
 self proud? Had he not seen her courage? She had a 
 spirit to break. A soul ! 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 IT was not the first time Jimmie Daniels had enter- 
 tained the Society Editor at the Rathskeller, and that 
 Monday, though he had invited her to lunch with him in 
 the Venetian room, she asked him, as was her habit, to 
 " order for both." 
 
 " Isn't there something special you'd like ? " he asked 
 generously ; " something you haven't had for a long time? " 
 
 " No. You are so much of an epicure — for a literary 
 person — I know it's sure to be something nice. Besides," 
 and the shadow of a smile drifted across her face, " it saves' 
 me guessing the state of your finances." 
 
 A critic would have called Geraldine Atkins too slender 
 for her height, and her face, notwithstanding its girlish 
 freshness, hardly pretty. The chin, in spite of its dimple, 
 was too strong; the lips, scarlet as a holly berry, lacked 
 fullness and had a trick of closing firmly over her white 
 teeth. Even her gray-blue eyes, which should have been a 
 dreamer's, had acquired a direct intensity of expression as 
 though they were forever seeking the inner, real you. 
 Still, from the rolling brim of her soft felt hat to the hem 
 of her brown tailor-made, that cleared the ankles of trim 
 brown shoes, she was undeniably chic and in the eyes of 
 Jimmie Daniels " mighty nice." 
 
 He was longer than usual filling out the card, and the 
 waiter hesitated thoughtfully when he had read it, then 
 he glanced from the young man to his companion with a 
 comprehensive smile and hurried away. There was chilled 
 
"A LITTLE STREAK OF LUCK" 167 
 
 grapefruit in goblets with cracked ice, followed by bou- 
 illon, oysters, and a delectable young duck with toast. 
 But it was only when the man brought a small green bottle 
 and held it for Jimmie to approve the label that his guest 
 began to arch her brows. 
 
 Daniels smiled his ingenuous smile. " It's just to cele- 
 brate a little streak of luck," he said. " And I owe it to 
 you. If you hadn't been at Vivian Court to write up the 
 decorations for that bridge-luncheon and happened to 
 make that snap-shot of the Morganstein party, my lead- 
 ing lady would have gone to the paper as Miss Armitage 
 straight, and I guess that would have queered me with the 
 chief. But that headline you introduced about Mrs. 
 Weatherbee's incognito struck him right. ' Well, Jimmie,' 
 he said, ' you've saved your scalp this time.' " 
 
 The Society Editor smiled. " You were a gullible kid- 
 die," she replied. " But it's a mystery to me how you 
 could have lived in Seattle three years without knowing the 
 prettiest woman on the boulevard by sight." 
 
 Jimmie shook his head. " I haven't the shadow of an 
 excuse, unless it was because another girl was running such 
 a close second she always cut off my view." 
 
 " Think," said Miss Atkins quickly, disregarding the 
 excuse, "' if that name. Miss Armitage, had been tagged 
 to a picture that half the town would have recognized. 
 Mrs. Weatherbee is the most popular lady, socially, in 
 Seattle. When there's a reception for a new Council, she's 
 always in the receiving line; she pours tea at the tennis 
 tournament, and it was she who led the cotillion at the 
 Charity ball. You would find her name in all the impor- 
 tant affairs, if you read the society column." 
 
 Daniels nodded meekly. " It was a hairbreadth es- 
 cape, and I'm mighty grateful." 
 
 There was a little silence then, but after the waiter had 
 filled the long-stemmed glasses and hurried away, she said 
 
168 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 slowly, her gray-blue eyes sifting Jimmie through and 
 through : " It looks like you've been playing cards for 
 money, but I never should have suspected it — of you." 
 
 Daniels shook his head gravely. " No get-rich-quick 
 games for me. My luck doesn't come that way. But it 
 cost me nearly two thousand dollars to find it out. I've 
 always meant to tell you about that, sometime. That 
 two thousand dollars was all my capital when I came to 
 Seattle to take my course in journalism. I expected it 
 to see me through. But, well, it was my first week at the 
 University — fortunately I had paid the expenses of the 
 first semester in advance — when one night a couple of 
 fellows I knew brought me down to see the town. I didn't 
 know much about a city then ; I had grown up over in the 
 sage-brush country, and I never had heard of a high- 
 ball. To start with I had two, then I got interested in a 
 game of roulette, and the last I remember I was learning 
 to play poker. But I must have had more high-balls ; the 
 boys said afterwards they left me early in the evening with 
 a new acquaintance; they couldn't get me to go home. I 
 never knew how I got back to the dorm, and the next day, 
 when I woke, the stubs of my checkbook showed I had 
 signed practically all of my two thousand away." 
 
 There was a brief silence. Out in the main room the 
 orchestra began to play. Miss Atkins was looking at 
 Jimmie, and her scarlet lips were closed like a straight 
 cord. 
 
 He drew his hand over his smooth, close-cut, dark hair 
 and took a long draught from his glass of ice-water. " I 
 can't make you understand how I felt about it," he went 
 on, " but that two thousand was the price of my father's 
 ranch over near the Columbia. It stood for years of 
 privation, heart-breaking toil, and disappointment — 
 the worst kind. Two seasons of drouth we saw the whole 
 wheat crop blister and go to ruin. I carried water in 
 
"A LITTLE STREAK OF LUCK" 169 
 
 buckets from the river up to that plateau day after day, 
 just to keep our home garden and a little patch of grass 
 alive. And mother carried too up that breaking slope in 
 the desert sun. It was thinking of that made me — all 
 in. She worked the same way with the stock. Something 
 lacking in the soil affected the feed, and some of the calves 
 were born without hair; their bones were soft. It baffled 
 my father and every man along that rim of the desert, but 
 not mother. She said doctors prescribed lime for rickety 
 human babies, and she made limewater and mixed it with 
 the feed. It was just the thing. She was a small woman, 
 but plucky from start to finish. And we. Dad and I, 
 didn't know what it was costing her — till she was gone." 
 
 There was another silence. In the orchestra, out be- 
 yond the palms and screens of the Venetian room, the first 
 violin was playing the Hwmoresque. The girl leaned for- 
 ward slightly, watching Jimmie's face. Her lips were 
 parted, and an unexpected sympathy softened her eyes. 
 
 " She had been a school teacher back in Iowa," he re- 
 sumed, " and long winter evenings and Sundays when she 
 could, she always had her books out. Up to the year I 
 was twenty, she taught me all I knew. She tried her 
 best to make a man of me, and I can see now how she 
 turned my mind to journalism. She said some day there 
 was going to be an opening for a newspaper right there in 
 the Columbia desert. Where a great river received the 
 waters of another big stream, there was bound to be a 
 city. She saw farther than we did. The High Line canal 
 was only a pipe dream then, but she believed it would 
 come true. When she died, we hadn't the heart to stay 
 on with the ranch, so Dad gave it to me, to sell for what 
 I could get, and went back to Iowa. He said he had 
 promised her he would give me a chance at the State Uni- 
 versity, and that was the best he could do. And, well, you 
 see I had to come to the U. of W. to stay, and I was used 
 
170 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 to work. I did all sorts of stunts out of hours and man- 
 aged to pull through the second semester. Then I hiked 
 over the mountains to the Wenatchee valley and earned 
 enough that summer vacation to tide me over the next 
 year. I had a friend there in the sage-brush country, a 
 station agent named Bailey, who had blown a thousand 
 dollars into a tract of desert land he hadn't seen off the 
 map. He was the kind of fellow to call himself all kinds 
 of a fool, then go ahead and make that ground pay his 
 money back. He saw a way to bring it under irrigation 
 and had it cleared and set to apples. But, while he was 
 waiting for the trees to grow, he put in fillers of alfalfa 
 and strawberries. He was operating for the new Mil- 
 waukee railroad then, and hired me to harvest his crops. 
 They paid my wages and the two Japs I had to help, with 
 a snug profit. And his trees were doing fine ; thrifty, every 
 one in the twenty acres. Last year they began to bear, 
 only a few apples to a tree, but for flavor and size fit for 
 Eden. This year he is giving up his position with the 
 Milwaukee; his orchards are going to make him rich. 
 And he wrote me the other day that the old ranch I threw 
 away is coming under the new High Line ditch. The com- 
 pany that bought it has platted it into fruit tracts. 
 Think of that! Trees growing all over that piece of 
 desert. Water running to waste, where mother and I 
 carried it in buckets through the sand, in the sweltering 
 heat, up that miserable slope." 
 
 The Society Editor drew a full breath and settled back 
 in her chair. Her glance fell to her glass, and she laid 
 her fingers on the thin stem. Jimmie refreshed himself 
 again with the ice-water. " I didn't mean to go into the 
 story so deep," he said, " but you are a good listener." 
 
 " It was worth listening to," she answered earnestly. 
 " I've always wondered about your mother ; I knew she 
 must have been nice. But you must simply hate the sight 
 
"A LITTLE STREAK OF LUCK" 171 
 
 of cards now. I am sorry I said what I did. And I don't 
 care how it happened, here is to that ' Little Streak of 
 Luck.' May it lead to the great pay-streak." 
 
 She reached her glass out for Jimmie to touch with his, 
 then raised it to her lips. Daniels drank and held his 
 glass off to examine the remaining liquor, like a connois- 
 seur. " I play cards a little sometimes," he confessed ; 
 " on boats and places where I have to kill time. But," 
 and he brightened, " it was this way about that streak of 
 luck. I was detailed to write up the new Yacht Club 
 quarters at West Seattle, with illustrations to show the 
 finer boats at the anchorage and, while I was on the land- 
 ing making an exposure of the Morganstein yacht, a 
 tender put off with a message for me to come aboard. 
 Mr. Morganstein had seen me from the deck, where he was 
 nursing his injured leg. He was lonesome, I suppose. 
 There was no one else in sight, though as I stepped over 
 the side, I heard a victrola playing down below. ' How 
 are you ?' he said. * Have a seat.' Then he scowled down 
 the companionway and called : ' Elizabeth, stop that in- 
 fernal machine, will you ? ' 
 
 " The music was turned off, and pretty soon Miss Mor- 
 ganstein came up the stairs. She was stunning, in a 
 white sailor suit with red fixings, eyes black as midnight ; 
 piles of raven hair. But as soon as he had introduced us, 
 and she had settled his pillows to suit him — he was lying 
 in one of those invalid chairs — he sent her off to mix a 
 julep or something. Then he said he presumed we were 
 going to have a fine cut of the Aquila in the Sunday paper, 
 if I was the reporter who made that exposure at the time 
 of the accident to his car. I told him yes, I was Daniels, 
 representing the Press, and had the good fortune to be in 
 Snoqualmie Pass that day. ' I was sure of it,' he said. 
 * Watched you over there with these binoculars.' He put 
 the glasses down on a table and opened a drawer and took 
 
172 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 out his fountain-pen and checkbook. ' That write-up was 
 so good,' he said, handing me the blank he had filled, ' I 
 want to make you a little present. But you are the first 
 Press reporter I ever gave anything to, and I want this 
 kept quiet.' 
 
 " I thanked him, but when I looked at that check I woke 
 up. It was for a cool hundred dollars. I tried to make 
 him take it back ; I told him my paper was paying me ; be- 
 sides, I couldn't accept all the credit; that you had fixed 
 up the story and put the names right, and the first cut 
 was yours. ' Never mind,' he said, ' I have something 
 else for your society miss to do. I am going to have her 
 describe my new country place, when it's all in shape. 
 Takes a woman to get hold of the scenery and color 
 schemes.' Then he insisted I had earned the extra money. 
 Not one man in a hundred would have been quick enough 
 to make that exposure, and the picture was certainly fine 
 of the whole group. In fact, he wanted that film of the 
 car swinging into the embankment. He wanted to have 
 an enlargement made." 
 
 " I see," said Miss Atkins slowly, " I see." She paused, 
 scooping the crest from her pineapple ice, then added: 
 " Now we are getting to the core." 
 
 " I told him it belonged to the paper, but I thought I 
 would be able to get it for him," Jimmie resumed. " And 
 he asked me to bring it down to Pier Number Three just 
 before four this afternoon. The Aquila was starting for 
 a little cruise around Bainbridge Island to his country 
 place, and if I wanted to work in something about her 
 equipment and speed, I might sail as far as the Navy 
 Yard, where they would make a short stop. Then he men- 
 tioned that Hollis Tisdale might be aboard, and possibly 
 I would be able to pick up a little information on the coal 
 question. These Government people were ' non-commit- 
 tal,' he said, but there was a snug comer behind the awn- 
 
"A LITTLE STREAK OF LUCK" 173 
 
 ings aft, where in any case I could work up my Yacht Club 
 copy." 
 
 " So," remarked the Society Editor slowly, " it's a 
 double core." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ON BOARD THE AQUILA 
 
 TISDALE'S rooms were very warm, that afternoon. 
 It was another of those rare, breezeless days, an 
 aftermath of August rather than the advent of Indian 
 summer, and the sun streamed in at the western windows. 
 His injured hand, his whole feverish body, protested 
 against the heat. The peroxide which he had applied to 
 the hurt at Wenatchee had brought little relief, and that 
 morning the increased pain and swelling had forced him to 
 consult a surgeon, who had probed the wound, cut a little, 
 bandaged it, and announced curtly that it looked like in- 
 fection. 
 
 " But I can't afford to nurse this hand " — Hollis rose 
 from the couch where he had thrown himself when he came 
 in from the doctor's office — " I ought to be using it now." 
 He went over and drew the blinds, but the atmosphere 
 seemed more stifling. He needed air, plenty of it, clean 
 and fresh in God's out-of-doors; it was being penned in 
 these close rooms that raised his temperature. He pulled 
 the shades up again and took a turn across the floor. 
 Then he noticed the crumpled note which, aimed left- 
 handedly, had missed the waste basket earlier, when he 
 opened his mail, and he* went over and picked it up. He 
 stood smoothing it on his desk. A perfume, spicy yet 
 suggestive of roses, pervaded the sheet, which was written 
 in a round, firm, masculine hand, under the gilt monogram, 
 M. F. His glance ran through the lines : 
 
 " I am writing for my brother, Frederic Morganstein, 
 who is recuperating aboard his yacht, to ask you to join us 
 
ON BOARD THE AQUILA 175 
 
 on a little cruise around Bainbridge Island this afternoon 
 at four o'clock. Ever since his interests have been identi- 
 fied with Alaska, he has hoped to know you personally, and 
 he wishes particularly to meet you now, to thank you for 
 your services in Snoqualmie Pass. In the general con- 
 fusion after the accident I am afraid none of us remem- 
 bered to. 
 
 " We expect to touch at the Navy Yard and again at 
 Frederic's new villa to see how the work is coming on, but 
 the trip should not take longer than four hours, and we 
 are dining informally on board. 
 
 " Do not trouble to answer. If the salt air is a strong 
 enough lure this warm day, you will find the Aquila at 
 Pier Three. 
 
 " Very truly yours, 
 
 " Marcia Feversham. 
 " Tuesday, September seventh." 
 
 " That floating palace ought to stir up some breeze." 
 Tisdale crumpled the invitation again and dropped it de- 
 liberately in the waste basket. " And to-morrow I shall 
 be shut up on my eastbound train." He looked at his 
 watch ; there was still half an hour to spare before the time 
 of sailing. " After all, why not ? " 
 
 A little later, when he had hurried into white flannels 
 as expeditiously as possible with his disabled hand, the 
 suggestion crept to his inner consciousness that he might 
 find Mrs. Weatherbee aboard the Aquila. " Well, why 
 not.? " he asked himself again. " Why not.? " and picked 
 up his hat. 
 
 So he came to Pier Number Three and, looking down 
 the gangway as he crossed, saw her standing in the little 
 group awaiting him on the after deck. Morganstein 
 spoke to him and introduced him to the ladies. He did 
 not avoid her look and, under his appraising eyes, he saw 
 the color begin to play in her face. Then her glance fell 
 to his bandaged hand, and an inquiry rushed to her lips. 
 
176 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 But she checked the words in time and drew slowly aloof 
 to a seat near the rail. 
 
 Tisdale took a place near the reclining chair of his host. 
 When she ventured to give him a swift side-glance, his 
 mouth set austerely. But the space between them became 
 electrical. It was as though wireless messages passed 
 continually between them. 
 
 " Look back. See how often I tried to tell you I My 
 courage failed. Believe in me. I am not the monster 
 you thought." 
 
 And always the one response : " The facts are all against 
 you." 
 
 Duwamish Head had dropped from sight; Magnolia 
 Bluff fell far astern, and the Aquila steamed out into the 
 long, broad reach of Puget Sound; but though the tide 
 had turned, there was still no wind. The late sun touched 
 the glassy swells with the changing effect of a prism. 
 The prow of the craft shattered this mirror, and her wake 
 stretched in a ragged and widening crack. But under 
 the awnings Frederic Morganstein's guests found it de- 
 lightfully cool. Only Jimmie Daniels, huddled on a stool 
 in the glare, outside the lowered curtain that cut him off 
 from the breeze created by the motion of the yacht, felt 
 uncomfortably warm. 
 
 The representative of the Press had arrived on board 
 in time to see Tisdale come down the pier and had dis- 
 creetly availed himself of the secluded place that the fin- 
 ancier had previously put to his disposal. He had heard 
 it told at the newspaper office that Tisdale, whose golden 
 statements were to furnish his little scoop, Hollis Tisdale 
 of Alaska and the Geographical Survey, who knew more 
 about the coal situation than any other man, was also the 
 most silent, baffling sphinx on record when it came to an 
 interview. 
 
 At the moment the AqmLa came into the open, the Jap- 
 
ON BOARD THE AQUILA 177 
 
 anese boy placed a bowl of punch, with pleasant clinking 
 of ice, on the wicker table before Mrs. Feversham, who be- 
 gan to serve it. Like Elizabeth's, the emblems on her 
 nautical white costume were embroidered in scarlet, and a 
 red silk handkerchief was knotted loosely on her full, boy- 
 ish chest. She was not less striking, and indeed she be- 
 lieved this meeting on the deck of the yacht, where for- 
 malities were quickly abridged, would appeal to the out- 
 of-doors man and pave the way to a closer acquaintance 
 in Washington. But Tisdale's glance involuntarily 
 moved beyond to the woman seated by the rail. Her head 
 was turned so that he caught the finely chiseled profile, the 
 outward sweep of black lashes, the adorable curve of the 
 oval chin to meet the throat. She too wore the conven- 
 tional sailor suit, but without color, and this effect of 
 purity, the inscrutable delicacy of her, seemed to set her 
 apart from these dark, materialistic sisters as though she 
 had strayed like a lost vestal into the wrong atmosphere. 
 His brows relaxed. For a moment the censor that had 
 come to hold dominion in his heart was off guard. He 
 felt the magnetism of her personality drawing him once 
 more ; he desired to cross the deck to her, drop a word into 
 those deep places he had discovered, and see her emo- 
 tions stir and overflow. Then suddenly the enthusiasm, 
 for which during that drive through the mountains he had 
 learned to watch, broke in her face. " Look ! " she ex- 
 claimed softly. " See Rainier ! " 
 
 Every one responded, but Tisdale started from his 
 chair, and went over and stood beside her. There, south- 
 ward, through golden haze, with the dark and wooded 
 bluffs of Vashon Island flanking the deep foreground of 
 opal sea, the dome lifted like a phantom peak. " It 
 doesn't seem to belong to our world," she said, and her 
 voice held its soft minor note, "but a vision of some 
 higher, better country." 
 
178 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 She turned to give him her rare, grave look, and in- 
 stantly his eyes telegraphed appreciation. Then he re- 
 membered. The swift revulsion came over him. He 
 swung on his heel to go back to his chair, and the unex- 
 pected movement brought him in conjunction with the 
 punch tray. The boy righted it dexterously, and she took 
 the offered glass and settled again in her seat. But from 
 his place across the deck, Tisdale noticed a drop had 
 fallen, spreading, above the hem of her white skirt. The 
 red stain held his austere gaze. It became a symbol of 
 blood ; on the garment of the vestal the defilement of sacri- 
 fice. 
 
 She was responsible for Weatherbee's death. He must 
 not forget that. And he saw through her. Now he saw. 
 Had she not known at the beginning he was an out-of- 
 doors man? That he lived his best in the high spaces 
 close to Nature's heart? And so determined to win him 
 in this way? She had meant to win him. Even yet, she 
 could not trust alone to his desire to see David's project 
 through, but threw in the charm of her own personality to 
 swing the balance. Oh, she understood him. At the start 
 she had read him, measured him, sounded him through. 
 That supreme moment, at the crisis of the storm, had she 
 not lent herself to the situation, counting the price? At 
 this thought, the heat surged to his face. He wished in 
 that instant to punish her, break her, but deeper than his 
 anger with her burned a fury against himself. That he 
 should have allowed her to use him, make a fool of him. 
 He who had blamed Weatherbee, censured Foster, for 
 less. 
 
 Then Marcia Feversham took advantage of the silence 
 and, at her first statement, Jimmie Daniels sat erect; he 
 forgot his thirst, the discomfort of his position, and 
 opened his notebook on his knee. " I understand your 
 work this season was in the Matanuska coal region, Mr. 
 
ON BOARD THE AQUILA 179 
 
 Tisdale ; you must be able to guess a little nearer than the 
 rest of us as to the outcome of the Naval tests. Is it the 
 Copper River Northwestern or the Prince William De- 
 velopment Company that is to have the open door? " 
 
 Tisdale's glance moved from the opal sea to the lady's 
 face ; the genial lines crinkled faintly at the comers of 
 his eyes. " I believe the Bering and Matanuska coal 
 will prove equally good for steaming purposes," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 Frederic Morganstein grasped the arms of his chair 
 and moved a little, risking a twinge of pain, to look 
 squarely at Tisdale. " You mean the Government may 
 conserve both? " His voice was habituall}^ thick and de- 
 liberate, as though the words had difficulty to escape his 
 heavy lips. " That, sir, would lock the shackles on every 
 resource in Alaska. Guess you've seen how construction 
 and development are forced to a standstill, pending the 
 coal decision. Guess you know our few finished miles of 
 railroad, built at immense expense and burdened with an 
 outrageous tax, are operating under imported coal. 
 Placed an order with Japan in the spring for three thou- 
 sand tons." 
 
 " Think of it ! " exclaimed Marcia. " Coal from the 
 Orient, the lowest grade, when we should be exporting the 
 best. Think of the handicap, the injustice put upon those 
 pioneer Alaskans who fought tremendous obstacles to 
 open the interior ; who paved the way for civilization." 
 
 Tisdale's face clouded. " I am thinking of those 
 pioneers, madam, and I believe the Government is going 
 to. Present laws can be easily amended and enforced to 
 fit nearly every situation until better ones are framed. 
 The settler and prospector should have privileges, but at 
 the same time the Government must put some restriction 
 on speculation and monopoly." 
 
 Behind the awning Jimmie's pencil was racing down the 
 
180 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 page, and Morganstein dropped his head back on the pil- 
 low; a purplish flush rose in his face. 
 
 " The trouble is," Hollis went on evenly, " each senator 
 has been so over-burdened with the bills of his own State 
 that Alaska has been side-tracked. But I know the Presi- 
 dent's interest is waking ; he wants to see the situation in- 
 telligently ; in fact, he favors a Government-built railroad 
 from the coast to the upper Yukon. And I believe as 
 soon as a selection is made for naval use, some of those old 
 disputed coal claims — some, not all — will be allowed. 
 Or else — Congress must pass a bill to lease Alaska coal 
 lands." 
 
 " Lease Alaska coal lands ? " Frederic started up 
 again so recklessly he was forced to sink back with a 
 groan. " Do you mean we won't be allowed to mine any 
 coal in Alaska, in that case, except by lease? " And he 
 added, turning his cheek to the pillow, " Oh, damn ! " 
 
 Tisdale seemed not to have heard the question. His 
 glance moved slowly again over the opal sea and rested 
 on the shining ramparts of the Olympics, off the port 
 bow. " Constance ! " he exclaimed mellowly. " The 
 Brothers ! Eleanor ! " Then he said whimsically : 
 " Thank God they can't set steam-shovels to work there 
 and level those peaks and fill the canyons. Do you 
 know.?" — his look returned briefly and the genial lines 
 deepened — " those mountains were my playground when 
 I was a boy. My last hunting trip, the year I finished col- 
 lege, came to an untimely end up there in the gorge of the 
 Dosewallups. You see it.^* That shaded contour cross- 
 cutting the front of Constance." 
 
 Elizabeth, who had opened her workbag, looked up with 
 sudden interest. " Was there an accident ? " she asked. 
 ** Something desperate and thrilling? " 
 
 " It seemed so to me," he said. 
 
 Then Mrs. Weatherbee rose and came over to the port 
 
ON BOARD THE AQUILA 181 
 
 rail. " I see," she said, and shaded her eyes with her 
 hand. " You mean where that gold mist rises between 
 that snow slope and the blue rim of that lower, nearer 
 mountain. And you had camped in that gorge" — hei 
 hand dropped; she turned to him expectantly — "with 
 friends, on a hunting trip.? " 
 
 He paused a moment then answered slowly : *' Yes, 
 madam, with one of them. Sandy, our old camp cook, 
 made a third in the party." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 
 
 TISDALE paused another moment, while his far-seeing 
 gaze sifted the shadows of Constance, then began: 
 " We had made camp that afternoon, at the point where 
 Rocky Brook tumbles over the last boulders to join the 
 swift current of the Dosewallups. I am something of an 
 angler, and Sandy knew how to treat a Dolly Varden to 
 divide honors with a rainbow; so while the others were 
 pitching the tents, it fell to me to push up stream with 
 my rod and flies. The banks rose in sharp pitches under 
 low boughs of fir, hemlock, or cedar, but I managed to keep 
 well to the bed of the stream, working from boulder to 
 boulder and stopping to make a cast wherever a riffle 
 looked promising. Finally, to avoid an unusually deep 
 pool, I detoured around through the trees. It was very 
 still in there; not even the cry of a jay or the drum of a 
 woodpecker to break the silence, until^* suddenly I heard 
 voices. Then, in a tangle of young alder, I picked up a 
 trail and came soon on a group of squaws picking wild 
 blackberries. They made a great picture with their beau- 
 tifully woven, gently flaring, water-tight baskets, stained 
 like pottery; their bright shawls wrapped scarfwise 
 around their waists out of the way; heads bound in gay 
 handkerchiefs. It was a long distance from any settle- 
 ment, and they stood watching me curiously while I wedged 
 myself between twin cedars, on over a big fallen fir, out of 
 sight. 
 
 " A little later I found myself in a small pocket hemmed 
 
STOKY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 183 
 
 by cliffs of nearly two hundred feet, over which the brook 
 plunged in a fine cataract. Above, where it cut the preci- 
 pice, a hanging spur of rock took the shape of a tiger's 
 profile, and a depression colored by mineral deposit 
 formed a big red eye; midway the stream struck shelving 
 rock, breaking into a score of cascades that spread out 
 fan-shape and poured into a deep, green, stone-lined pool ; 
 stirring, splashing, rippling ceaselessly, but so limpid I 
 could see the trout. It was a place that held me. When 
 at last I put away my flies and started down the bank, I 
 knew dinner must be waiting for me, but I had a string of 
 beauties to pacify Sandy. As I hurried down to the 
 fallen tree, I heard the squaws calling to each other at a 
 different point out of sight up the ridge; then I found a 
 step in the rough bole and, setting my hands on the top, 
 vaulted over. The next instant I would have given any- 
 thing, the best years of my life, to undo that leap. There, 
 where my foot had struck, left with some filled baskets in 
 the lee of the log, lay a small papoose." 
 
 Tisdale's voice vibrated softly and stopped, while his 
 glance moved from face to face. He held the rapt atten- 
 tion of every one, and in the pause the water along the 
 keel played a minor interlude. Behind the awning a dif- 
 ferent sound broke faintly. It was like the rustle of 
 paper; a turned page. 
 
 " The baby was bound to the usual-shaped board," Hol- 
 lis went on, " with a woven pocket for the feet and a broad 
 carrying-strap to fit the head of the mother. I sat down 
 and lifted the little fellow to my knees. I wore heavy 
 shoes, studded with nails for mountain climbing, and the 
 mark of my heel was stamped, cruelly, on the small brown 
 cheek ; the rim had crushed the temple." 
 
 Tisdale halted again, and in the silence Elizabeth sighed. 
 Then, " I'll bet you didn't waste any time in that place," 
 exclaimed Morganstein. 
 
184 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " The eyes were closed," resumed Tisdale gently. " I 
 saw the blow had taken him in his sleep, but the wanton- 
 ness, the misery of it, turned me cold. Then, you are 
 right, I was seized with a panic to get away. I laid the 
 papoose back in the place where I had found him and left 
 my string of fish, a poor tribute, with what money I had 
 about me, and hurried down into the bed of the brook. 
 
 " The squaws were several days' travel from the reser- 
 vation, but I remembered we had passed a small encamp- 
 ment a few miles down the river and another near the 
 mouth of the Dosewallups, where a couple of Indians 
 were fishing from canoes. I knew they would patrol the 
 stream as soon as the alarm was given, and my only 
 chance was to make a wide detour, avoiding my camp 
 where they would first look for me, swim the river, and 
 [push through the forest, around that steep, pyramid 
 peak to the next canyon. You see it ? — The Duckabush 
 cuts through there to tide water. I left no trail in cross- 
 ing the stony bed of the brook, and took advantage of a 
 low basalt bluff in climbing the farther bank. It was 
 while I was working my way over the rock into cover of 
 the trees that the pleasant calling on the ridge behind me 
 changed to the first terrible cry. The mother had found 
 her dead baby. 
 
 " Twilight was on me when I stopped at last on the 
 river bank to take off my shoes. I rolled them with my 
 coat in a snug pack, which I secured with a length of fish- 
 line to my shoulders before I plunged in. The current 
 was swift; I lost headway, and a whirlpool caught me; I 
 was swept under, came up grazing a ragged rock, dipped 
 again through a riffle, and when I finally gathered myself 
 and won out to the opposite shore, there was my camp in 
 full view below me. I was winded, bruised, shivering, and 
 while I lay resting I watched Sandy. He stirred the fire 
 under his kettle, put a fresh log on, then walked to the 
 
STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 185 
 
 mouth of the brook and stood looking up stream, wonder- 
 ing, no doubt, what was keeping me. Then a long cry 
 came up the gorge. It was lost in the rush of the rapids 
 and rose again in a wailing dirge. The young squaw was 
 mourning for her papoose. It struck me colder than the 
 waters of the Dosewallups. Sandy turned to listen. I 
 knew I had only to call, show myself, and the boys would 
 be ready to fight for me every step of the trail down to 
 the settlement; but there was no need to drag them in; 
 I hoped they would waste no time in going out, and I 
 found my pocket compass, set a course, and pushed into 
 the undergrowth. 
 
 " That night j ourney was long-drawn torture. The 
 moon rose, but its light barely penetrated the fir boughs. 
 My coat and shoes were gone, torn from me in the rapids, 
 and I walked blindly into snares of broken and pronged 
 branches, trod tangles of blackberry, and more than once 
 my foot was pierced by the barbs of a devil's-club. Dawn 
 found me stumbling into a small clearing. I was dull with 
 weariness, but I saw a cabin with smoke rising from the 
 chimney, and the possibility of a breakfast heartened me. 
 As I hurried to the door, it opened, and a woman with a 
 milking pail came out. At sight of me she stopped, her 
 face went white, and, dropping the bucket, she moved back- 
 ward into the room. The next moment she brought a rifle 
 from behind the door. * If you come one step nearer,' she 
 cried, ' I'll shoot.' " 
 
 Tisdale paused, and the humor broke gently in his face. 
 " I saw she was quite capable of it," he went on, " and I 
 stopped. It was the first time I had seemed formidable to 
 a woman, and I raised my hand to my head — my hat was 
 gone — to smooth my ruffled hair; then my glance fell 
 from my shirt sleeves, soiled and in tatters, down over my 
 torn trousers to my shoeless feet; my socks were in rags. 
 * I am sorry,' I began, but she refused to listen. ' Don't 
 
186 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 you say a word,' she warned and had the rifle to her shoul- 
 der, looking along the sight. * If you do, I'll shoot, and 
 I'm a pretty good shot.' 
 
 " ' I haven't a doubt of that,' I answered, taking the 
 word, ' and even if you were not, you could hardly miss at 
 that range.' 
 
 " Her color came back, and she stopped sighting to look 
 me over. ' Now,' she said, ' you take that road down the 
 Duckabush, and don't you stop short of a mile. Ain't 
 you ashamed,' she shrilled, as I moved ignominiously into 
 the trail, ' going 'round scaring ladies to death? ' 
 
 " But I did not go that mile. Out of sight of the cabin 
 I found myself in one of those old burned sections, over- 
 grown with maple. The trees were very big, and the 
 gnarled, fantastic limbs and boles were wrapped in thick 
 bronze moss. It covered the huge, dead trunks and logs 
 of the destroyed timber, carpeted the earth, and out of it 
 grew a natural fernery." He turned his face a little, in- 
 voluntarily seeking Mrs. Weatherbee. " I wish you could 
 have seen that place," he said. " Imagine a great billow- 
 ing sea of infinite shades of green, fronds waving every- 
 where, light, beautifully stencilled elk-fern, starting with 
 a breadth of two feet and tapering to lengths of four or 
 five; sword-fern- shooting stifily erect, and whole knolls 
 mantled in maidenhair." 
 
 " I know, I know ! " she responded breathlessly. " It 
 must have been beautiful, but it was terrible if you were 
 pursued. I have seen such a place. Wherever one 
 stepped, fronds bent or broke and made a plain trail. 
 But of course you kept to the beaten road." 
 
 Tisdale shook his head. " That road outside the clear- 
 ing was simply a narrow, little used path; and I was so 
 dead tired I began to look for a place where I might take 
 an hour's rest. I chose a big cedar snag a few rods from 
 the trail, the spreading kind that is always hollow, and 
 
STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 187 
 
 found the opening screened in fern and just wide enough 
 to let me in. Almost instantly I was asleep and — do you 
 know ? " — the humor broke again gently — " it was late 
 in the afternoon when I wakened. And I was only roused 
 then by a light blow on my face. I started up. The 
 thing that had struck me was a moccasin, and its mate 
 had dropped at my elbow. Then I saw a can of milk 
 with a loaf of bread placed inside my door. But there 
 was no one in sight, though I hurried to look, and I con- 
 cluded that for some unaccountable reason that inhospit- 
 able woman had changed her opinion of me and wanted to 
 make amends. I took a long draught of the milk — it 
 was the best I ever tasted — then picked up one of the 
 moccasins. It was new and elaborately beaded, the kind 
 a woman fancies for wall decorations, and she had prob- 
 ably bartered with some passing squaw for the pair. But 
 the size looked encouraging, and with a little ripping and 
 cutting, I managed to work it on. Pinned to the toe of 
 the other, I found a note. It ran like this : ' Two In- 
 dians are trailing you. I sent them down-stream, but 
 they will come back. They told me about that poor little 
 papoose.' 
 
 " I saw she must have followed me that morning, while 
 searching for her cow, or perhaps to satisfy herself I had 
 left the clearing, and so discovered my hiding-place. The 
 broader track of her skirts must have covered mine through 
 the fern." 
 
 Tisdale paused. The AquUa had come under the lee 
 of Bainbridge Island. The Olympics were out of sight, 
 as the yacht, heeling to the first tide rip, began to turn 
 into the Narrows, and the batteries of Fort Ward com- 
 manded her bows ; a beautiful wooded point broke the line 
 of the opposite shore. It rimmedi a small cove. But 
 Mrs. Weatherbee was not interested; her attention re- 
 mained fixed on Tisdale. Indeed he held the eyes of every 
 
188 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 one. Then Marcia Feversham relieved the tension. 
 " And the Indians came back? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes, that was inevitable ; they had to come back to 
 pick up my trail. But you don't know what a different 
 man that rest and the moccasins made of me. In five 
 minutes I was on the road and making my best time up 
 the gorge, in the opposite direction. The woman was 
 standing in her door as I passed the cabin; she put a 
 warning finger to her lips and waved me on. In a little 
 while the ground began to fall in short pitches ; sometimes 
 it broke in steps over granite spurs where the exposed 
 roots of fir and hemlock twined; then I came to a place 
 where an immense boulder, big as a house, moving down 
 the mountain, had left a swath through the timber, and 
 I heard the thunder of the Duckabush. I turned into this 
 cut, intending to cross the river and work down the canyon 
 on the farther side, and as I went I saw the torrent storm- 
 ing below me, a winding sheet of spray. The boulder had 
 stopped on a level bluff, but two sections, splitting from 
 it, had dropped to the bank underneath and, tilting to- 
 gether in an apex, formed a small cavern through which 
 washed a rill. It made a considerable pool and, dividing, 
 poured on either side of the uprooted trunk of a fir that 
 bridged the stream. The log was very old; it sagged 
 mid-channel, as though a break had started, and snagged 
 limbs stretched a line of pitfalls. But a few yards below 
 the river plunged in cataract, and above I found sheer 
 cliffs curving in a double horseshoe. It was impossible to 
 swim the racing current, and I came back to the log. By 
 that time another twilight was on me. The forest had 
 been very still ; I hadn't noticed a bird all day, but while I 
 stood weighing the chances of that crossing, I heard the 
 harsh call of a kingfisher or jay. It seemed to come from 
 the slope beyond the bluff, and instantly an answer rose 
 faintly in the direction of the trail. I was leaning on 
 
STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 189 
 
 one of the tilted slabs, and I wormed myself around the 
 base, to avoid leaving an impression in the wet sand, and 
 dipped under the trailing bough of a cedar, through the 
 pool, and crawled up into the cavern. There wasn't room 
 to stand erect, and I waited crouching, over moccasins in 
 water. The cedar began to sway — I had used the upper 
 boughs to ease myself in sliding down the slab from the 
 bluff — a fragment of granite dropped, then an Indian 
 came between me and the light. 
 
 " While he stopped to examine the sand at the edge of 
 the pool, another followed. He ventured a short distance 
 out on the log and came back, while the first set his rifle 
 against the trunk and sank on his hands and knees to 
 drink. The water, roiled probably by my steps, was not 
 to his taste, and he rejected it with a disgusted ' Hwah! ' 
 When he rose, he stood looking across the pool into my 
 cavern. I held my breath, hugging the bluffs behind me 
 like a lizard. It was so dark I doubted if even his lynx 
 eyes could discover me, but he lifted the gun and for an 
 instant I believed he meant to send a shot into the hole. 
 Then he seemed to think better of wasting his ammuni- 
 tion and led the way down-stream. They stopped on a 
 level bank over the cataract, and in a little while I caught 
 the odor of smoke and later of cooking trout. My 
 cramped position grew intolerable, and finally I crept out 
 into the pool to reconnoitre. The lig'ht of their fire 
 showed both figures stretched on the ground. They had 
 camped for the night. 
 
 " It was useless to try to go down-stream ; before dawn 
 Indians would patrol the whole canyon; neither could I 
 double back to the Dosewallups where they had as surely 
 left a watch ; my only course was to risk the log crossing 
 at once, before the moon rose, and strike southward to the 
 Lilliwaup, where, at the mouth of the gorge, I knew the 
 mail steamer made infrequent stops. I began to work up 
 
190 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 between the gnarled roots to the top of the trunk and 
 pushed laboriously with infinite caution out over the 
 channel. I felt every inch of that log, but once a dead 
 branch snapped short in my hand, and the noise rang 
 sharp as a pistol shot. I waited, flattening myself to the 
 bole, but the thunder of the river must have drowned the 
 sound ; the Indians did not stir. So at last I came to the 
 danger point. Groping for the break, I found it started 
 underneath, reaching well around. Caused probably by 
 some battering bulk in the spring floods, and widening 
 slowly ever since, it needed only a slight shock to bring it 
 to a finish. I grasped a stout snag and tried to swing my- 
 self over the place, but there came a splitting report; 
 and there was just time to drop astride above that stub of 
 limb, when the log parted below it, and I was in the river. 
 I managed to keep my hold and my head out of water, 
 though the current did its best to suck me under. Then 
 I saw that while the main portion of the tree had been 
 swept away, the top to which I clung remained fixed to the 
 bank, wedged no doubt between trunks or boulders. As I 
 began to draw myself up out of the wash, a resinous bough 
 thrown on the fire warned me the Indians were roused, and 
 I flattened again like a chameleon on the slippery incline. 
 They came as far as the rill and stood looking across, then 
 went down-stream, no doubt to see whether the trunk had 
 stranded on the riffles below the cataract. But they were 
 back before I could finish the log, and the rising moon 
 illuminated the gorge. I was forced to swing to the 
 shady side of the snag. The time dragged endlessly; a 
 wind piping down the watercourse cut like a hundred 
 whips through my wet clothes; and I think in the end I 
 only kept my hold because my fingers were too stiff* to let 
 go. But at last the Indians stretched themselves once 
 more on the ground ; their fire burned low, and I wormed 
 myself up within reach of a friendly young hemlock, 
 
STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 191 
 
 grasped a bough, and gained shelving rock. The next 
 moment I relaxed, all but done for, on a dry bed of 
 needles." 
 
 Tisdale paused, looking again from face to face, while 
 the humor gleamed in his own. " I am making a long 
 story of it," he said modestly. " You must be tired ! " 
 
 " Tired ! " exclaimed Elizabeth, *' It's the very best 
 story I ever heard. Please go on." 
 
 " Of course you escaped," supplemented Marcia Fever- 
 sham, " but we want to know how. And what was your 
 chum doing all the time.^^ And wasn't there another 
 woman ? " 
 
 Frederic Morganstein rumbled a short laugh. " Maybe 
 you made the Lilliwaup, but I'll bet ten to one you missed 
 your steamer." 
 
 Tisdale's eyes rested involuntarily again on Mrs. 
 Weatherbee. She did not say anything, but she met the 
 look with her direct gaze ; her short upper lip parted, and 
 the color burned softly in her cheek. " I made the Lilli- 
 waup," he went on, " about two miles from the mouth, be- 
 tween the upper and lower falls. The river breaks in cas- 
 cades there, hundreds of them as far as one can see, di- 
 vided by tremendous boulders." 
 
 " We know the place," said Elizabeth quickly. " Our 
 first cruise on the Aquila was to the Lilliwaup. We 
 climbed to the upper falls and spent hours along the cas- 
 cades. Those boulders, hundreds of them, rose through 
 the spray, all covered with little trees and ferns. There 
 never was anything like it, but we called it The Fairy 
 Isles." 
 
 Tisdale nodded. " It was near the end of that reach I 
 found myself. The channels gather below, you remem- 
 ber, and pour down a steep declivity under a natural 
 causeway. But the charm and grandeur were lost on me 
 that day. I wanted to reach the old trail from the falls 
 
192 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 on the opposite shore, and I knew that stone bridge fell 
 short a span, so I began to work mj way from boulder 
 to boulder out to the main stream. It was a wide chasm 
 to leap, with an upward spring to a tilted table of basalt, 
 and I overbalanced, slipped down, and, coasting across 
 the surface, recovered enough on the edge to ease myself 
 off to a nearly submerged ledge. There I stopped." He 
 paused an instant, and his eyes sought Marcia Fever- 
 sham's ; the amusement played lightly on his flexible lips. 
 " I had stumbled on another woman. She was seated on a 
 lower boulder, sketching the stone bridge. I was behind 
 her, but I saw a pretty hand and forearm, some nice brown 
 hair tucked under a big straw hat, and a trim and young 
 figure in a well-made gown of blue linen. Then she said 
 pleasantly, without turning her head : ' Well, John, what 
 luck?' 
 
 " I drew back into a shallow niche of the rock. I had 
 not forgotten the first impression I made on the woman 
 up the Duckabush and had no desire to ' scare ladies.' 
 But my steamer was almost due, and I hoped John would 
 come soon. Getting no reply from him, she rose and 
 glanced around. Then she looked at her watch, put her 
 band to her mouth, and sent a long call up the gorge. 
 ' Joh-n, Joh-n, hello ! ' She had a carrying, singer's 
 voice, but it brought no answer, so after a moment she 
 gathered up her things and started towards the bank. I 
 watched her disappear among the trees; then, my fear of 
 missing the steamer growing stronger than the dread of 
 terrifying her, I followed. The trail drops precipitously 
 around the lower falls, you remember, and I struck the 
 level where the river bends at the foot of the cataract, 
 with considerable noise. I found myself in a sort of open- 
 air parlor flanked by two tents ; rustic seats under a 
 canopy of maple boughs, hammocks, a percolator bubbling 
 on a sheet-iron contrivance over the camp-fire coals, and, 
 
STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 193 
 
 looking at me across a table, the girl. ' I beg your par- 
 don,' I hurried to say. ' Don't be afraid of me.' 
 
 " ' Afraid ? ' she repeated. ' Afraid — of you ? ' And 
 the way she said it, with a half scornful, half humorous 
 surprise, the sight of her standing there so self-reliant, 
 buoyant, the type of that civilization I had tried so hard 
 to reach, started a reaction of my overstrained nerves. 
 Still, I think I might have held myself together had I not 
 at that moment caught the voice of that unhappy squaw. 
 It struck a chill to my bones, and I sank down on the 
 nearest seat and dropped my face in my hands, completely 
 unmanned. 
 
 " I knew she came around the table and stood looking 
 me over, but when I finally managed to lift my head, she 
 had gone back to the percolator to bring me a cup of 
 coffee. It had a pleasant aroma, and the cream with 
 which she cooled it gave it a nice color. You don't know 
 how that first draught steadied me. ' I am sorry, madam,' 
 I said, ' but I have had a hard experience in these woods, 
 and I expected to catch the mail boat for Seattle ; but that 
 singing down-stream means I am cut off.' 
 
 " She started a little and looked me over again with new 
 interest. ' The squaw,' she said, ' is mourning for her 
 papoose. It was a terrible accident. A young hunter up 
 the Dosewallups, where the Indians were berrying, killed 
 the baby in jumping a log.' 
 
 " ' Yes, madam,' I answered, and rose and put the cup 
 down, ' I am the man. It is harder breaking trail to the 
 Lilliwaup than coming by canoe, and the Indians have 
 beaten me. I must double back now to the Duckabush. 
 By that time, they will have given up the watch.' 
 
 " ' Wait,' she said, ' let me think.' But it did not take 
 her long. A turn the length of the table, and her face 
 brightened. ' Why, it's the easiest thing in the world,' 
 she said. ' I must row you to the steamer.' Then when 
 
194 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 I hesitated to let her run the risk, she explained that her 
 party had moved their camp from the mouth of the Dose- 
 wallups after these Indians arrived there; they knew her; 
 they had seen her rowing about, and she always carried 
 a good many traps ; an easel, sun umbrella, cushions, a 
 steamer rug. I had only to lie down in the bottom of the 
 boat, and she would cover me. And she drew back the flap 
 of the nearest tent and told me to change my clothes for a 
 brown suit she laid out, and canvas shoes. ' Come,' she 
 urged, * there's time enough but none to waste ; and any 
 minute the Indians may surprise you.' 
 
 She was waiting with the rug and pillows and a pair of 
 oars when I came out, and helped me carry them to the 
 boat which was beached a short distance below her camp. 
 When it was launched, and I was stowed under the bag- 
 gage, with an ample breathing hole through which I could 
 watch the rower, she pushed off and fell into a long, even 
 stroke. Presently I noticed she had nice eyes, brown 
 and very deep, and I thought her face was beautiful. It 
 had the expressiveness, the swift intelligence that goes with 
 a strong personality, and through all her determination, I 
 felt a running note of caution. I knew she saw clearly 
 while she braved the extremity. After a while her breast 
 began to rise and fall with the exercise, her cheeks flushed, 
 and I saw she had met the flood tide. All this time the 
 voice of the squaw grew steadily nearer. I imagined her, 
 as I had seen others before, kneeling on the bank, rocking 
 herself, beating her breast. Then it came over me that 
 we were forced to hug the shore to avoid one of the reedy 
 shallows that choked the estuary and must pass very close 
 to her. The next moment there was a lull, and the girl 
 looked across her shoulder and called ' Clahowya ! ' At 
 the same time she rested on her oars long enough to take 
 off her hat and toss it with careless directness on my 
 breathing hole. The squaw's answer came from above me, 
 
STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 195 
 
 and she repeated and intoned the word so that it seemed 
 part of her dirge. ' Clahowya ! Clahowya ! Clahowya ! 
 Wake tenas papoose. Halo ! Halo ! ' The despair of it 
 cut me worse than lashes. Then I heard other voices ; a 
 dog barked, and I understood we were skirting the en- 
 campment. 
 
 " After that the noise grew fainter, and in a little while 
 the girl uncovered my face. The channel had widened; 
 the tang of salt came on the wind ; and when I ventured to 
 raise my head a little, I saw the point at the mouth of the 
 river looming purple-black. Then, as we began to round 
 it, we came suddenly on a canoe, drifting broadside, with 
 a single salmon hunter crouching in it, ready with his 
 spear. It flashed over me that he was one of the two In- 
 dians who had tracked me to the Duckabush; the taller 
 one who had tried to drink at the rill; then he made his 
 throw and at the same instant the girl's hat fell again on 
 my face. I heard her call her pleasant ' Clahowya ! ' and 
 she added, rowing on evenly : ' Hyas delate salmon.' 
 The next moment his answer rang astern : ' Clahowya ! 
 Clahowya ! Hyas delate salmon.' 
 
 " At last I felt the swell of the open, and she leaned to 
 uncover my face once more. ' The steamer is in sight,' 
 she said, and I raised my head again and saw the boat, 
 a small moving blot with a trailer of smoke, far up the 
 sapphire sea. Then I turned on my elbow and looked 
 back. The canoe and the encampment were hidden by the 
 point; we were drifting off the wharf of the small town- 
 site, almost abandoned, where the steamer made her stop. 
 There was nothing left to do but express my gratitude, 
 which I did clumsily enough. 
 
 " ' You mustn't make so much of it,' she said ; ' the first 
 thing a reservation Indian is taught is to forget the old 
 law, a life for a life.' 
 
 " ' I know that,' I answered, * still I couldn't have faced 
 
196 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 the best white man that first hour, and off there in the 
 mountains, away from reservation influences, my chances 
 looked small. I wish I could be as sure the men who were 
 with me are safe.' 
 
 " She gave me a long, calculating look. ' They will be 
 — soon,' she said. ' My brother Robert should be on 
 the steamer with the superintendent and reservation 
 guard.' And she dipped her oars again, pointing the boat 
 a little more towards the landing, and watched the steamer 
 while I sifted her meaning. 
 
 " ' So,' I said at last. ' So they are there at that camp. 
 You knew it and brought me by.' 
 
 " ' You couldn't have helped them any,' she said, ' and 
 you can go back, if you wish, with the guard.' Then she 
 told me how she had visited the camp with her brother 
 Robert and had seen them bound with stout strips of elk- 
 hide. They had explained the accident and how one of 
 them, to give me time at the start, had put himself in my 
 place." 
 
 Tisdale halted a moment ; a wave of emotion crossed his 
 face. His look rested on Mrs. Weatherbee, and his eyes 
 dr€w and held hers. She leaned forward a little; her lips 
 parted over a hushed breath. It was as though she 
 braved while she feared his next words. " That possibil- 
 ity hadn't occurred to me," he went on, " yet I should 
 have foreseen it, knowing the man as I did. We were built 
 on the same lines, practically the same size, and we had 
 outfitted together for the trip. He wore high, brown 
 shoes spiked for mountain climbing, exactly like mine ; he 
 even matched the marks of that heel. But Sandy wouldn't 
 stand for it. He declared there was a third man who had 
 gone Up Rocky Brook and had not come back. One of 
 the squaws who had seen me agreed with him, but they 
 were bound and taken to the encampment. The next 
 morning an Indian found my coat and shoes lodged on a 
 
STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 197 
 
 gravel bar and picked up my trail. The camp moved 
 then by canoe around to the mouth of the Duckabush, tak- 
 ing the prisoners with them, and waited for my trailers to 
 come down. They had discovered me on the log crossing 
 when it fell, and believed I was drowned." 
 
 There was another pause. Mrs. Weatherbee sighed and 
 leaned back in her chair; then Mrs. Feversham said: 
 " And they refused to let your substitute go ? " 
 
 Tisdale nodded. '' He was brought with Sandy along 
 to the Lilliwaup. The Indians were traveling home, and 
 no doubt the reservation influence had restrained them; 
 still, they were staying a second night on the Lilliwaup, 
 and when Robert spoke to them they were sullen and ugly. 
 That was why he had hurried away to bring the superin- 
 tendent down. He had started in his Peterboro but ex- 
 pected to find a man on the way who would take him on in 
 his motor-boat. Once during the night John had drifted 
 close to the camp to listen, but things were quiet, and they 
 had bridged the morning with a little fishing and sketch- 
 ing up-stream. 
 
 " ' Suppose,' I said at last, ' suppose you had been 
 afraid of me. I should be doubling back to the Ducka- 
 bush now. As it is, I wouldn't give much for their opinion 
 of me.' 
 
 " ' I wish you could have heard that man Sandy,' she 
 said, and — did I tell you she had a very nice smile ? ^ He 
 called you true gold.' And while she went on to repeat 
 the rest he had told her, it struck me pleasantly I was lis- 
 tening to my own obituary. But the steamer was draw- 
 ing close. She whistled the landing, and the girl dipped 
 her oars again, pulling her long, even strokes. I threw 
 off the rug and sat erect, ready to ease the boat off^ as we 
 came alongside. And there on the lower deck watching 
 us stood a young fellow whom, from his resemblance to 
 her, I knew as brother Robert, with the superintendent 
 
198 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 from the reservation, backed by the whole patrol. Then 
 my old friend Doctor Wise, the new coroner at Hoods- 
 port, came edging through the crowd to take my hand. 
 ' Well, well, Tisdale, old man,' he said, ' this is good. Do 
 you know they had you drowned — or worse? ' " 
 
 Tisdale settled back in his chair and, turning his face, 
 looked off the port bow. The Narrows had dropped be- 
 hind, and for a moment the deck of the Aquila slanted to 
 the tide rip off Port Orchard ; then she righted and raced 
 lightly across the broad channel. Ahead, off Bremerton 
 Navy Yard, some anchored cruisers rose in black sil- 
 houette against a brilliant sea. 
 
 " And," said Marcia Feversham, " of course you went 
 to the camp in a body and released the prisoners." 
 
 " Yes, we used the mail steamer's boats, and she waited 
 for us until the inquest was over, then brought us on to 
 Seattle. The motor-boat took the doctor and superin- 
 tendent home." 
 
 *' And the girl," said Elizabeth after a moment, " did 
 you never see her again ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." The genial lines deepened, and HoUis rose 
 from his chair. " Often. I always look them up when I 
 am in Seattle." 
 
 "But who was John?" 
 
 " John? Why, he was her husband." 
 
 The Olympics had reappeared; the sun dropped behind 
 a cloud over a high crest; shafts of light silvered the 
 gorges; the peaks caught an amethyst glow. Tisdale, 
 tracing once more that far canyon across the front of 
 Constance, walked slowly forward into the bows. 
 
 The yacht touched the Bremerton dock to take on the 
 lieutenant who was expected aboard, and at the same time 
 Jimmie Daniels swung lightly over the side aft. The 
 Seattle steamer whistled from her slip on the farther side 
 of the wharf, and he hurried to the gang-plank. There 
 
STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE 199 
 
 he sent a glance behind and saw Tisdale still standing 
 with his back squared to the landing, looking off over 
 the harbor. And the Press representative smiled. He 
 had gathered little information in regard to the coal 
 question, but in that notebook, buttoned snugly away in 
 his coat, he had set down the papoose story, word for 
 word. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE ALTERNATIVE 
 
 TISDALE did not follow the lieutenant aft. When 
 the Aquila turned into Port Orchard, he still re- 
 mained looking off her bows. The sun had set, a soft 
 breeze was in his face, and the Sound was no longer a 
 mirror ; it fluted, broke in racy waves ; the cutwater struck 
 from them an intricate melody. Northward a few thin 
 streamers of cloud warmed like painted flames, and their 
 reflection changed the sea to running fire. Then he was 
 conscious that some one approached behind him; she 
 stopped at his elbow to watch the brilliant scene. And in- 
 stantly the spirit of combat in him stirred; his muscles 
 tightened like those of a man on guard. 
 
 After a moment she conmienced to sing very softly, in 
 unison with the music of the waves along the keel, 
 
 " How dear to me the hour when daylight dies." 
 
 Even subdued, her voice was beautiful. It began 
 surely, insistently, to undermine all that stout breastwork 
 he had reared against her these twenty-four hours. But 
 he thrust his hands in his pockets and turned to her with 
 that upward look of probing, upbraiding eyes. 
 
 The song died. A flush rose over her face, but she 
 met the look bravely. " I came to explain," she said. 
 " I thought at the beginning, when we started on that 
 drive through the mountains, you knew my identity. 
 Afterwards I tried repeatedly to tell you, but when I saw 
 how bitterly you — hated — me, my courage failed." 
 
 Her lip trembled over a sighing breath, and she looked 
 
THE ALTERNATIVE 201 
 
 away up the brilliant sea. Tisdale could not doubt her. 
 His mind raced back to incident on incident of that 
 journey; in flashes it was all made clear to him. Even 
 during that supreme hour of the electrical storm had she 
 not tried to undeceive him? He forgave her her trans- 
 gressions against him; he forgave her so completely that, 
 at the recollection of the one moment in the basin, his 
 pulses sang. Then, inside his pockets, his hands clenched, 
 and he scourged himself for the lapse. 
 
 " I was in desperate need," she went on quickly. " There 
 was a debt — a debt of honor — I wished to pay. And 
 Mr. Foster told me you were interested in that desert 
 land ; that you were going to look it over. He caught me 
 by long distance telephone the night he sailed for Alaska, 
 to let me know. Oh, it all sounds sordid, but if you have 
 ever come to the ragged edge of things — " 
 
 She stopped, with a little outward, deprecating move- 
 ment of her hands, and turned again to meet Tisdale's 
 look. But he was still silent. " I believed when you 
 knew me," she went on, " you would see I am not the kind 
 of woman you imagined; I even hoped, for David's sake, 
 you would forgive me. But I did not know there was 
 such friendship as yours in the world. I thought only 
 mothers loved so,^-— the great ones, the Hagars, the Marys. 
 It is more than that; it is the best and deepest of every 
 kind of love in one. I can't fathom it — unless — men 
 sometimes are bom with twin souls." 
 
 It was not the influence of her personality now; it was 
 not any magnetism. Something far down in the depths 
 of him responded to that something in her. It was as 
 though he felt the white soul of her rising transcendent 
 over her body. It spoke in her pose, her eloquent face, 
 and it filled the brief silence with an insistent, almost 
 vibrant appeal. 
 
 " They are," he answered, and the emotion in his own 
 
202 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 face played softly through his voice, " I am sure that they 
 are. Weatherbee had other friends, plenty of them, scat- 
 tered from the Yukon territory to Nome ; men who would 
 have been glad to go out of their way to serve him, if they 
 had known ; but he never asked anything of them ; he saved 
 the right to call on me. Neither of us ever came as near 
 that ' ragged edge of things ' as he did, toppled on it as he 
 did, for so long. There never was a braver fight, against 
 greater odds, single-handed, yet I failed him." He paused 
 while his eyes again sought that high gorge of the Olym- 
 pic Mountains, then added : " The most I can do now is 
 to see that his work is carried on." 
 
 " You mean," she said not quite steadily, " you are go- 
 ing to buy that land.? " 
 
 " I mean " — he frowned a little — " I am going to re- 
 new my offer to finance the project for you. You owe 
 it to David Weatherbee- even more than I do. Go back to 
 that pocket; set his desert blossoming. It's your only 
 salvation." 
 
 She groped for the bulwark behind her and moved back 
 to its support. " I could not. I could not. I should 
 go mad in that terrible place." 
 
 " Listen, madam." He said this very gently, but his 
 voice carried its vibrant undernote as though down be- 
 neath the surface a waiting reserve force stirred. " I did 
 not tell all about that orchard of spruce twigs. It was 
 planted along a bench, the miniature of the one we climbed 
 in the Wenatchee Mountains, that was crossed with tiny, 
 frozen, irrigating canals leading from a basin; and mid- 
 way stood a house. You must have known that trick he 
 had of carving small things with his pocket-knife. Then 
 imagine that delicately modeled house of snow. It was 
 the nucleus of the whole, and before the door, fine as 
 a cameo and holding a bundle in her arms, was set the 
 image of a woman." 
 
THE ALTERNATIVE 203 
 
 There was a silent moment. She waited, leaning a 
 little forward, watching Tisdale's face, while a sort of in- 
 credulous surprise rose through the despair in her eyes. 
 " There were women at Fairbanks and Seward after the 
 first year," he went on. " Bright, refined women who 
 would have counted it a privilege to share things, his hard- 
 est luck, with David Weatherbee. But the best of them in 
 his eyes was nothing more than a shadow. There was 
 just one woman in the world for him. That image stood 
 for you. The whole project revolved around you. It 
 would be incomplete now without you." 
 
 She shrank closer against the bulwark, glancing about 
 her with the swift look of a creature trapped, then for a 
 moment dropped her face in her hands. When she tried 
 to say something, the words would not come. Her lips, 
 her whole face quivered, but she could only shake her head 
 in protest again and again. 
 
 Tisdale waited, watching her with his upward look 
 from under contracted brows. " What else can you do ? " 
 he asked at last. " Your tract is too small to be handled 
 by a syndicate, and now that the levels of the Columbia 
 desert are to be brought under a big irrigation project, 
 which means a nominal expense to the grower, your high 
 pocket, unimproved, will hardly attract the single buyer. 
 Will you, then, plat it in five-acre tracts for the Seattle 
 market and invite the — interest of your friends.? " 
 
 She drew erect ; the danger signals flamed briefly in her 
 eyes. "My friends can be dis-interested, Mr. Tisdale. 
 It has only been through them, for a long time, I have 
 been able to keep my hold." 
 
 " There's where you made your mistake at the start ; 
 in gaining that hold. When you conformed to their 
 standards, your own were overthrown." 
 
 " That is not true." She did not raise her voice any ; 
 it dropped rather to a minor note, but a tremor ran over 
 
204 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 her body, and her face for an instant betrayed how deep 
 the shaft had struck. " And, always, when I have ac- 
 cepted a favor, I have given full measure in exchange. 
 But there is an alternative you seem to have overlooked." 
 
 " I understand," he said slowly, and his color rose. 
 " You may marry again." Then he asked, without pro- 
 test: "Is it Foster?" 
 
 On occasion, during that long drive through the moun- 
 tains, he had felt the varying height and thickness of an 
 invisible barrier, but never, until that moment, its chill. 
 Then Marcia Feversham called her, and she turned to go 
 down the deck. " I'm coming ! " she answered and stopped 
 to look back. " You need not trouble about Mr. Fos- 
 ter," she said. " He — is safe." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 FREDERIC had suggested a rubber at auction 
 bridge. 
 
 Elizabeth fixed another pillow under his shoulders and 
 moved the card table to his satisfaction, then took a chair 
 near the players and unfolded her crochet, while Tisdale, 
 whose injured hand excluded him from the game, seated 
 himself beside her. He asked whimsically if she was manu-^ 
 facturing a cloud like the one in the west where the sun 
 had set; but she lacked her sister's ready repartee, and, 
 arresting her needle long enough to glance at him and 
 back to the woolly, peach-pink pile in her lap, answered 
 seriously : " It's going to be a hug-me-tight." 
 
 The lieutenant laughed. " Sounds interesting, does it 
 not?" he said, shuffling the cards. "But calm yourself, 
 sir; a hug-me-tight is merely a kind of sweater built on 
 the lines of a vest." 
 
 He dealt, and Mrs. Feversham bid a lily. From his 
 position Tisdale was able to watch Mrs. Weatherbee's face 
 and her cards. She held herself erect in a subdued ex- 
 citement as the game progressed; the pink flush deepened 
 and went and came in her cheek ; the blue lights danced in 
 her eyes. Repeatedly she flashed intelligence to her part- 
 ner across the board. And the lieutenant began to wait 
 in critical moments for the glance. They won the first 
 hand. Then it became apparent that he and Morgan- 
 stein were betting on the side, and Marcia remonstrated. 
 " It isn't that we are scrupulous alone," she said, " but 
 we lose inspiration playing second fiddle." 
 
206 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " Come in then," suggested Frederic and explained to 
 the lieutenant : " She can put up a hundred dollars and 
 lose 'em like a soldier." 
 
 " The money stayed in the family," she said quickly. 
 " Beatriz, it is your bid." 
 
 Mrs. Weatherbee was calculating the possibilities of her 
 hand. Her suit was diamonds ; seven in sequence from the 
 jack. She held also the three highest in clubs and the 
 other black king. She was weak in hearts. " I bid two 
 diamonds," she said slowly, "and, Marcia, it's my ruby 
 against your check for three hundred dollars." 
 
 There was a flutter of surprise. " No," remonstrated 
 Elizabeth sharply. " No, Marcia can buy the ring for 
 what it is worth." 
 
 " Then I should lose the chance to keep it. Three hun- 
 dred will be enough to lose." And she added, less con- 
 fidently : " But if you should win, Marcia, it is under- 
 stood you will not let the ring go out of your hands." 
 
 " I bear witness," cried the lieutenant gallantly, " and 
 we are proud to play second when a Studevaris leads." 
 
 But Morganstein stared at her in open admiration. 
 '' You thoroughbred ! " he said. 
 
 " It shall stay in the family," confirmed Marcia. 
 
 Then Frederic bid two lilies, the lieutenant passed and 
 Mrs. Feversham raised to three hearts. She wavered, and 
 Tisdale saw the cards tremble in her hand. " Four dia- 
 monds," she said at last. The men passed, and Marcia 
 doubled. Then Morganstein led a lily, and the lieutenant 
 spread his hand on the table. There were six clubs; in 
 diamonds a single trey. 
 
 But Mrs. Weatherbee was radiant. She moved a little 
 and glanced back at Elizabeth, inviting her to look at her 
 hand. She might as well have said : " You see, I have 
 only to lead out trumps and establish clubs." 
 
 Marcia played a diamond on her partner's second lead 
 
"THESE THINGS WILL I GIVE" 207 
 
 of spades, and led the ace of hearts, following with the 
 king; the fourth round Frederic trumped over Mrs. 
 Weatherbee and led another lily. Mrs. Feversham used 
 her second diamond and, returning with a heart, saw her 
 partner trump again over Mrs. Weatherbee. It was mis- 
 erable. They gathered in the book before the lead fell 
 to her. The next deal the cards deserted her, and after 
 that the lieutenant blundered. But even though the ruby 
 was inevitably lost, she finished the rubber pluckily ; the 
 flush deepened in her cheek; the blue fires flamed in her 
 eyes. " You thoroughbred 1 " Morganstein repeated 
 thickly. " You thoroughbred 1 " 
 
 To Tisdale it was unendurable. He rose and crossed 
 to the farther side of the desk. The Aquila, rounding the 
 northern end of Bainbridge Island, had come into Agate 
 Pass ; the tide ran swift in rips and eddies between close 
 wooded shores, but these things no longer caught his at- 
 tention. The scene he saw was the one he had put behind 
 him, and in the calcium light of his mind, one figure stood 
 out clearly from the rest. Had he not known this woman 
 was a spendthrift? Had he not suspected she inherited 
 this vice from her father, that old gambler of the stock 
 exchange. Was it not for this reason he had determined 
 to hold that last half interest in the Aurora mine? Still, 
 still, she had not shown the skill of long practice ; she had 
 not played with ordinary caution. And had not Eliza- 
 beth remonstrated, as though her loss was inevitable? 
 Every one had been undeniably surprised. Why, then, 
 had she done this ? She had told him she was in " desper- 
 ate need." Could this have been the alternative to which 
 she had referred? 
 
 The Aquila's whistle blew, and she came around, close 
 under a bluff, into a small cove, on the rim of which rose 
 the new villa. The group behind Tisdale began to push 
 back chairs. He turned. The game was over, and Mrs. 
 
208 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Feversham stood moving her hand slowly to catch the 
 changing lights of the ring on her finger. Then she 
 looked at the loser. " It seems like robbery," she ex- 
 claimed, '* to take this old family talisman from you, 
 Beatriz. I shall make out a check to ease my conscience." 
 
 " Oh, no." She lifted her head bravely like his Alaska 
 flower in the bitter wind. " I shall not accept it. My 
 grandfather believed in the ruby devoutly," she went on 
 evenly. " It was his birthstone. And since it is yours 
 too, Marcia, it should bring you better fortune than it 
 has brought me. But see ! The villa roof is finished and 
 stained moss-green as it should be, against that back- 
 ground of firs. And isn't the big veranda delightful, with 
 those Venetian blinds ? " 
 
 The yacht nosed alongside the little stone quay, and 
 preceded by the host, who was carried ashore in his chair, 
 not without difficulty, by relays of his crew, the party 
 made the landing. 
 
 Tisdale's first impression when he stepped over the 
 threshold of the villa was of magnitude. A great fire- 
 place built of granite blocks faced the hospitable entrance, 
 and the interior lifted to the beamed roof, with a gallery 
 midway, on which opened the upper rooms. The stairs 
 rose easily in two landings, and the curving balustrade 
 formed a recess in which was constructed a stage. Near 
 this a pipe organ was being installed. It was all luxu- 
 rious, created for entertainment and pleasure, but it lacked 
 the ostentatious element for which he was prepared. 
 
 It had been understood that the visit was made at this 
 time to allow Mrs. Feversham an opportunity *to go 
 through the house. She was to decide on certain fur- 
 nishings which she was to purchase in New York, but it 
 was evident to Tisdale that the items she listed followed 
 the suggestions of the woman who stood beside her, 
 weighing with subdued enthusiasm the possibilities of the 
 
"THESE THINGS WILL I GIVE" 209 
 
 room. " Imagine a splendid polar-bear rug here," she 
 said, " with a yellowish lynx at the foot of the stairs, and 
 one of those fine Kodiak skins in front of the hearth. 
 A couch there in the chimney corner, with a Navajo 
 blanket and pillows would be color enough." 
 
 Morganstein, watching her from his invalid chair, 
 grasped the idea with satisfaction. " Cut out those Wil- 
 ton carpets, Marcia," he said. " I'll write that Alaska 
 hunter, Thompson, who heads the big-game parties, to 
 send me half a dozen bears. They mount 'em all right 
 in Seattle. Now see what we are going to need in that 
 east suite up-stairs." 
 
 They went trooping up the staircase, but HoUis did 
 not hurry to follow. His glance mo-ved to the heavy, re- 
 cumbent figure of his host. He was looking up across 
 the banisters at Mrs. Weatherbee as she ascended, and 
 something in his sensuous face, the steady gleam of his 
 round black eyes, started in Tisdale's mind a sudden 
 suspicion. She stopped to look down from the gallery 
 railing and smiled with a gay little salute. Then Eliza- 
 beth called, and she disappeared through an open door. 
 
 " I'd give fifty dollars to see her face when she gets 
 to that east room," Morganstein said abruptly. " But go 
 up, Mr. Tisdale ; go up. Needn't bother to stay with me." 
 
 " There's a good deal to see here," Tisdale responded 
 genially. " A man who is accustomed to spend his time 
 as I do, gathering accurate detail, is slower than others, 
 I suppose, and this all seems very fine to me." 
 
 " It's got to be fine, — the finest bungalow on Puget 
 Sound, I keep telling the architect. Nothing short of that 
 will do. Listen ! " he added in a smothered voice, " she's 
 in there now." 
 
 The vaulted roof carried the echoes down to Tisdale 
 as he went up the stairs. All the doors were open along 
 the gallery ; some were not yet hung, but he walked directly 
 
210 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 to the last one from which the exclamations of surprise 
 had come. And, as he went, he heard Mrs. Weatherbee 
 say: "It was glorious, like this, the day the idea flashed 
 to my mind; but I did not dream Mr. Morganstein would 
 alter the casement, for the men were hanging the French 
 windows. Why, it must have been necessary to change 
 the whole wall. Still, it was worth it, Marcia, was it 
 not?" 
 
 " It certainly is unique," admitted Mrs. Feversham. 
 Then Tisdale stopped on the threshold, facing a great 
 window of plate glass in a single pane, designed to frame 
 the incomparable view of Mount Rainier lifting above the 
 sea. And it was no longer a phantom mountain ; the haze 
 had vanished, and the great peak loomed near, sharply 
 defined, shining in Alpine splendor. 
 
 It was a fine conceit, too fine to have sprung from Mor- 
 ganstein's materialistic brain, and Tisdale was not slow 
 to grasp the truth. The financier had reconstructed the 
 wall to carry out Mrs. Weatherbee's suggestion. Then 
 it came over him that this whole building, feature by fea- 
 ture, had been created to win, to ensnare this woman. It 
 was as though the wall had become a scroll on which was 
 written : " ' All these things will I give thee, .if thou wilt 
 fall down ' — and marry me." 
 
 Suddenly the place oppressed him. He walked through 
 the room to the smaller one of the suite and out on a broad 
 sleeping-porch. The casement was nearly waist high, and 
 he stood grasping the ledge and looking with unseeing 
 eyes into a grove of firs. So this was the alternative. 
 And this was why Foster was safe. The young mining 
 engineer, with little besides his pay, had fallen far short 
 of her price. 
 
 But the salt wind was in his face ; it quieted him. He 
 began to notice the many small intruding influences of ap- 
 proaching night. The bough of a resinous hemlock, 
 
"THESE THINGS WILL I GIVE" 211 
 
 soughing gently, touched his arm, and his hold on the 
 shingles relaxed. He moved to rest the injured hand on 
 the casing, and its throbbing eased. His glance singled 
 out clumps of changing maple or dogwood that flamed 
 like small fires on the slope. Then he caught the rhythm 
 of the tide, breaking far down along the rocky bulkhead ; 
 and above, where a footbridge spanned a chasm, a cascade 
 rippled in harmony. 
 
 " Nice, isn't it ? " said the lieutenant, who came onto 
 the porch with Elizabeth. 
 
 " That is a pergola they are building down there," she 
 explained. " It's to be covered with Virginia creeper and 
 wistaria and all sorts of climbing things. And French 
 doors open into it from the dining-room. A walk winds 
 up from the end — you see it, Mr. Tisdale.^^ — across the 
 footbridge to a pavilion on the point. It is almost too 
 dark to see the roof among the trees. Mrs. Weatherbee 
 calls it the observatory, because we have such a long sweep 
 of the Sound from there, north and south. You'd think 
 you were aboard a ship at sea, lieutenant, in stormy 
 weather. It gets every wind that blows." 
 
 The lieutenant wished to go to the pavilion, but Tis- 
 dale excused himself from joining them, and was left alone 
 again with his thoughts. Then he was conscious the other 
 women had remained in the apartment. They had come 
 into the inner room, and Mrs. Feversham, having found 
 an electric button, flooded the interior with light. On the 
 balcony a blue bulb glowed. Tisdale turned a little more 
 and, leaning on the casement, waited for them to come 
 through the open door. 
 
 " What do you say to furnishing this suite in bird's- 
 eye maple ? " asked Marcia. " With rugs and portieres 
 in old blue." 
 
 Mrs. Weatherbee shaded her dazzled eyes with her hand 
 and looked critically around. " The maple would be 
 
212 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 lovely," she said, " but — do you know," and she turned 
 to her companion with an engaging smile, " these sunrise 
 rooms seem meant for Alaska cedar ? And the rugs should 
 be not old blue, but a soft, mossy blue-green." 
 
 Mrs. Feversham laughed. " Home industry again ! 
 We don't go to New York for Alaska cedar. But you 
 are right ; that pale yellow wood would be simply charm- 
 ing with these primrose walls, and it takes a wonderful 
 polish. That leaves me only the rugs and hangings." 
 She turned to go back through the wide doorway, then 
 stopped to say : " After all, Beatriz, why not see what is 
 to be had in Seattle.? I had rather you selected every- 
 thing for this suite, since it is to be yours." 
 
 "Mine.f^ " She paused, steadying her voice, then went 
 on with a swift breathlessness. " But I see, you mean to 
 use when I visit you and Elizabeth. These rooms, from the 
 first, have been my choice. But I am afraid I've been 
 officious. I've been carried away by all this beautiful 
 architecture and the pleasure of imagining harmonious, 
 expensive furnishings. I never have fitted a complete 
 house; it's years since I had a home. Then, too, you've 
 spoiled me by listening to my suggestions. You've made 
 me believe it was one way I could — well — cancel obliga- 
 tions." 
 
 Mrs. Feversham raised her hand and, turning it slowly, 
 watched the play of light on the ruby. " There isn't a 
 stone like this in America," she said. " You don't know 
 how I've coveted it. But you need not have worried, 
 Beatriz. I disposed of your note to Frederic." 
 
 "To Mr. Morganstein? " Her voice broke a little; 
 she rocked unsteadily on her feet. It was as though a 
 great wind had taken her unawares. Then, " I shall try 
 to pay him as soon as possible," she said evenly. " I 
 have the land at Hesperides Vale, you know, and if I do 
 jxot sell it sooB; perhaps he will take it for the debt," 
 
"THESE THINGS WILL I GIVE" 213 
 
 Mrs. Feversham dropped her hand. " Beatriz ! Bea- 
 triz ! " she exclaimed. " You know there's an easier way. 
 Come, it's time to stop this make-believe. You know 
 Frederic Morganstein would gladly pay your debts, every 
 one. You know he is building this villa for you ; that he 
 would marry you, now, to-day, if you would say the 
 word. Yet you hold him at arm's-length ; you are so con- 
 servative, so scrupulous about Public Opinion. But no 
 one in Seattle would breathe a suggestion of blame. And 
 it isn't as though you had worn first mourning. The 
 wedding could be very quiet, with a long honeymoon to 
 Japan or Mexico; both, if you wished. And you might 
 come home to open this house with a reception late in May. 
 The twilights are delightful then. Come, think, Bee! 
 You've been irreproachable; the most exacting would ad- 
 mit that. And every one knows David Weatherbee prac- 
 tically deserted you for years." 
 
 Tisdale saw her mouth tremble. The quiver ran over 
 her face, her whole body. For an instant her lashes fell, 
 then she lifted them and met Marcia Feversham's calculat- 
 ing look. " It was not desertion," she said. " He con- 
 tributed — his best — to my support. I took all he had 
 to give. If ever you are where people are — talking — 
 do me the favor to correct that mistake. And, now, if 
 you please, Marcia, we will not bring David Weatherbee 
 in any more." 
 
 Mrs. Feversham laughed a little. " I am willing, by- 
 gones are bygones, only listen to Frederic." 
 
 " You are mistaken, too, about Mr. McTrganstein's mo- 
 tive, Marcia. He built this house for all his friends and 
 Elizabeth's. He owes her something ; she has always been 
 so devoted to him." And she added, as she turned to go 
 back to the gallery, " He knows I do not care to marry 
 again." 
 
 Tisdale had not foreseen the personal drift to the con- 
 
214 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 versation. And it had not occurred to him he was un- 
 observed ; the balcony hght was directly over him, and he 
 had waited, expecting they would come through to the 
 porch, to speak to them. Now he saw that from where 
 they had stopped in the brilliant interior, his figure must 
 have blended into the background of hemlock boughs. If 
 they had given him any thought, they had believed he had 
 gone down with Elizabeth and the lieutenant. To have 
 apologized, made himself known, after he grasped the 
 significance of the situation, would only have resulted in 
 embarrassment to them all. He allowed them time to 
 reach the floor below. But the heat rose in his face. And 
 suddenly, as his mind ran back over that interview in the 
 bows of the Aquila, his question in regard to Foster 
 seemed gross. Still, still, she had said she did " not care 
 to marry again." That one fact radiated subconsciously 
 through the puzzling thoughts that baffled him. 
 
 Behind him a few splendid chords rolled through the 
 hall to the vaulted roof, then pealed forth the overture 
 from Martha. That had been Weatherbee's favorite 
 opera. Sometimes on long Arctic nights, when they were 
 recalling old times and old songs, he himself had taken 
 Plunkett's part to David's Lionel. He could see that 
 cabin now, the door set wide, while their voices stormed 
 the white silence under the near Yukon stars. His eyes 
 gathered their absent expression. It was as though he 
 looked beyond the park, far and away into other vast soli- 
 tudes; saw once more the cliffs of Nanatuk looming 
 through fog and heard clearly, booming across the ice, 
 the great, familiar baritone. 
 
 The notes of the organ ceased. Tisdale stirred like a 
 man roused from sleep. He turned and started through 
 to the gallery. A woman's voice, without accompani- 
 ment, was singing Martha's immortal aria. The Last Rose 
 of Summer, It was beautiful. The strains, sweet and 
 
"THESE THINGS WILL I GIVE" 215 
 
 rich, flooded the hall and pervaded the upper rooms. 
 Looking down from the railing, he saw Elizabeth and the 
 lieutenant at the entrance below. The men who had in- 
 stalled the organ, were listening too, at the end of the 
 hall, while beyond the open door the crew of the Aquila 
 waited to carry the master aboard. As he reached the 
 top of the stairs, Mrs. Feversham appeared, seated near 
 the invalid in the center of the hall, and finally, as he came 
 to the first landing, there was the diva herself, acknowledg- 
 ing the applause, sweeping backward with charming ex- 
 aggeration from the front of the stage. 
 
 " Bravo ! " shouted Frederic. " Bravo ! Encore ! " 
 She took the vacant seat at the organ, and the great 
 notes of the Goodr-night chorus rolled to the rafters. 
 Responding to her nodding invitation, the voices of the 
 audience joined her own. It was inspiring. Tisdale 
 stopped on the landing and involuntarily he caught up his 
 old part. 
 
 " Tho' no prayer of mine can move thee 
 Yet I wish thee sweet good night ; 
 Now good night, good night, good night ! " 
 
 She looked up in quick surprise; her hands stumbled 
 a little on the keys and, singing on, she subdued her voice 
 to listen to his. Then, hesitating a little over the first 
 chords, she began the final prelude, and Tisdale, waiting, 
 heard her voice waver and float out soft and full : 
 
 " Ah, will Heaven indeed forgive me." 
 
 Her face was still lifted to him. It was as though her 
 soul rose in direct appeal to him, and in that moment all 
 his great heart went down to her in response. 
 
 It was over. Morganstein's heavy " Bravo ! " broke 
 the silence, followed by the enthusiastic clapping of hands. 
 
216 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Mrs. Weatherbee rose and started down the hall to join 
 Elizabeth and the lieutenant, but Marcia detained her. 
 " It was simply grand," she said. " I hadn't believed 
 you had the reach or the strength of touch. This organ 
 was certainly a fine innovation," 
 
 " Sure," said Frederic hazily. " It will make old Seat- 
 tle sit up and take notice. Great idea; your schemes al- 
 ways are. Confess though, I had my doubts, when it came 
 to this organ. I hedged and had that other jog built 
 in over there for a piano. We can use it sometimes when 
 we want to rag." 
 
 " It is a splendid instrument ; much more expensive than 
 I thought of, I am afraid. But," and she looked back at 
 the elaborate array of pipes with the exhilaration showing 
 in her face, " it's like giving the firs and the sea a new 
 voice." 
 
 She passed on, and Frederic's glance followed her, puz- 
 zled, but with a blended respect and admiration. When 
 she went out with Elizabeth and the lieutenant, he called 
 his men to convey him to the yacht. Marcia walked be- 
 side him. Night had fallen, and the Aqmla blazed like 
 a fire ship. Her lamps sifted the shadows and threw long, 
 wavering flames on the tide. Aft, where the table was 
 spread, for the convenience of the host, who could not 
 hazard the companionway, a string of electric lights il- 
 lumined the deck. Japanese screens, a dropped awning 
 or two, tempered the breeze, and the array of silver and 
 flowers, and long-stemmed glasses, promised more than the 
 informal little dinner to which Mrs. Feversham had re- 
 ferred. 
 
 She stood looking the table critically over, while the 
 sailors settled the invalid's chair. While the rest of the 
 party loitered in the bow, she turned to brother. '* Has 
 it occurred to you," she asked, " that Beatriz may be in- 
 terested in some other man ? " 
 
"THESE THINGS WILL I GIVE" 217 
 
 " No," answered Frederic, startled. " No. Hadn't 
 thought of that — unless — it's Foster." 
 
 " I don't know ; he seems the most possible, if there's 
 any one. She says she does not care to marry again. In 
 any case, it is advisable to keep him in Alaska. You 
 might send him on from the Iditarod to look over the 
 Aurora mine." And she added slowly : " Beatriz Weath- 
 erbee, backed by the Morganstein money, will be able to 
 carry the social end of the family anywhere; but Beatriz 
 Weatherbee, holding a half interest in one of the best- 
 paying placers in Alaska in her own right — is a wife 
 worth straining a point for." 
 
 Frederic's round eyes widened; his face took an ex- 
 pression of childlike goodness ; it was the mask with which 
 he habitually covered his avarice. Then he said : " I 
 understood HoUis Tisdale had exclusive, brass-bound, 
 double-rivited possession of the Aurora." 
 
 " Hush," cautioned Marcia, " they are coming." And 
 she added, in a still lower tone : " There is a loose rivet, 
 but contrive to marry her before she knows." 
 
 That dinner covered the homeward cruise, and from the 
 wharf Tisdale went directly to his rooms. There he tele- 
 phoned the Rainier-Grand hotel. " Give me John Banks, 
 please," he said. " Yes, I mean Lucky Banks of Alaska." 
 And, after an interval, " Hello, Banks 1 This is Tisdale 
 talking. I want you to come up to my rooms. Yes, 
 to-night. I am starting east in the morning. Thank you. 
 Good-by." 
 
 He put up the receiver and brought Weatherbee's box 
 from the safe to the table under the hanging lamp. 
 Seating himself, he took out the plan of the project and 
 spread it before him. He had not closed the lid, and 
 presently his eyes fell on David's watch. He lifted it 
 and, hesitating to open it, sat trying to recall that pic- 
 ture in the lower case. He wondered how, once having 
 
218 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 seen it, even in firelight and starshine, he could have for- 
 gotten it. The face would be younger of course, hardly 
 more than a promise of the one he knew ; still there would 
 be the upward curling lashes, the suggestion of a fault 
 in the nose, the piquant curve of the short, upper lip, and 
 perhaps that pervading, illusive something that was the 
 secret of her charm. " You were right, David, old man," 
 he said at last, " it was a face to fight for, wait for. And 
 madam, madam, a woman with a face like yours must have 
 had some capacity for loving." 
 
 His hand was on the spring, but he did not press it. 
 A noise outside in the corridor arrested him. He knew it 
 was too soon for Banks to arrive, but he laid the watch 
 back in the box and closed the lid. '' You will never 
 marry Frederic Morganstein," he said, and rising, began 
 to walk the floor. " It would be monstrous. You must 
 not. You will not. I shall not let you." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE OPTION 
 
 \ 7IVIAN COURT stood on the first hill. The brick 
 V walls of the business center filled the levels below, and 
 Mrs. Weatherbee's windows, like Tisdale's, commanded the 
 inner harbor rimmed by Duwamish Head, with a broader 
 sweep of the Sound beyond framed in wooded islands and 
 the snow-peaks of the Olympic Peninsula. Southeastward, 
 from her alcove, lifted the matchless, solitary crest of 
 Rainier. It was the morning following the cruise on the 
 Aquila, and Mrs. Weatherbee was taking a light break- 
 fast in her room. The small table, placed near an open 
 casement, allowed her to enjoy both views. She inhaled 
 the salt breeze with the gentle pleasure of a woman whose 
 sense has been trained, through generations, to fine and 
 delicate perfumes; her eyes caught the sapphire sparkle 
 of the sea, and her face had the freshness and warmth of 
 a very young girl's. The elbow length of the sleeve ex- 
 posed a forearm beautifully molded, with the velvety firm- 
 ness of a child's; and the wistaria shade of her empire 
 gown intensified the blue tones in the dark masses of her 
 hair. In short, she stood for all that is refined, bright, 
 charming in womanhood ; and not for any single type, but 
 a blending of the best in several ; the " typical American 
 beauty " that Miles Feversham had named her. 
 
 Her glance moved slowly among the shipping. The 
 great steamship leaving the Great Northern docks was 
 the splendid liner Minnesota, sailing for Japan; the out- 
 bound freighter, laden to the gunwales and carrying a 
 
220 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 deckload of lumber, was destined for Prince William 
 Sound. She represented Morganstein interests. And 
 when her eyes moved farther, in the direction of the 
 Yacht Club, there again was the AquUa, the largest speck 
 in the moored fleet. A shadow crossed her face. She 
 rose and, turning from the windows, stood taking an in- 
 ventory that began with the piano, a Steinway mellowed 
 by age, and ended at a quaint desk placed against the op- 
 posite wall. It was very old; it had been brought in 
 her great-grandfather's time from Spain, and the carv- 
 ing, Moorish in design, had often roused the enthusiastic 
 comment of her friends. Appraising it, her brows ruffled 
 a little; the short upper lip met the lower in a line of 
 resolve. She went to her telephone and found in the di- 
 rectory the number of a dealer in curios. But as she 
 reached for the receiver, she was interrupted by a knock 
 and, closing the book hastily, put it down to open the 
 door. 
 
 A bell-boy stood holding a rare scarlet azalea in full 
 flower. In its jardiniere of Satsuma ware it was all his 
 arms could compass, and a second boy followed with the 
 costly Japanese stand that accompanied it. There was 
 no need to read the name on the card tied conspicuously 
 among the stiffs leaves. The gift was from Frederic Mor- 
 ganstein. It had arrived, doubtless, on an Oriental 
 steamer that had docked the previous evening while the 
 Aquila made her landing. Mrs. Weatherbee had the plant 
 placed where the sunshine reached it through the window 
 of the alcove, and it made a gay showing against the sub- 
 dued gray of the walls. Involuntarily her glance moved 
 from it to the harbor, seeking the Minnesota^ now under 
 full headway off^ Magnolia Bluffs. It was as though, in 
 that moment, her imagination out-traveled the powerful 
 liner, and she saw before her that alluring country set on 
 the farther rim of the Pacific. 
 
THE OPTION 221 
 
 The steamship passed from sight ; she turned from the 
 window. The boy had taken away the breakfast tray and 
 had left a box on the table. It was modest, violet-colored, 
 with Hollywood Gardens stamped on the cover, but she 
 hurried with an incredulous expectancy to open it. For 
 an instant the perfume seemed to envelop her, then she 
 lifted the green waxed paper, and a soft radiance shone 
 in her face. It was only a corsage bouquet, but the violets, 
 arranged with a few fronds of maidenhair, were delight- 
 fully fresh. She took them out carefully. For a moment 
 she held them to her cheek. But she did not fasten them 
 on her gown ; instead she filled a cut-glass bowl with water 
 and set them at the open casement in the shade. A cloud 
 of city smoke, driving low, obscured the AquUa; the 
 freighter bound for Prince William Sound rounded Mag- 
 nolia BlufF, but clearly she had forgotten these interests; 
 she stood looking the other way, through the southeast 
 window, where Rainier rose in solitary splendor. A sub- 
 dued exhilaration possessed her. Did she not in imagina- 
 tion travel back over the Cascades to that road to Wenat- 
 chee, where, rising to the divide, they had come unex- 
 pectedly on that far view of the one mo-untain? Then her 
 glance fell again to the violets, and she lifted the bowl, 
 leaning her cheek, her forehead, to feel the touch of the 
 cool petals and inhale their fragrance. 
 
 She had not looked for Tisdale's card, but presently, in 
 disposing of the florist's box, she found it tucked in the 
 folds of waxed paper. He had written across it, not 
 very legibly, with his left hand, 
 
 " I want to beg your pardon for that mistake I made. 
 I know you never will put any man in David Weather- 
 bee's place. You are going to think too much of him. 
 When you are ready to make his project your life work, 
 let me know." 
 
 She was a long time reading the note, going back to 
 
222 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 the beginning more than once to reconsider his meaning. 
 And her exhilaration died; the weariness that made her 
 suddenly older settled over her face. At last she tore the 
 card slowly in pieces and dropped it in the box. 
 
 Her telephone rang, and she went over and took down 
 the receiver. " Mrs. Weatherbee," she said, and after a 
 moment. " Yes. Please send him up." 
 
 The bell-boy had left the door ajar, and she heard the 
 elevator when it stopped at her floor ; a quick, nervous step 
 sounded along the corridor, the door swung wider to some 
 draught, and a short, wiry man, with a weather-beaten 
 face, paused on the threshold. " I am Lucky Banks," 
 he said simply, taking off his hat. " Mr. Tisdale asked 
 me to see you got this bundle." 
 
 Involuntarily her glance rested on the hand that held 
 the package in the curve of his arm, and she suppressed a 
 shiver; the dread that the young and physically perfect 
 always betray at the sight of deformity sprang to her 
 eyes. " Thank you for troubling," she said, then, hav- 
 ing taken the bundle, she waited to close the door. 
 
 But Banks was in no hurry. " It wasn't any trouble, 
 my, no," he replied. " I was glad of the chance. It's a 
 little bunch of stuff that was Dave's. And likely I'd 
 have come up, anyhow," he added, " to inquire about a 
 tract of land you own east of the mountains. I heard 
 you talked of selling." 
 
 Instantly her face brightened. " Yes. But come in, 
 will you not?" She turned and placed the package on 
 the table, and took one of two chairs near the alcove. 
 The azalea was so near that its vivid flowers seemed to cast 
 a reflection on her cheeks. " I presume you mean my 
 tract in the Wenatchee Mountains ? " she went on engag- 
 ingly. " A few miles above Hesperides Vale." 
 
 "Well, yes." Banks seated himself on the edge of the 
 other chair and held his hat so as to conceal the maimed 
 
THE OPTION 223 
 
 hand. " I didn't know you had but one piece. It's up 
 among the benches and takes in a kind of pocket. It's off 
 the hne of irrigation, but if the springs turn out what I 
 expect, it ought to be worth sixty dollars an acre. And 
 I want an option on the whole tract for ten thou- 
 sand." 
 
 "Ten thousand dollars?" Her voice fluted incredu- 
 lously. " But I am afraid I don't understand exactly 
 what an option is. Please explain, Mr. Banks." 
 
 " Why, it's this way. I pay something down, say about 
 three thousand, and you agree to let the sale rest for well, 
 say six months, while I prospect the ground and see how 
 it is likely to pan out. Afterwards, if I fail to buy, I 
 naturally forfeit the bonus and all improvements." 
 
 " I see," she said slowly. " I see. But — you know 
 it is wild land ; you have been over the ground ? " 
 
 " Not exactly, but I know the country, and I've talked 
 with a man I can bank on, my, yes." 
 
 " How soon " — she began, then, covering her eager- 
 ness, said : " I agree to your option, Mr. Banks." 
 
 He laid his hat on the floor and took out his billhook, 
 in which he found two printed blanks, filled according to 
 his ^erms and ready for her signature. " I thought likely 
 we could close the deal right up, ma'am, so's I could catch 
 the Wenatchee train this afternoon. Your name goes 
 here above mine." 
 
 She took the paper and started buoyantly to the sec- 
 retary, but the little man stopped her. " Read it over, 
 read it over," he cautioned. " All square, isn't it.? And 
 sign this duplicate, too. That's right. You're quite 
 a business woman." 
 
 He laughed his high, mirthless laugh, and, taking a 
 check from the bill-book, added some bright gold pieces 
 which he stacked on the table carefully beside the package 
 he had brought. " There's your three thousand," he said. 
 
224 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " It's out of a little bunch of dust I just turned in at 
 the assay office." 
 
 " Thank you." She stood waiting while he folded his 
 duplicate and put it away, but he did not rise to go, and 
 after a moment, she went back to her chair by the scar- 
 let azalea. 
 
 " They are doing really wonderful things in the Wenat- 
 chee Valley," she said graciously, willing to make con- 
 versation in consideration of that little pile of clean, new 
 coin that had come so opportunely, " the apples are mar- 
 velous. But " — and here her conscience spoke — " you 
 understand this tract is unreclaimed desert land ; you must 
 do everything." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I understand that ; but what interests 
 me most in that pocket is that it belonged to David Weath- 
 erbee. He mapped out a project of his own long before 
 anybody dreamed of Hesperides Vale. He told me all 
 about it ; showed me the plans. That piece of ground got 
 to be the garden spot of the whole earth to him; and I 
 can't stand back and see it parcelled out to strangers." 
 
 He paused. The color deepened a little in her face ; she 
 looked away through the west window. " I thought an 
 awful lot of Dave," he went on. " I'd ought to. Likely 
 you don't know it — he wasn't the kind to talk much 
 about himself — but I owe my life to him. It had com- 
 menced " — he held up the crippled hand and smiled grimly 
 — " when Dave found me curled up under the snow, but 
 he stayed, in the teeth of a blizzard, to see me through. 
 And afterwards he lost time, weeks when hours counted, 
 taking care of me, — operated when it came to it, like a 
 regular doctor, my, yes. And when I got to crawling 
 around again, I found he'd made me his partner." 
 
 " He had made a discovery," she asked, " while you were 
 ill?" 
 
 " Yes, and you could bank on Dave it was a good one. 
 
THE OPTION 225 
 
 He knew the gravel every time. But we had to sell; it 
 was the men who bought us out that struck it rich. You 
 see, Dave had heavy bills pressing him down here in the 
 States; he never said just what he owed, but he had to 
 have the money. And, my, when he was doing the bulk 
 of the work, I couldn't say much. It was so the next 
 time and the next. We never could keep a claim long 
 enough for the real clean-up. So, when I learned to use 
 my hand, I cut loose to try it alone." 
 
 He halted again, but she waited in silence with her face 
 turned to the harbor. " I drifted into the Iditarod coun- 
 try^" he went on, " and was among the first to make a 
 strike. It was the luckiest move I ever made, but I wish 
 now I had stayed by Dave. I was only a few hundred 
 miles away, but I never thought of his needing me. That 
 was the trouble. He was always putting some other man 
 on his feet, cheering the rest along, but not one of us ever 
 thought of offering help to Dave Weatherbee. A fine, in- 
 dependent fellow like him. 
 
 " But I sure missed him," he said. " Many a time 
 there in the Iditarod I used to get to wishing we had that 
 voice of his to take the edge off of things. Why, back 
 on the Tanana I've seen it keep a whole camp heartened; 
 and after he picked me up in that blizzard, when I was most 
 done for and couldn't sleep, it seemed like his singing 
 about kept me alive. Sometimes still nights I can hear 
 those tunes yet. He knew a lot of 'em, but there was 
 Carry Me Back to Old Virginny, and Heart Bowed 
 Down, and You^ll Remember Me, I always thought 
 that song reminded him of some girl down here in the 
 States. He never told me so, always put me off if I said 
 a word, and none of us knew he was married then; but 
 when he got to singing that tune, somehow he seemed to 
 forget us boys and the camp and everything, and went 
 trailing off after his voice, looking for somebody clear 
 
226 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 out of sight. I know now, since I've seen you, I was 
 likely right." 
 
 Still she was silent. But she moved a little and lifted 
 her hand to the edge of the Satsuma j ardiniere ; her 
 fingers closed on it in a tightening grip ; she held her head 
 high, but the lashes drooped over her eyes. Watching 
 her, the miner's seamed face worked. After a moment he 
 said : " The other night I paid seven dollars for a seat 
 at the Metropolitan just to hear one of those first-class 
 singers try that song. The scenery was all right. There 
 were the boys and two or three women sitting around a 
 camp-fire. And the fiddles got the tune fine, but my, my ! 
 I couldn't understand a word. Seemed like that fellow 
 was talking darn Dago." 
 
 At this she lifted her eyes. The shadow of a smile 
 touched her mouth, though her lashes were wet. " And 
 he was, Mr. Banks," she said brightly. " He was. I 
 know, because I was there." 
 
 Banks picked up his hat and rose to his feet. " We 
 were all mighty proud of Dave," he said. '' There wasn't 
 one of us wouldn't have done his level best to reach him 
 that last stampede ; but I'm glad the chance came to Hol- 
 lis Tisdale. There wasn't another man in Alaska could 
 have done what he did. Yes, I'm mighty glad it was Tis- 
 dale who — found him." He paused, holding his hat over 
 the crippled hand, then added : " I suppose you never 
 knew what it means to be cold." 
 
 She rose. The smile had left her lips, and she stood 
 looking into his withered face with wide eyes. " I mean so 
 cold you don't care what happens. So cold you can lie 
 down in your tracks, in a sixty-mile-an-hour blizzard and 
 go to sleep." 
 
 " No." She shivered, and her voice was almost a whis- 
 per. " I am afraid not." 
 
 " Then you can't begin to imagine what Tisdale did. 
 
THE OPTION 227 
 
 You can't see him fighting his way through mountains, 
 mushing ahead on the winter trail, breaking road for 
 his worn-out huskies, alone day after day, with just poor 
 Dave strapped to the sled." 
 
 She put her hands to her ears. " Please, please don't 
 say any more," she begged. " I know — all — about it." 
 
 " Even about the wolves ? " 
 
 She dropped her hands, bracing herself a little on the 
 table, and turned her face, looking, with that manner of 
 one helplessly trapped, around the room. 
 
 " Even about the wolves ? " he persisted. 
 
 " No. No," she admitted at last. 
 
 He nodded. " I thought likely not. Hollis never told 
 that. It goes against his grain to be made much of. 
 He and Dave was cut out of the same block. But last 
 night in the lobby to the hotel, I happened on a fellow 
 that met him in the pass above Seward. There were four 
 of 'em mushing through to some mines beyond the Susitna. 
 It was snowing like blazes when they heard those wolves, 
 and pretty soon Tisdale's dogs came streaking by through 
 the smother. Then a gun fired. It kept up, with just 
 time enough between shots to load, until they came up to 
 him. He had stopped where a kind of small cave was 
 scooped in the mountainside and put the sled in and 
 turned the huskies loose. He had had the time, too, to make 
 a fire in front of the hole, but when the boys got there, 
 his wood was about burned out, and the wolves had got 
 Dave's old husky, Jack. He had done his best to help 
 hold off the pack. There's no telling how many Hollis 
 killed; you see the rest fell on 'em soon's they dropped. 
 It was hell. Nothing but hair and blood and bones 
 churned into the snow far as you could see. Excuse me, 
 ma'am; I guess it sounds a little rough. I'm more used 
 to talking to men, my, yes. But the fellow who told me 
 said Hollis knew well enough what was coming at the 
 
228 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 start, when he heard the first cry of the pack. He had 
 a chance to make a roadhouse below the pass. Not one 
 man in a thousand would have stayed by that sled." 
 
 His withered face worked again. He moved to the door. 
 " But Dave would have done it." His voice took a higher 
 pitch. " Yes, ma'am, Dave would have done the same 
 for HoUis Tisdale. They was a team; my, yes." He 
 laughed his hard, mirthless laugh. " Well, so long," he 
 said. 
 
 She did not answer. Half-way down the corridor 
 Banks looked back through the open door. She had not 
 moved from the place where he had left her, though her 
 face was turned to the window. A little farther on, while 
 he waited for the elevator, he saw she had taken the 
 package he had brought from Tisdale. She stood weigh- 
 ing it, undecided, in her hands, then drew out the table 
 drawer and laid it in. She paused another instant in un- 
 certainty and, closing the drawer, began to gather up the 
 pieces of gold. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 LUCKY BANKS AND THE PINK CHIFFON 
 
 ON his way down from Vivian Court, the mining man's 
 attention was caught by the great corner show win- 
 dow at Sedgewick- Wilson's, and instantly out of the dis- 
 play of handsome evening gowns his eyes singled a danc- 
 ing frock of pink chiffon. " She always looked pretty," 
 he told himself, " but when she wore pink — my ! " and he 
 turned and found his way through the swinging doors. A 
 little later the elevator had left him at the second floor. 
 For a moment the mirrors bewildered him; they gave 
 a sense of vastness, repeating the elegant apartment in 
 every direction, and whichever way he glanced there was 
 himself, seated on the edge of a chair, his square shoes 
 set primly on the thick green carpet, his hat held stiffly 
 over the crippled hand. Then an imposing young woman 
 sauntered towards him. " Well," she said severely, 
 *' what can I show you ? " 
 
 Banks drew himself a little stiffer. " A dress," he said 
 abruptly in his highest key, " ready-made and pink." 
 
 "What size?" 
 
 " Why " — the little man paused, and a blush that was 
 nearer a shadow crossed his weather-worn face — " let me 
 see. She's five feet seven and a quarter, in her shoes, and 
 I judge a couple of inches wider through the shoulders 
 than you." His glance moved to another saleswoman, 
 who came a step nearer and stood listening, frankly 
 amused. " You look more her figure," he added. 
 
 " Takes a thirty-eight." The first saleswoman brought 
 
230 THE MM OF THE DESERT 
 
 out a simple gown of pink veiling and laid it on the rack 
 before Banks, and he leaned forward and took a fold be- 
 tween his thumb and forefinger, gravely feeling the tex- 
 ture. 
 
 " This is priced at twenty-five dollars," she said. 
 " How does that suit ? " 
 
 Banks drew himself erect. " There's one down-stairs in 
 the front window I like better," he said. 
 
 The woman looked him shrewdly over. He had put his 
 hat down, and her glance rested involuntarily on his 
 maimed hand. " That pink chiffon is a hundred and 
 twenty-five," she explained. 
 
 " I can stand it ; the price doesn't cut any figure, if 
 it's what I want." He paused, nodding a little aggres- 
 sively and tapping the carpet with one square foot. 
 " The lady it's for is a mighty good judge of cloth, and I 
 want you to show me the best you've got." 
 
 She glanced at the other saleswoman, but she had turned 
 her back — her shoulders shook — and she hurried to 
 bring out a duplicate of the pink chiffon, which she ar- 
 ranged carefully on the rack. Bank's face softened; he 
 reached to touch it with a sort of caress. " This is more 
 like it," he said ; then, turning to the second girl, " but 
 I can tell better if you'll put it on. You don't seem very 
 busy," he added quickly, " and I'll pay you your time." 
 
 " Why, that's all right," she answered and came to pick 
 up the gown. " I'll be glad to ; that's what I'm here for." 
 
 She disappeared, laughing, into a dressing-room, and 
 presently the first saleswoman excused herself to wait on 
 new customers. The girl came back transformed. She 
 had a handsome brunette face, with merry dark eyes and a 
 great deal of black hair arranged in an elaborate and 
 striking coiffure. " Isn't it swell ? " she asked, walking 
 leisurely before him. '' But you'll have to fasten it for 
 her; it hooks in the back." Then she stopped; the fun 
 
LUCKY BANKS 281 
 
 went out of her face ; her glance had fallen to his crippled 
 hand. " I'm awfully sorry," she stammered. " Of course 
 she can manage it herself; we all have to sometimes." 
 
 But the little man was rapt in the gown. " I'll take 
 it ! " he said tremulously. " It suits you great, but, my ! 
 She'll be a sight." 
 
 " I'll bet she's pretty," said the girl, still trying to 
 make amends. " I'd like to see her in this chiffon. And 
 I guess your party will be swell." 
 
 Banks looked troubled. " It isn't a party ; not exactly. 
 You see she's been away from town quite a spell, and I 
 thought likely she'd be a little short on clothes. I guess 
 while I'm about it I may as well take along everything 
 that naturally goes with this dress ; shoes and socks and 
 a hat and — flannels — " 
 
 He paused in uncertainty, for the girl had suddenly 
 turned her back again. " I'd like to leave the rest to 
 you," he added. " Pick out the best ; the whole outfit 
 straight through." 
 
 " I'll be glad to." The girl turned again, controlling 
 a last dimple. " You are the thoughtfullest man I ever 
 saw on this floor. She's in luck; but I guess you aren't 
 married — yet." 
 
 Banks laughed his high, strained laugh and rose. 
 " No," he answered briskly, " no, not exactly. But I 
 want you to hurry out this bill of goods in time for the 
 four-ten Great Northern. I can't go without it, and I'm 
 counting on making Wenatchee to-night." 
 
 " Wenatchee ? " exclaimed the girl. " Is that where 
 you expect her to wear this chiff^on.? Why, it's the dust- 
 iest place under the sun. Take my word for it ; I came 
 from there. And, see here, they don't give big parties 
 there; the people are just nice and friendly; it's a small 
 town. If I were you I'd choose a tan ; a veiling gown, like 
 this first one we showed you, only tan. Then you could 
 
232 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 put the difference in price into a coat ; — we have some 
 smart ones in tan, — with a light pongee duster to slip 
 over it all, if she's driving or using a machine." 
 
 Banks nodded. " Sure, tuck them all in ; but this pink 
 dress goes, too, and see it's on top. Likely they'll go best 
 in a trunk. Now, if you will give me the bill — " 
 
 He paused to take out his poke, but the girl laughed. 
 " I can't," she said. " It will take me half an hour to 
 foot it all up after I've picked out the things. And un- 
 less you give me a limit, I won't know where to stop. 
 Then there's the hat. I never would dare to choose that 
 for a woman I've never seen, unless she's my style." 
 
 " She is," the little man answered gravely, " that's why 
 I picked you out when I first come in. I guess maybe 
 the other one was nice all right, but she was a little too 
 dried-up and froze to do." 
 
 " Then I know what I'd like to send ; it's a hat I tried 
 on this morning. A nice taupe — that's about the color 
 of that sage-brush country over there and won't show 
 the dust — and it's trimmed with just one stunning plume 
 the same shade and a wreath of the tiniest pink French 
 roses set under the velvet brim. It looked like it was 
 made for me, but twelve and a half is my limit and it's 
 twenty-five dollars. Maybe you don't want to go that 
 high." 
 
 Banks untied the poke and poured the remaining gold 
 pieces on the show-case; then he found a pocket-book 
 from which he took several crisp bills. " There's three 
 hundred," he said briefly, " and another ten for the trunk. 
 I want you to pick out a nice little one I can stow in the 
 back of a one-seated automobile. The hat and this pink 
 dress go on top; and be sure you get the outfit down to 
 that four-ten train. Good-by," he put out his hand, and 
 a gleam of warmth touched his bleak face. " I'm glad I 
 met you." 
 
LUCKY BANKS ^33 
 
 " And so am I. Good-by." She stopped gathering up 
 the money long enough to give him her hand. " And good 
 luck," she added. 
 
 The first saleswoman, again at leisure, approached and 
 stood looking after him as he hurried with his quick, un- 
 even steps towards the elevator. "Of all things!" she 
 exclaimed. " He did buy that pink chiffon. Who'd ever 
 have thought he had the money or the taste. But I sup- 
 pose he's one of those lucky fellows who've struck it rich 
 in Alaska." 
 
 The other young woman nodded. " His gold came out 
 of one of those pokes, and it's fresh from the mint. But 
 I guess he's earned all he's got, every cent. I'll bet he's 
 starved and froze; suffered ways we don't know. And 
 he's spending it on a girl. I'd like to see her. Maybe 
 she's the cold-blooded kind that'll snub him and make fun 
 of this chiffon." 
 
 She turned into the dressing-room, and it was then 
 Banks stopped and brought out the loose change in his 
 pockets. There was a ten dollar piece, to which he added 
 two and a half in silver. He started back up the room, 
 but the girl had disappeared, and, while he stood hesi- 
 tating, a floor-walker approached. 
 
 " Have you forgotten something? " he asked politely. 
 
 " Yes," answered Banks, " I forgot to give this money 
 to the young lady who was waiting on me. She's likely 
 gone to take off a pink dress I bought. But she's the one 
 with lots of black hair and pink cheeks and a real nice 
 smile; you couldn't miss her. And you might as well 
 give her this ; tell her it's the other twelve and a half to 
 make up the price of that hat; a duplicate of the one 
 we were talking about. She'll understand." 
 
 He called these final words over his shoulder, for the 
 elevator had stopped, and he hurried to catch it. Going 
 
234 THE MM OF THE DESERT 
 
 down^ he looked at his watch ; he had spent an hour buy- 
 ing that dress. But on the lower floor he noticed a tele- 
 phone booth and saw a way to make up the time. 
 " Hello ! " he called, pitching his voice to a treble. " This 
 is Banks, the miner you was trying to talk into buying 
 that little red car last week; roadster I think you said 
 'twas. Well, I want you to fire up and run down to the 
 Rainier-Grand quick as you can." 
 
 He listened a moment, then : " Yes, likely I'll change 
 my mind, if I get so's I can drive her all right by three 
 p. M. I'm going east of the mountains, and if I buy 
 I've got to ship her on the four-ten train — Yes, I mean 
 the little one with a seat to accommodate two, with a place 
 to carry a trunk behind. Now get busy and rush her 
 down. I've got some errands to do, and I want you to 
 hurry me around; then we'll get away from the crowd 
 out on the boulevard where I can have a clear track to 
 break her on." 
 
 The sale was made, and the mining man must have 
 applied himself successfuUjr to his lesson, for the follow- 
 ing morning, when the red car spun out of Wenatchee and 
 up the lifting valley road, a snug steamer-trunk was 
 stowed in the box behind, and Banks at the steering gear 
 was traveling alone. To be sure the rising curves were 
 made in sudden spurts and jerks, but his lack of skill was 
 reinforced by a tireless vigilance gathered through break- 
 ing days of driving and mushing over hazardous trails. 
 And he had made an early start ; few wayfarers were yet 
 astir. But at last, high up where the track doubled the 
 summit of a slope that lifted in a bluff overhead, and on 
 the other hand dropped precipitously to the river, the lit- 
 tle man barely averted catastrophe. The driver and the 
 vehicle were hidden by the curve, but at his warning honk, 
 two percherons that blocked the way halted and, lunging 
 at his repeated note, crowded back on the team they led. 
 
LUCKY BANKS 235 
 
 Then a woman's voice shrilled : " I've got the heaviest 
 load; jou give me right of way." 
 
 Banks sprang out and ran forward past the horses. 
 The driver, dressed in a skirt and blouse of khaki, was 
 seated on a load of lumber. She held the reins high in 
 yellow-gauntleted hands, and a rope of loosened red hair 
 hung below a smart campaign hat. " I can't back," she 
 exclaimed aggressively. " You got to give me right of 
 way." 
 
 "Ain't there a man with the outfit?" he asked uncer- 
 tainly. 
 
 "No," she snapped. "Do I look like I need one?" 
 But she hurried on tremulously : " My husband's running 
 the mill night and day, and Bryant, down the valley, had 
 to have his boxes for the apple crop. He said send the 
 boards down, and he'd let a couple of his Japs knock 'em 
 together. So I thought with an early start and a clear 
 track, I could drive. But you've got to turn out. I've 
 got the heavy load." 
 
 Banks shook his head. 
 
 " It's my first trip," he said dubiously, " and I ain't 
 learned to back her only enough to turn 'round; and it's 
 too narrow. But I used to drive pretty good seven or 
 eight years ago ; and I've been managing a dog team off and 
 on ever since. Let me climb up there and back your 
 load." 
 
 " You can't do it," she cried. " It's up-grade and a 
 mean curve, and that nigh leader, for a first-class draught 
 horse, has the cussedest disposition you ever saw. You 
 can't back him short of a gunshot under his nose, and you 
 got to get that buzz-wagon of yours out of sight before 
 I can get him past." 
 
 " Then," said Banks, and smiled grimly, " I guess it's 
 up to me to back." He started to return to the machine 
 but paused to add over his shoulder : " It's all right ; 
 
236 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 don't you be scared. No matter what happens, you for- 
 get it and drive straight ahead." 
 
 But destiny, who had scourged and thwarted the little 
 man so many years, was in a humorous mood that day. 
 The little red car backed down from the bend in zigzag 
 spurts, grazing the bluff, sheering off to coast the river- 
 ward brink; then, in the final instant, when the machine 
 failed to respond to the lever speedily enough, a spur of 
 rock jutting beyond the roadway eased the outer wheel. 
 It rolled up, all but over, while the next tire met the ob- 
 struction and caught. Banks laughed. " Hooray ! " he 
 piped. " Now swing the corner, lady ! All circle to the 
 left." 
 
 " Get up ! " the driver shrilled. " Get up, now, Duke, 
 you imp ! " And the leader, balking suspiciously at the 
 explosive machine, felt a smart touch of the whip. He 
 plunged, sidled against the bluff and broke by. There 
 was barely room to make that turn; the tailboard of the 
 wagon, grating, left a long blemish on the bright body of 
 the car, but as the load rolled on down the incline. Banks 
 churned gayly up around the bend. 
 
 In less than an hour Hesperides Vale stretched behind 
 him, and the bold front of Cerberus lifted holding the gap. 
 Tisdale had warned him of the barbed-wire fence, and 
 while he cautiously rounded the mountain, his old misgiv- 
 ing rose. What though he had made good; what though 
 the Iditarod had filled his poke many times over, the 
 north had taken heavy toll. He had left his youth up 
 there, and what would this smart little automobile count 
 against a whole right hand? And this trunkful of clothes 
 — what would it weigh against a good-sized man? Still, 
 still, though she might have taken her pick of 'em all, 
 Annabel had never married, and she had kept his goats. 
 Then he remembered Tisdale had said that she too had 
 had a hard fight, and the years must have changed her. 
 
LUCKY BANKS 287 
 
 And hadn't she herself told him, in that letter he carried 
 in his breast pocket, that if he cared to come and see the 
 goats, he would find his investment was turning out fine, 
 but he needn't expect she had kept her own good looks? 
 
 The little man smiled with returning confidence and, 
 lifting his glance, saw the cabin and the browsing flock 
 cut off by the barbed-wire fence from the road. Then 
 as he brought the car to a stop, the collie flew barking 
 against the wicket, and a gaunt woman rose from a rock 
 and stood shading her eyes from the morning sun. 
 
 He sprang down and spoke to the dog, and instantly his 
 tone quieted the collie, but the woman came nearer to point 
 at the sign. " You better read that," she threatened. 
 
 His hand dropped from the wicket, and he stood staring 
 at her across the barbed wire. " I was looking for a 
 lady," he said slowly, "but I guess likely I've made a 
 mistake." 
 
 She came another step and, again shading her eyes, 
 stared back. A look half eager, half wistful, trembled 
 for a moment through the forbidding tenseness of her face. 
 " All the men I've seen in automobiles up here were look- 
 ing for land," she replied defiantly. 
 
 He nodded; his eyes did not move from her face, but 
 they shone like two chippings of blue glacier ice, and his 
 voice when he spoke piped its sharpest key. "So am I. 
 I've got an option on a pocket somewheres in this range, 
 and the lady I'm inquiring for happened to homestead the 
 quarter below. It sort of overlaps, so's she put her im- 
 provements on the wrong edge. Yes, ma'am, I've likely 
 made a mistake, but, you see, I heard she had a bunch o' 
 goats." 
 
 There was a brief silence then. " Anyhow, you must 
 o' come from that surveyor," she said. " Maybe he was 
 just a smooth talker, but he had a nice face; laughing 
 crinkles around his eyes and a way of looking at you, if 
 
238 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 you'd done a mean thing, to make you feel like the scum of 
 the earth. But he happened to be acquainted with the 
 man that made me a present of my first billy and ewes, 
 and you — favor him a little." She paused, then went on 
 unsteadily, while her eyes continued to search him. " He 
 was about your size, but he's been up in Alaska, way in 
 the interior somewheres for years, and the letter I wrote 
 him couldn't have reached him inside a month. I figured 
 if he came out, he would just about catch the last steamer 
 in October." 
 
 " So he would, if he hadn't come down to Seattle al- 
 ready." He stopped, fumbling with the pin, and threw 
 open the wicket. " I guess I ain't changed much more'n 
 you, Annabel." 
 
 The woman was silent. Her chin dropped; her glance 
 sought the earth. Then Banks turned to fasten the gate 
 behind him, and she started to stalk mechanically up the 
 field towards the cabin. " I feel all broke up," he said, 
 overtaking her ; " like I'd been struck by a blizzard. 
 Why, there was a girl down in Seattle, she sold me a bill 
 of goods that looked more like you than you do yourself. 
 I know I got myself to blame, but I never counted for a 
 minute on your keeping the goats." 
 
 The woman stalked on a little faster, but she could not 
 outstrip the prospector; she turned her face, in refuge, 
 to the flock. " Goats," she said unsteadily, " goats — 
 are all right when you get used to 'em. They're some- 
 thing like children, I guess ; a sight of trouble but good 
 company and mighty comforting to have 'round. And 
 they're just as different. There's old Dad, the cautious 
 looking one standing off there watching us and chewing 
 the end of a thistle. It might as well be a toothpick, and 
 I'll bet he's thinking : ' You can't get the best of me, no, 
 sir.' And that piece of wisdom next to him is the Profes- 
 sor. Don't he remind you of the old schoolmaster down 
 
LUCKY BANKS 239 
 
 at the Comers ? And there goes Johnny Banks. See him? 
 The pert little fellow chasing up the field. You never 
 can tell where he'll turn up or what he'll do next." 
 
 She laughed a dry, forced laugh, and Banks echoed it 
 in his strained key. " But we are going to get rid of 'em. 
 They're a fine bunch — you've brought 'em up splendid, 
 made a sight better showing than I could — but we are 
 going to get rid of 'em, yes, ma'am, and forget 'em as 
 quick's we can. We are going to start right now to make 
 up those seven years." 
 
 They had reached the cabin, and he stopped on the 
 threshold. " My, my," he said softly, " don't it look 
 homey? There's your Dad's old chair, and the dresser 
 and the melodion. I was 'fraid you'd sold that, Annabel." 
 
 " I could have, there's been plenty of chances, but Dad 
 gave it to me, don't you remember? the Christmas I was 
 sixteen." 
 
 " My, yes, and you opened it right there, under the 
 cherry tree, and started Home, Sweet Home, I can hear 
 it now, and the crowd joining in. I'm glad you kept it, 
 Annabel; a new one wouldn't seem just the same." 
 
 " It's traveled though. You ought to have seen me 
 moving from Oregon. The old delivery wagon was heap- 
 ing full." Her laugh this time was spontaneous. " And 
 old Kate couldn't make more than ten miles a day. But 
 I had a good tent, and when she had done her day's stunt, 
 I just tied her out to feed and made camp. The hardest 
 was keeping track of the goats, but the flock was small 
 then, and I had two dogs." 
 
 " I see," said Banks. " You kept 'em ahead of the 
 wagon when you was on the road and let 'em forage for 
 themselves. But I'd like to have a look at old Kate. 
 She came of good stock." 
 
 Annabel went over and, seating herself in her father's 
 chair, untied her sunbonnet. " Kate died," she said. " I 
 
240 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 hired her out to a man down the valley, and he worked hei 
 too hard in the heat." 
 
 There was a silent moment. She took off the bonnet 
 and laid it in her lap. The light, streaming through a 
 small window, touched her hair, which was bound in 
 smooth, thick braids around her head. 
 
 " My, my," the little man said, " ain't it a sight ? I'd 
 have known you in a minute without that bonnet down at 
 the gate. My, but don't it make a difference what a 
 woman wears? I'll bet I can't tell you from the girl I 
 left in Oregon when you've changed your clothes." 
 
 She shook her head. " This denim is all I've got," she 
 said, with a touch of defiance. " I wore out all I had ; 
 goats are hard on clothes." 
 
 " I thought likely." His bleak face began to glow. 
 " And I knew you was out of town away from the stores, 
 so's I brought along a little outfit. You wait a minute, 
 and I'll fetch it right in." 
 
 He was gone before he finished speaking and returned 
 in an incredibly short time with the trunk, which he de- 
 posited on the floor before her. Then he felt in his pocket 
 and, finding the key, fitted it and lifted the lid. It was 
 then, for the first time, she noticed the maimed hand. 
 
 " Johnny ! " she cried, and the pent emotion surged in 
 her voice. " Johnny, you've been — hurt." 
 
 " Oh, that don't amount to anything now, only the 
 looks. I can turn out just as much work." 
 
 He hurried to open the tray, but before he could remove 
 the packing of tissue paper that enveloped* the hat, she 
 reached and took the crippled hand between her own. 
 Her fingers fluttered, caressing, while with maternal pro- 
 tectiveness they covered it, and she drew him back to the 
 broad arm of her chair. The defiance had gone out of 
 her face ; her eyes were misty and tender. " You tell me 
 what happened," she said. 
 
LUCKY BANKS 241 
 
 So came Lucky Banks' hour. He saw this woman who 
 had been fond of pretty clothes, who had once worn 
 them but was now reduced to a single frock of coarse 
 denim, turn from the fine outfit before it was even dis- 
 played; waiting, with a wondrously comforting solicitude 
 he never had suspected in the girl whom he had left in 
 Oregon, to hear first that miserable story of the trail. 
 He told it briefly, but with the vividness of one whose 
 words are coined straight from the crucible of bitter ex- 
 perience, and while she listened, her heart shone in her 
 passionate eyes. " What if it had happened," she broke 
 out at last. " If it had, Johnny, it would have been my 
 fault. I drove you into going up there. I'm responsible 
 for this hand. I — I couldn't have stood worse than 
 that." 
 
 The little man beamed. " Is that so, Annabel.? Then 
 I'm mighty glad Weatherbee followed that stampede. 
 Nobody else would have seen my hand sticking up through 
 the snow and stopped to dig me out. Unless — " he added 
 thoughtfully, " it was Hollis Tisdale. Yes, likely Hol- 
 lis would. He was the only man in Alaska fit to be Dave's 
 running mate." 
 
 " Do you mean that surveyor.? " she asked. 
 
 Banks nodded. 
 
 " I thought so," she said with satisfaction. " Dad 
 taught me to size people up on sight. He could tell 
 the first minute he saw a man's face whether he was good 
 for a bill of groceries or not ; and I knew that surveyor 
 was straight. I bet he knew you was in Seattle when he 
 got me to write. But I wish I could have a look at the 
 other one. He must be — great." 
 
 Banks nodded again. " He was," he answered huskily. 
 " He was. But he's made his last trip. I wasn't three 
 hundred miles off, but I never thought of Dave Weather- 
 bee's needing help; it took Tisdale, clear off in Nome, 
 
242 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 over a thousand miles, to sense something was wrong. 
 But he started to mush it, alone with his huskies, to the 
 Iditarod and on to the Aurora, Dave's mine. You don't 
 know anything about that winter trail, Annabel. It 
 means from twenty to fifty below, with the wind swooping 
 out of every canyon, cross-cutting like knives, and not the 
 sign of a road-house in days, in weeks sometimes. But 
 he made it," — Banks' voice reached high pitch — " He 
 beat the records, my, yes." 
 
 "And something was wrong?" asked Annabel, break- 
 ing the pause. 
 
 Banks nodded again. " You remember that sheepman 
 do^ in Oregon they brought in from the range. The 
 one that ripped up his comforter that night at the hotel 
 and set the wool in little rolls around the floor; thought 
 he was tending sheep? Well, that's what was happening. 
 And HoUis was two days late. Dave had started for the 
 coast; not the regular way to Fairbanks and out by 
 stage to Valdez, but a new route through the Alaska 
 Range to strike the Susitna and on to Seward. And he 
 had fresh dogs. He was through Rainy Pass when Tis- 
 dale began to catch up." 
 
 " He did catch up ? " Annabel questioned again hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 Banks nodded once more. He drew his hand away and 
 rose from his seat on the chair arm. His eyes were shin- 
 ing like blue glacier ice. " It was in a blizzard ; the same 
 as the day I lost my fingers — only — Hollis — he was 
 too late." He turned and walked unsteadily to the door 
 and stood looking out. " I wasn't three hundred miles 
 from the Aurora," he added. " I could have been in 
 time. I can't ever forget that." 
 
 Annabel rose and stood watching him, with the emotion 
 playing in her face. " Johnny [ " she exclaimed at last. 
 " Oh, Johnny 1 " She went over and put her arm pro- 
 
LUCKY BANKS 243 
 
 tectively around his shoulders. " I know just how you 
 feel; but you didn't drive him to it. You were just busy 
 and interested in your work. You'd have gone in a min- 
 ute, left everything, if you had known." 
 
 " That's it ; I ought to have known. I ought to have 
 kept track of Dave ; run over once in a while to say hullo. 
 I'd have likely seen it was coming on, then, in time. 
 When Tisdale found him, he'd been setting out little pieces 
 of spruce, like an orchard in the snow. You see," he 
 added after a moment, " Dave always expected to come 
 back here when he struck it rich and start a fruit ranch. 
 He was the man who owned this pocket." 
 
 A sudden understanding shone in Annabel's face. 
 " And that's why you got an option on it ; you want to 
 carry out his scheme. I'll help you, Johnny, I'll do my 
 level best." 
 
 Banks turned and looked at her. " That's all I want, 
 Annabel. I was a little afraid you'd be sick of the 
 place. But, my, we can go right ahead and set a crew of 
 men to grubbing out the sage on both sections to once. 
 Folks might have said, seeing you take up with a un- 
 dersized, froze-up fellow like me, you was marrying me 
 for my money; but they can't, no, ma'am, not when they 
 see the valuable claim you are developing in your own 
 right." 
 
 Annabel laughed. " I guess you're entitled to your 
 turn making fun of me. But have you got money, 
 Johnny.? I never thought of that." 
 
 " Likely not. But the Annabel sure brought me luck ; 
 that name worked better than a rabbit's foot. Here's a 
 little bunch of nuggets I saved out of the first clean-up." 
 He paused to take a small new poke from an inner pocket 
 and, untying the string, poured the contents in her hand. 
 " I thought likely you'd want 'em made up in a necklace 
 with a few diamonds or mebbe emeralds mixed in." 
 
244 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 She stood looking at the shining rough pieces of gold 
 in her palm, while a certain pride rose through the won- 
 der in her face. " M j gracious ! " she exclaimed, and a 
 spark of her lost youth revived. " My gracious. And 
 you named your mine after me. I bet it was on account 
 of that billy and the ewes." 
 
 " Likely," the little man beamed. " But more than 
 likely it was because that strike was a sure thing, and you 
 was behind it, Annabel. My, yes, you was responsible I 
 ever got to Alaska; let alone stuck it out. Sure as a 
 grubstake, you gave me my start. Now come take a look 
 at this outfit I brought." 
 
 He held the poke open while she poured the nuggets 
 back. " I like them plain," she said, " but I never saw 
 any made up. I leave it to you." 
 
 " Then I make it emeralds to match the Green, and 
 mebbe a few sparklers thrown in." He laughed gayly and, 
 taking her arm, drew her back across the room to the open 
 trunk ; when she was seated again in the armchair, he 
 knelt to remove the first layer of tissue packing. She 
 took the precaution to spread one smooth sheet of it on 
 her lap and, leaning forward, saw him uncover the plume, 
 the entire hat. " Gracious goodness ! " she exclaimed 
 tremulously, as he lifted it awkwardly to her eager hands, 
 " ain't it splendid ? I didn't know they were making them 
 like this. I never saw such roses; why, they look alive 
 and ready to smell; and ain't they pretty fixed this way 
 under the brim ? " She paused, turning the masterpiece 
 slowly, like a connoisseur. " I bet I could have worn it 
 when I was in Oregon. It would have been my style. 
 Do you suppose " — she glanced at Banks timidly — " I'd 
 dare to try it if my hair was done real nice, and I had on 
 a better dress? " 
 
 " My, yes." Banks laughed again excitedly, and with 
 growing confidence opened the next compartment to display 
 
LUCKY BANKS 245 
 
 the chiffon gown. " Wait till you get this on. You'll 
 be a sight. You always was in pink." He paused to 
 take the hat and, wheeling, placed it on the old dresser, 
 and so made room for the frock on her lap. " Now, ain't 
 that soft and peachy and — and rich ^ " 
 
 But Annabel was silent. She lifted her eyes from the 
 gown to Johnny, and they were full of mist. Then her 
 lip quivered, and a drop splashed down on the delicate 
 fabric. " My gracious ! " she cried in consternation and, 
 rising, held the gown off at arm's-length. " Do you sup- 
 pose it's going to spot ? " 
 
 And Banks' laugh piped once more. " I guess it can 
 stand a little salt water," he replied. " But if it can't, 
 we can get a duplicate. And now you just take your 
 time and pick out what you want to wear. I am going 
 up the bench to look around and find Dave's springs. 
 It'll likely take me an hour or so, and you can be ready 
 to start soon's I get back." 
 
 " Start ^ " she repeated. " Was you counting on go- 
 ing somewhere ? " 
 
 " My, yes. I was counting on taking you a little spin 
 down to Wenatchee the first thing, and having a chicken 
 dinner to the hotel. Then, soon's we get a license and 
 hunt up a sky man, we are going to run down to Ore- 
 gon and have a look at the old Comers." 
 
 " I never rode in an automobile," she said, glowing, 
 " but I think I'd like it fine." 
 
 " I bet you will. I bet, coming home, you'll be running 
 the machine yourself half the time." 
 
 He hurried away then, laughing his shrillest key, and 
 Annabel laid the pink chiff^on back in the tray to follow 
 him to the door. She stood smiling, though the mist al- 
 ternately gathered and cleared in her eyes, watching him 
 up the vale and waiting to see him reappear on the front 
 of the bench. But he found her ready when he returned ; 
 
246 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 and the hat was becoming beyond her hopes. It brought 
 back in a measure the old brightness that was half a 
 challenge in her air, so that, to the mining man, she 
 seemed to have gone back, almost, those lost years. Still, 
 his satisfaction was tempered, and instantly she under- 
 stood the cause. " The roses seemed enough pink to- 
 day," she said tactfully, " till I wear off some of this tan. 
 But I like this tan cloth awful well, don't jou? It's 
 a nice color for out-of-doors and won't show the dust. 
 And doesn't it fit perfectly splendid.'^ And look at these 
 shoes. I don't see how you remembered my size. You've 
 thought of everything. There's even an automobile veil. 
 A lady that came out here with Mr. Tisdale had one about 
 the same shade. But you'll have to help me put it on 
 so I won't spoil this plume." 
 
 She pushed the pongee coat, which was carefully folded 
 across the back of a chair, a little aside and, seating her- 
 self before the mirror, reached to take the scarf and ex- 
 posed a folded paper on the dresser. " I found that en- 
 velope pinned inside the hat," she said still diplomatically, 
 though a touch of humor shaded her lips. " There's a 
 ten dollar piece in it and two and a half in silver. Prob- 
 ably it's your change." 
 
 But Banks turned the envelope and read pencilled 
 across the front : " There isn't any duplicate, but thanks 
 just the same." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 KEKNEIi AND PEACH 
 
 AFTER that little wedding journey down in Oregon, 
 Banks returned to Seattle to engage a crew for the 
 first step to reclamation; combining pleasure with busi- 
 ness, he brought Annabel and registered at the New Wash- 
 ington Hotel. And here Daniels, detailed to learn some- 
 thing in regard to the Iditarod strike where, it was ru- 
 mored, the Morgansteins were negotiating for the miner's 
 valuable holdings, finally traced him. 
 
 " Sure we have a Banks of Alaska with us," the clerk 
 responded, smiling, and turned the page to show the 
 Press representative the strained, left-handed signature. 
 *' He's a sawed-off specimen with a face like a peachstone ; 
 but he said if he put down his regular name, the boys 
 likely would miss his trail." 
 
 " Mrs. Annabel Green Banks Hesperides Vale," read 
 Jimmie. 
 
 " Lucky Banks Iditarod and Hesperides Vale. 
 
 " This looks like my man, sure ; but who is Mrs. Green- 
 Banks? His wife or mother.?" 
 
 " Bride," the clerk replied laconically. " It's a sort 
 of overdue honeymoon. But she's rather smart looking; 
 fine eyes and tall enough to make up for him. They're a 
 pair." 
 
 " I see. Kernel and peach. But Hesperides Vale," 
 Daniels went on thoughtfully. " Why, that's in the new 
 fruit belt over near Wenatchee, my old stamping-ground." 
 
 The clerk nodded. " She owns some orchard lands over 
 there and to hear him talk, you'd think she had the money. 
 
248 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Until it comes to ordering; then the Queen of Sheba isn't 
 in it. * I guess we can stand the best room in the house,' 
 he says. And when I showed them the blue suite and told 
 them Tarquina, the prima donna opening at the Metro- 
 politan to-night, had the companion suite in rose, it's: 
 ' Do you think you can put up with this blue, Annabel ? ' 
 But there comes the cameo now. No, the other way, from 
 the street." 
 
 Jimmie met the prospector midway across the lobby. 
 " Mr. Banks ? " he began genially. " I am the lucky one 
 this time ; I came in purposely to see you. I am Daniels, 
 representing the Seattle Press, My paper is particular 
 about the Alaska news, and I came straight to headquar- 
 ters to find out about the Iditarod camp." 
 
 Banks kept on to the desk, and Jimmie turned to walk 
 with him. The clerk was ready with his key. " Mrs. 
 Banks hasn't come in yet," he said, smiling. 
 
 " She's likely been kept up at Sedgewick-Wilson's. I 
 introduced her to a friend of mine there. I had to chase 
 around to find a contractor that could ship his own 
 scrapers and shovels across the range, and I thought the 
 time would go quicker, for her, picking out clothes. But," 
 he added, turning to the reporter, " we may as well sit 
 down and wait for her here in the lobby." 
 
 " I understand," began Daniels, opening his notebook 
 on the arm of his chair, " that your placer in the Iditarod 
 country has panned out a clear one hundred thousand 
 dollars." 
 
 " Ninety-five thousand, two hundred and twenty-six," 
 corrected the mining man, " with the last clean-up to hear 
 from." 
 
 Jimmie set these figures down, then asked : " Is the 
 rumor true that the Morgansteins are considering an offer 
 from you? " 
 
 " No, sir," piped the little man. " They made me an 
 
KERNEL AND PEACH 249 
 
 offer. I gave 'em an option on my bunch of claims for a 
 hundred and fifty thousand. Their engineer has gone in 
 to look the property over. If they buy, they'll likely send 
 a dredger through by spring and work a big bunch of 
 men." 
 
 There was a silent moment while Jimmie recorded these 
 facts, then : " And I understand you are interested in 
 fruit lands east of the mountains," he said. " It often 
 happens that way. Men make their pile up there in the 
 frozen north and come back here to Washington to invest 
 it." 
 
 "Likely," replied Banks shortly. "Likely. But it's 
 my wife that owns the property in the fruit belt. And 
 it's a mighty promising layout; it's up to me to stay 
 with it till she gets her improvements in. Afterwards — 
 now I want you to get this in correct. Last time things 
 got mixed ; the young fellow wrote me down Bangs. And 
 I've read things in the newspaper lately about HoUis Tis- 
 dale that I know for a fact ain't so." 
 
 " Hollis Tisdale.'' " Jimmie suspended his pencil. " So 
 you know the Sphynx of the Yukon, do you.'' " 
 
 " That's it. That's the name that blame newspaper 
 called him. Sphynx nothing. Hollis Tisdale is the best 
 known man in Alaska and the best liked. If the Govern- 
 ment had had the sense to put him at the head of the 
 Alaska business, there'd been something domg, my, yes." 
 
 The reporter finished his period. " Don't let this in- 
 terview bother you," he said. " It's going into my paper 
 straight, Mr. Banks, and in your own words." 
 
 While he spoke, his vigilant glance rested lightly on one 
 of the several guests scattered about the lobby. He was 
 a grave and thoughtful man and had seemed deeply en- 
 grossed in a magazine, but he had changed his seat for 
 a chair within speaking distance, and Jimmie had not seen 
 him turn a page. 
 
250 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " What I was going to saj, then," resumed Banks, 
 " was that afterwards, when the orchards are in shape, I 
 am going back to Alaska and take a bunch of those aban- 
 doned claims, where the miners have quit turning up the 
 earth, and just seed 'em to oats and blue stem. Either 
 would do mighty well. The sun shines hot long summer 
 days, and the ground keeps moist from the melting snow 
 on the mountains. I've seen little patches of grain up 
 there and hay ripening and standing high as my shoulder. 
 But what they need most in the interior is stock farms, 
 horses and beeves, and I am going to take in a fine bunch 
 of both; they'll do fine; winter right along with the 
 caribou and reindeer." 
 
 " Well, that's a new idea to me," exclaimed Daniels, 
 " Alaska to me has always stood for blizzards, snow, 
 glaciers, impregnable mountains, bleak and barren plains 
 like the steppes of Russia, and privation, privation of the 
 worst kind." 
 
 Banks nodded grimly. " That's because the first of us 
 got caught by winter unprepared. Why, men freeze to 
 death every blizzard right here in the States; sometimes 
 it's in Dakota; sometimes old New York, with railroads 
 lacing back and forth close as shoestrings. And imagine 
 that big, unsettled Alaska interior without a single rail- 
 road and only one wagon-road; men most of the time 
 breaking their own trails. Not a town or a house some- 
 times in hundreds of miles to shelter 'em, if a storm hap- 
 pens to break. But you talk with any Swede miner from 
 up there. He'll tell you they could make a new Sweden 
 out of Alaska. Let us use the timber for building and 
 fuel ; let a man that's got the money to do it start a lum- 
 ber-mill or mine the coal. Give us the same land and 
 mineral laws you have here in the States, and homeseekers 
 would flock in thick as birds in springtime." 
 
 The stranger closed his magazine. " Pardon me," he 
 
KERNEL AND PEACH 251 
 
 said, taking advantage of the pause, " but do you mean 
 that Conservation is all that is keeping home-seekers out 
 of Alaska?" 
 
 Banks nodded this time with a kind of fierceness; his 
 eyes scintillated a white heat, but he suppressed the im- 
 minent explosion and began with forced mildness, " My, 
 yes. But you imagine a man trying to locate with ninety- 
 five per cent, of the country reserved. First you've got 
 to consider the Coast Range. The great wall of China 's 
 nothing but a line of ninepins to the Chugach and St. 
 Elias wall. The Almighty builds strong, and he set that 
 wall to hold the Pacific Ocean back. Imagine peaks piled 
 miles high and cemented together with glaciers ; the Malis- 
 pina alone has eighty miles of water front; and there's 
 the Nanatuk, Columbia, Muir; but the Government ain't 
 found names for more'n half of 'em yet, nor a quarter of 
 the mountains. Now imagine a man getting his family 
 over that divide, driving his little bunch of cattle through, 
 packing an outfit to keep 'em going the first year or so. 
 Suppose he's even able to take along a portable house; 
 what's he going to do about fuel? Is he going to trek 
 back hundreds of miles to the seaport, like the Government 
 expects, to pack in coal? Australian maybe, or Japan 
 low grade, but more likely it's Pennsylvania sold on the 
 dock for as high as seventeen dollars a ton. Yes, sir, and 
 with Alaska coal, the best kind and enough to supply the 
 United States for six hundred years, scattered all around, 
 cropping right out of the ground. Think of him 
 camped alongside a whole forest of spruce, where he can't 
 cut a stick." 
 
 The little man's voice had reached high pitch; he rose 
 and took a short, swift turn across the floor. The 
 stranger was silent; apparently he was weighing this as- 
 tonishing information. But Daniels broke the pause. 
 
 " The Government ought to hurry those investigations," 
 
252 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 he said. " Foster, the mining engineer, told me never 
 but one coal patent had been allowed in all Alaska, and 
 that's on the coast. He has put thousands into coal 
 land and can't get title or his money back. The com- 
 pany he is interested with has had to stop development, 
 because, pending investigation, no man can mine coal until 
 his patent is secured. It looks like the country is 
 strangled in red tape." 
 
 " It is," cried Banks. " And one President's so busy 
 building a railroad for the Filipinos, and rushing sup- 
 plies to the Panama Canal he goes out of office and clear 
 forgets he's left Alaska temporarily tied up; and the 
 next one has his hands so full fixing the tariff and running 
 down the trusts he can't look the question up. And if 
 he could. Congress is working overtime, appropriating 
 the treasury money home in the States. There's so many 
 Government buildings to put up and harbors and rivers 
 to dredge, it can't even afford to give us a few lights and 
 charts, and ships keep on feeling their way and going to 
 destruction on the Alaska coast. Alaska is side-tracked. 
 She's been left standing so long she's going to rust." 
 
 " If some of our senators could listen to you," said the 
 stranger, with a swift and vanishing smile, " their eyes 
 would be opened. But that is the trouble; Alaska has 
 had no voice. It is true each congressman has been so 
 burdened with the wants of his own State that session 
 after session has closed before the Alaska bills were 
 reached. We have been accustomed to look on Alaska 
 as a bleak and forbidding country, with a floating popula- 
 tion of adventurers and lawless men, who go there with 
 the intention to stay only long enough to reap a mineral 
 harvest. If she had other great resources and such cit- 
 izens as you, why were you not in Washington to exploit 
 her? " 
 
 Lucky Banks shook his head. " Up to this year," he 
 
KERNEL AND PEACH 263 
 
 said and smiled grimly, " I couldn't have made the trip 
 without beating my way, and I guess if I went to some of 
 those senators now and escaped being put down for an 
 ex-convict, they'd say I was engineering a trust. They'd 
 turn another key on Alaska to keep me out." 
 
 He wheeled to tramp down the lobby, then stopped. 
 Annabel had entered. Annabel arrayed in a new, im- 
 ported tailored suit of excellent cloth, in a shade of Copen- 
 hagen blue, and a chic hat of blue beaver trimnled with 
 paradise. Instantly the mining man's indignation cooled. 
 He put aside Alaska's wrongs and hurried, beaming, to 
 meet his wife. " Why, you bought blue," he said with 
 pleased surprise. " And you can wear it, my, yes, about 
 as well as pink." 
 
 Annabel smiled with the little ironical curl of the lip 
 that showed plainly her good sense held her steady, on the 
 crest of that high wave whereon it had been fortune's freak 
 to raise her. "Lucile showed me a place, on the next 
 floor of the store, where I could get the tan taken off my 
 face while I was waiting for alterations to my suit. 
 They did it with a sort of cold cream and hot water. 
 There's just a streak left around my neck, and I can cover 
 that with the necklace." She paused then added with a 
 gentle conciliation creeping through her confidential tone: 
 •" I am going to wear the pink chifFon to-night to hear 
 Tarquina. Lucile says it's all right for a l?ox party, 
 opening night. I like her real well. I asked her to go 
 with us, and she's coming early, in time for dinner, at 
 seven." 
 
 " I thought you'd make a team," replied Banks, de- 
 lighted. " And I'm glad you asked her, my, yes. It 
 would have been lonesome sitting by ourselves 'mongst the 
 empty chairs." 
 
 They were walking towards the elevator, and Daniels, 
 who had learned from the clerk that the important looking 
 
254. THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 stranger who had seemed so interested in Banks' informa- 
 tion, was the head of the new coal commission, going north 
 for investigation, stopped the prospector to say good-by. 
 
 " I want to thank you for that interview, Mr. Banks," 
 he said frankly. " I've learned more about Alaska from 
 you in fifteen minutes than I had put together in five 
 years." 
 
 " You are welcome, so's you get it in straight. But," 
 — and the little man drew himself proudly erect, — "I 
 want to make you acquainted with Mrs. Banks, Mr. 
 Daniels." 
 
 " I am awfully glad to meet you, Mrs. Banks," said 
 Jimmie cordially, offering his hand. " I understand you 
 are from Hesperides Vale, and I grew up over there in the 
 Columbia desert. It's almost like seeing friends from 
 home." 
 
 " Likely," Banks began, but his glance moved from the 
 reporter to his wife and he repeated less certainly, 
 *' likely we could get him to take one of those chairs off 
 our hands." 
 
 Annabel's humor rose to her eyes. " He's hired a box 
 for Carmen to-night ; they were out of seats in the divans, 
 and it worries him because our party is so small." 
 
 " I'd be delighted, only," — Jimmie paused, flushing and 
 looking intently inside his hat — " the fact is, I am going 
 to take the Society Editor on my paper. We have miser- 
 able seats, the first row in the orchestra was the best they 
 could do for us, and she has to write up the gowns. She's 
 an awfully nice girl, and she has a little trick of keeping 
 her copy out of sight, so the people in the house never 
 would catch on ; would you think me very bold," — and 
 with this he looked up directly at Annabel — " if I asked 
 you to give that place in your box to her.? " 
 
 He was graciously assured it would make Mr. Banks 
 " easy " if they both j oined the party, and Annabel sug- 
 
KERNEL AND PEACH 255 
 
 gested that he bring the Society Editor to dinner, " so 
 a« to get acquainted " before the opera. All of which was 
 speedily arranged by telephone. Miss Atkins accepted 
 with pleasure. 
 
 The dinner was a complete success; so complete that 
 the orchestra was concluding the overture when they ar- 
 rived at the theater. A little flurry ran through the body 
 of the house when Annabel appeared. Mrs. Feversham 
 in the opposite box raised her lorgnette. 
 
 " I wonder who they are," she said. " Why, the girl 
 in white looks like Miss Atkins, who writes the society 
 news, and there is your reporter, Daniels." 
 
 " Other man is Lucky Banks ; stunning woman in pink 
 must be his wife." Frederic, having settled in his chair 
 and eased his lame knee, focussed his own glasses. 
 
 " George, Marcia," he exclaimed, " do you see that 
 necklace? Nuggets, straight from the sluices of the 
 Annabel, I bet. Nuggets strung with emeralds, and each 
 as big as they grow. I suppose that chain is what you 
 call barbarous, but I rather like it." 
 
 " It is fit for a queen," admitted Marcia. " One of 
 those barbarian queens we read about. No ordinary 
 woman could wear it, but it seems made for her throat." 
 And she added, dropping her lorgnette to turn her cal- 
 culating glance on her brother's face, " Every woman her 
 price." 
 
 Frederic laughed shortly. The purplish flush deep- 
 ened in his cheeks, and his eyes rested on Beatriz Weather- 
 bee. She was seated in the front of the box with Eliza- 
 beth, and as she leaned forward a little, stirred by the 
 passionate cry of the violins, her profile was turned to 
 him. 
 
 " The price doesn't cut as much figure as you think," 
 he said. 
 
 Then the curtain rose. Tarquina was a marvelous 
 
266 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Carmen. The Society Editor, who had taken her note- 
 book surreptitiously from a silk evening bag and, imder 
 cover of a chiffon scarf, commenced to record the names 
 and gowns of important personages, got no farther than 
 the party in the opposite box during the first act. But 
 she made amends in the intermission. It was then a smile 
 suddenly softened her firm mouth, and she introduced 
 Annabel to her columns with this item. 
 
 " Noticeable among the out of town guests were Mr. 
 and Mrs. John Henry Banks, who entertained a box party, 
 following a charming dinner at the New Washington. 
 Mrs. Banks, a recent bride, was handsomely gowned in 
 pink chiffon over messaline, and wore a unique necklace 
 of nuggets which were gathered from her husband's mine 
 near Iditarod, Alaska. The gold pieces were linked 
 lengthwise, alternating with single emeralds, and the 
 pendant was formed of three slender nuggets, each termi- 
 nating in a matched diamond and emerald." 
 
 While Geraldine wrote this, Frederic Morganstein 
 made his way laboriously, with the aid of a crutch, around 
 to the box. " How do do. Miss Atkins," he said. 
 "Hello, Daniels! Well, Mr. Banks, how are you? 
 Greatest Carmen ever sung in this theater, isn't it.^^ Now, 
 keep your seat. I find it easier to stand. Just came for 
 a minute to be presented to — your wife." 
 
 His venture carried. The little man, rising, said with 
 conscious pride : " Mrs. Banks, allow me to make you ac- 
 quainted with Mr. Morganstein. He's the man that holds 
 the option on the Annabel. And this is Miss Purdy, Mr. 
 Morganstein; Miss Lucile Purdy of Sedge wick-Wilson's. 
 I see you know the rest of the bunch." 
 
 " I guess it's up to me to apologize, Mrs. Banks," said 
 Frederic, heavily humorous. " I wouldn't believe my sis- 
 ter, Mrs. Feversham, when she told me there were some 
 
KERNEL AND PEACH 257 
 
 smart women in those Alaska towns." He paused, laugh- 
 ing, while his glance moved from Annabel's ironical mouth 
 to her superb shoulders and rested on the nugget chain; 
 then he said : " From that interview of yours in to- 
 night's PresSy Mr. Banks, there isn't much the country 
 can't produce." 
 
 " Likely not," responded the little man quickly. " But 
 my wife was an Oregon girl. We were engaged, my, yes, 
 long before I saw Alaska. And lately she's been living 
 around Hesperides Vale. She's got some fine orchard 
 property over there, in her own right." 
 
 " Is that so ? " Frederic's speculative look returned 
 to Annabel's face. " Hesperides Vale. That's in the 
 new reclamation country, east of the mountains, isn't 
 it.? I was intending to motor through that neighborhood 
 when this accident stopped me and put an end to the trip. 
 They are turning out some fine apples in that valley, I 
 understand. But it's curtain time. Awfully glad I've 
 met you; see you again. Lend me your shoulder, will 
 you, Daniels - — around to my box.? " 
 
 While they were crossing the foyer, he said : " That 
 enlargement came out fine ; you must run up to my office, 
 while it's there to-morrow, to see it. And that was a 
 great write-up you gave Lucky Banks. It was yours, 
 wasn't it.? Thought so. Bought a hundred copies. 
 Mrs. Feversham is going to take 'em east to distribute in 
 Washington. Double blue-pencilled one, 'specially for the 
 President." 
 
 Jimmie smiled, blushing. " That's more than I deserve, 
 but I'm afraid, even if it reaches his hands, he won't take 
 the time to read it." 
 
 "You leave that to Mrs. Feversham," replied Morgan- 
 stein. " Saw that little scoop, too, about Tisdale. He's 
 the closest oyster on record." 
 
 " The trouble was," said Jimmie wisely, " he started 
 
268 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 that Indian story and nobody thought to interrupt with 
 more coal questions." 
 
 " You mean he told that yarn purposely to head us 
 ofF? " 
 
 " That's the way it seemed to me afterwards. He spun 
 it out, you know ; it lasted to Bremerton, where I got off. 
 But it was interesting; the best I ever heard, and I took 
 it all down, word for word. It was little use, though. 
 The chief gave one look at my bunch of copy and warned 
 me, for the last time, the paper wasn't publishing any 
 novels. What I had gone aboard the Aquila for was to 
 write up her equipment and, incidentally, to pick up Hol- 
 lis Tisdale's views on Alaska coal." 
 
 They had reached the entrance to the Morganstein box ; 
 the orchestra was playing again, the curtain began to rise 
 on the second act, and Daniels hurried back to his place. 
 But during the next intermission, an usher brought the 
 young reporter a note. It was written concisely on a 
 business card, but Jimmie read it through slowly a second 
 time before he handed it to the Society Editor. 
 
 " Mrs. Feversham wants to see that story," so it ran. 
 ** Leave it at my office in the morning. She may take it 
 east with her. Knows some magazine people who are go- 
 ing to feature Alaska and the Northwest." 
 
 After a thoughtful moment Miss Atkins returned the 
 card to Jimmie. "Is it the Indian story?" she asked. 
 
 Daniels nodded, watching her face. His smouldering 
 excitement was ready to flame. 
 
 " They will read it for Mrs. Feversham," — Geraldine's 
 voice trembled slightly — " and they will take it. It's a 
 magazine story. They ought to pay you handsomely. 
 It's the best thing you ever wrote." 
 
 Marcia Feversham saw possibilities in that story. In- 
 deed, writing Jimmie from Washington, she called it a lit- 
 
KERNEL AND PEACH 259 
 
 tie masterpiece. There was no doubt it would be accepted 
 somewhere, though he must expect to see it cut down con- 
 siderably, it was so long. Then, presumably to facilitate 
 the placing of the manuscript, she herself went over it 
 with exceeding care, revising with her pencil, eliminating 
 whole paragraphs, and finally fixing the end short of 
 several pages. In the copy which her husband's stenog- 
 rapher prepared, the original was reduced fully a third. 
 After that it mellowed for an interval in Marcia's drawer. 
 
 At the close of November, it was announced that Stuart 
 Foster, the junior defendant in the first " Conspiracy to 
 defraud the Government " trial, was weather-bound in 
 Alaska. This, taken in consideration with the serious ill- 
 ness of Tisdale, on whom the prosecution relied for tech- 
 nical testimony, resulted in setting the case for hearing 
 the last week in the following March. It was at this time, 
 while HoUis was lying unconscious and in delirium at a 
 hospital, that his great wealth began to be exploited. 
 Everywhere, when inquiries were made as to his health, 
 fabulous statements followed about the Aurora. To men- 
 tion the mine was like saying " Open Sesame ! " Then, 
 finally, it was whispered and repeated with conviction by 
 people who " wouldn't have believed it of Hollis Tisdale" 
 at the beginning, that he had defrauded the widow of his 
 dead partner — who had made the discovery and paid for 
 it with his life — of her share. 
 
 Then, at last, early in December, Jimmie's masterpiece 
 was forwarded to a new magazine in New York. 
 
 " Dear Mr, Sampson; — " so Marcia wrote — 
 
 " Here is a story of Western life that I believe will be 
 of interest to you. The incident actually occurred. The 
 man who killed the Indian child, and who amused my 
 brother's guests with the story while we were cruising 
 lately on the AquiLa, was Hollis Tisdale of the Geograph- 
 ical Survey. He is probably the best known figure in 
 
260 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Alaska, the owner of the fabulously rich Aurora mine. 
 His partner, who made the discovery, paid for it with his 
 life, and there is a rumor that his wife, who should have 
 a half interest, is penniless. 
 
 " Mr. Tisdale will be a leading witness for the Govern- 
 ment in the pending Alaska coal cases. Strange — is it 
 not ? — since a criminal is barred from testifying in a 
 United States court. 
 
 " The last issue of your magazine was most attractive. 
 Enclosed are lists of two thousand names and my check to 
 cover that many sample copies of the number in which the 
 story is published. March would be opportune. Of 
 course, while I do not object to any use you may care to 
 make of this information, I trust I shall be spared pub- 
 licity. 
 
 *' Very truly, 
 
 "Marcia Feversham." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 FREDEMC MORGANSTEIN did not wait until 
 spring to open his villa. The furnishings were com- 
 pleted, even to the Kodieik and polar-bear rugs, in time 
 to entertain a house-party at Christmas. Marcia, who 
 came home for the event, arrived early enough to take 
 charge of the final preparations, but the ideas that gave 
 character to the lavish decorations were Beatriz Weather- 
 bee's. She it was who suggested the chime of holly bells 
 with tongues of red berries, hung by ropes of cedar from 
 the vaulted roof directly over the stage; and saw the two 
 great scarlet camellias that had been coaxed into full 
 bloom specially for the capitalist placed at either end of 
 the footlights, while potted poinsettias and small madrona 
 trees, brought in from the bluffs above the grounds, fin- 
 ished the scheme with the effect of an old mission garden. 
 Then there were a hundred more poinsettias disposed of, 
 without crowding, on the landings and inside the railing 
 of the gallery, with five hundred red carnations arranged 
 with Oregon grape and fern in Indian baskets to cap the 
 balustrade. To one looking up from the lower hall, they 
 had the appearance of quaint jardiniere. 
 
 There was not too much color. December, in the Puget 
 Sound country, means the climax of the wet season when 
 under the interminable curtain of the rain, dawn seems to 
 touch hands with twilight. It was hardly four o'clock 
 that Christmas eve when the Aquila arrived with the 
 guests from Seattle, but the villa lights were on. A huge 
 and resinous backlog, sending broad tongues of flame into 
 
262 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 the cavernous throat of the fireplace, gave to the illumina- 
 tion a ruddier, flickering glow. To Foster, who was the 
 first to reach the veranda, Foster who had been so long 
 accustomed to faring at Alaska road-houses, to making 
 his own camp, on occasion, with a single helper in the 
 frosty solitudes, that view through the French window 
 must have seemed like a scene from the Arabian Nights. 
 Involuntarily he stopped, and suddenly the luxurious in- 
 terior became a setting for one living figure. Elizabeth 
 was there, arranging trifles on a Christmas tree ; and Mrs. 
 Feversham, seated at a piano, was playing a brilliant 
 bolero; but the one woman he saw held the center of the 
 stage. Her sparkling face was framed in a mantilla; a 
 camellia, plucked from one of the flowering shrubs, was 
 tucked in the lace above her ear, and she was dancing with 
 castanets in the old mission garden. 
 
 The next moment Frederic passed him and threw open 
 the door with his inevitable " Bravo ! " And instantly the 
 music ceased; Marcia started to her feet; the dancer 
 pulled ofi^ her mantilla, and the flower dropped from her 
 hair. 
 
 " Go on ! Encore ! " he laughed. " My, but you've 
 got that cachucha down to a science ; bred, though, I guess, 
 in your little Spanish feet. You'd dance all the sense a 
 man has out of his head." 
 
 " That's the reason none of us heard the Aquila whistle," 
 said Marcia, coming forward. " Beatriz promised to 
 dance to-night, in a marvelous yellow brocade that was 
 her great-grandmother's, and we were rehearsing; but she 
 looked so like a nun, masquerading, in that gi'ay crepe de 
 Chine, I almost forgot the accompaniment. Why, Mr. 
 Foster! How delightful you were able to get home for 
 Christmas." 
 
 " I am fortunate," he answered, smiling. " The ice 
 caught me in the Yukon, but I mushed through to Fair- 
 
FOSTER'S HOUR 263 
 
 banks and came on to the coast by stage. I just made 
 the steamer, and she docked alongside the Aquila not fif- 
 teen minutes before she sailed. Mr. Morganstein brought 
 me along to hear my report." 
 
 " I guess we are all glad to have you home for Christ- 
 mas," said Elizabeth. 
 
 She moved on with her sister to meet the other guests 
 who were trooping into the hall, and Foster found himself 
 taking Mrs. Weatherbee's hand. His own shook a little, 
 and suddenly he wasr unable to say any of the friendly, 
 solicitous things he had found it so easy to express to 
 these other people, after his long absence ; only his young 
 eyes, searching her face for any traces of care or anxiety 
 the season may have left, spoke eloquently. Afterwards, 
 when the greetings were over, and the women trailed away 
 to their rooms, he saw he had forgotten to give her a 
 package which he had carried up from the Aqmla, and 
 hurried to overtake her at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " It was brought down by messenger from Vivian Court 
 for you," he explained, "just as we were casting off, and 
 I took charge of it. There is a letter, you see, which the 
 clerk has tucked under the string." 
 
 The package was a florist's carton, wide and deep, with 
 the name Hollywood Gardens printed across the violet 
 cover, but the letter was postmarked Washington, D. C. 
 " Violets ! " she exclaimed softly, " ' when violet time is 
 gone.' " 
 
 Her whole lithe body seemed to emanate a s-ubdued 
 pleasure, and settling the box, unopened, in the curve of 
 her arm, she started up the staircase. Foster, looking 
 up, caught the glance she remembered to send from the 
 gallery railing. Her smile was radiant. 
 
 She did not turn on the electric switch when she closed 
 her door; the primrose walls reflected the light from the 
 great plate-glass window, with the effect of candle glow. 
 
264 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 She put the box on a table near the casement and laid 
 the letter aside to lift the lid. The perfume of violets 
 rose in her face like liberated incense. The box was filled 
 with them; bunches on bunches. She bent her cheek to 
 feel the cool touch of them; inhaled their fragrance with 
 deep, satisfying breaths. Presently she found the flor- 
 ist's envelope and in it Tisdale's card. And she read, 
 written under the name in a round, plain woman's hand, 
 " This is to wish you a Merry Christmas and let you 
 know I have not forgotten the project." 
 
 The sparkle went out of her face. After a moment she 
 picked up the letter and compared the address with the 
 writing on the card. It was the same and, seating her- 
 self by the window, she broke the seal. When she had 
 read the first line under the superscription, she stopped 
 to look at the signature. It was Katherine Purdy. She 
 turned back and began again: 
 
 " My dear Mrs, Weatherhee: 
 
 " I am the night nurse on Mr. Tisdale's ward. He dic- 
 tated the message on his card to me, and I learned your 
 address through ordering the violets of the Seattle florist 
 for him. It set me wondering whether he has ever let you 
 know how desperate things were with him. He is the most 
 unselfish man I ever saw, and the bravest that ever came on 
 this floor. The evening he arrived the surgeons advised 
 amputating his hand — it was a case of blood-poisoning — 
 but he said, ' No, I am ready to take the risk ; that right 
 hand is more than half of me, my better half.' He could 
 joke, even then. And when the infection spread to the 
 arm, it was the same. After that it was too late to op- 
 erate; just a question of endurance. And he could endure 
 all right. My, but he was patient ! I wish you could have 
 seen him, as I did, lying here hour after hour, staring at 
 the ceiling, asking for nothing, when every nerve in his 
 body must have been on fire. But he won through. He 
 is lying here still, weak and pale enough, but safe. 
 
FOSTER'S HOUR 265 
 
 " Maybe I seem impertinent, and I suppose I am young 
 and foolish, but I don't care ; I wouldn't be hard as nails, 
 like some in this clinic, if it was to cost me my diploma. I 
 came from the Pacific west — I am going back there as 
 soon as I graduate — and a girl from there never can learn 
 to bottle her feelings till she looks like a graven image. 
 Besides, I know I am writing to a western woman. But 
 I want to say right here he never made a confidant of me, 
 never said one word, intentionally, about you, but there 
 were nights when his temperature was running from a 
 hundred and four degrees that he got to talking some. 
 Most of the time he was going all over that terrible trip to 
 find poor Mr. Weatherbee, and once, when he was hunting 
 birds along some glacier, he kept hearing David singing 
 and calling him. Again he was just having the best, quiet 
 little visit with him. My, how he loved that man! And 
 when it wasn't David, it was you. ' I know you couldn't 
 marry a man like Morgan,' he said. ' You may think so, 
 but you will not when the time comes.' And once it was, 
 ' Beatrice, Beatrice, in spite of everything I can't help 
 believing in you.' Then one night, his worst before the 
 crisis, he seemed to be helping you through some awful 
 danger, it was a storm I think, and there were wild beasts 
 and mountains, and at last when it was all over, he said 
 quietly: 'You do owe your life to me, but I shall never 
 hold you to the debt ; that would be too monstrous.' And 
 a little later it was, ' Head high, hold fast, it will be a 
 stiff fight, soldier. My dear, my dear, do you think I 
 don't know how near you came to loving me?' I guess 
 you know how he said that. There are certain tones in his 
 voice that sink straight to the bottom of your heart; I 
 couldn't keep from crying. And it seems to me that if you 
 really knew how much he thought of you, and how sick he 
 had been, and how he has wanted you, nothing could keep 
 you from packing up and coming straight to Washington. 
 I know I should. I could go anywhere, through Alaska 
 or the Great Sahara, it wouldn't matter which, for a man, 
 if there is one in this world, who could love me that well." 
 
266 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Beatriz Weatherbee folded the letter and replaced it 
 in the envelope. The action was mechanical, and she sat 
 twisting it with a kind of silent emphasis, looking out into 
 the thick atmosphere. A dash of hail struck the window ; 
 the plate glass grew opaque. Then, suddenly, she lifted 
 her arms to the table and dropped her face; her body 
 shook. It was as though she had come at last to her 
 blank wall; the inevitable she had so persistently evaded 
 was upon her; there was no escape. 
 
 Presently some one knocked. And instantly her in- 
 trepid spirit was up, on guard. She sat erect and pressed 
 her handkerchief swiftly to her eyes. Then Marcia Fever- 
 sham opened the door and, finding the button, flashed on 
 the lights. 
 
 " Why, Beatriz," she exclaimed. " Are you here in the 
 dark? You must have fallen asleep in your chair." 
 
 " And dreaming." She rose, shading her eyes fram 
 the sudden glare. " But it was a wretched dream, Mar- 
 cia ; I am glad you wakened me. Where is Elizabeth ? " 
 
 " Making Frederic's cocktail. He needed a bracer to 
 go through a business meeting with Stuart Foster; but 
 she will be here directly. I thought, since we are to share 
 your rooms, we had better dress early to be out of the way. 
 And I sent Celeste in to the Hallidays; Elizabeth can do 
 everything for me." 
 
 " Much better than Celeste," she agreed. " And while 
 you are busy, I shall go for a bracing little walk." 
 
 "A walk?" echoed Marcia in astonishment. "Why, 
 it's storming. Hear that ! " 
 
 Another burst of hail struck the window. Mrs. Weath- 
 erbee turned, listening, and so avoiding Marcia's penetrat- 
 ing eyes, dropped her hand from her own. " I have my 
 raincoat and cap," she said, " and a smart brush with the 
 wind will clear my head of cobwebs." 
 
 With this she hurriedly smoothed the letter and laid it 
 
FOSTER'S HOUR 267 
 
 between the pages of a book ; lifting the violets from the 
 table, she carried them out of the steam-heated apartment 
 to the coolness of the sleeping-porch. Mrs. Feversham 
 followed to the inner room and stood watching her through 
 the open door. 
 
 "Violets!" she exclaimed. "At Christmas 1 From 
 wherever did they come? " 
 
 "From Hollywood Gardens," she responded almost 
 eagerly. " Isn't it marvelous how they make the out-of- 
 season flowers bloom? But this flurry of hail is the end 
 of the storm, Marcia; the clouds are breaking, and it is 
 light enough to see the path above the pergola. I shall 
 have time to go as far as the observatory." 
 
 Before she finished speaking, she was back in the room 
 and hurrying on her raincoat. Mrs. Feversham began to 
 lay out various toilet accessories, but presently, when the 
 gallery door closed behind Beatriz, she walked to the table 
 near the plate-glass window and picked up the book. It 
 was a morocco-bound edition of Omar's Ruhaiyat, which 
 she had often noticed at the apartment in Vivian Court, 
 yet she studied the title deliberately, and also the frontis- 
 piece, before she turned to the pages that enclosed the 
 letter. But it was natural that, holding both her brother's 
 and Beatriz Weatherbee'g interests so at heart, her scruples 
 should be finally dispelled, and she laid the volume face 
 down, to keep the place, while she read the night nurse's 
 unclinical report. After that she went to the box of 
 violets in the sleeping-porch and found Tisdale's message, 
 and she had slipped the card carefully back and stood look- 
 ing meditatively off^ through the open casement when her 
 sister entered from the gallery. At the same time Mrs. 
 Weatherbee appeared on the path above the pergola. But 
 she had not escaped to the solitude she so evidently 
 had desired, for Foster accompanied her. When they 
 stopped to look down on the villa and the little cove 
 
268 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 where the Aquila rocked at her moorings, Marcia waved 
 her hand gaily, then turned to the brilliant room. 
 
 Elizabeth met her at the threshold. " What has sent 
 Beatriz out in this weather? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, you see," — Marcia answered with a little back- 
 ward gesture to the figures on the slope, — " since this is 
 Stuart Foster's first visit to the villa, he must be per- 
 sonally conducted through the park." 
 
 " She tried her best to discourage him. They were 
 standing at the side entrance when I came through the 
 dining-room. She warned him first impressions were 
 everything and that it would be blowing a gale at the ob- 
 servatory ; besides, if Frederic was waiting, she would not 
 be responsible." 
 
 " But, ' come what will, what may ' " — and meeting her 
 sister's look, Marcia's eyes gathered brilliancy — " the man 
 must have his hour." 
 
 " That is what he told her. He said the syndicate had 
 had his time and brains, he might as well add his soul, for 
 three months steady, and now he was entitled to his hour. 
 I wonder — " Elizabeth's even voice wavered — " Do you 
 think she will refuse him? " 
 
 " I haven't a doubt." And Marcia crossed to the dress- 
 ing-table and began to remove the shell pins from her 
 glossy black hair. 
 
 " She seemed so changed," pursued Elizabeth follow- 
 ing. " So, well, anxious, depressed, and you know how 
 gay she was at the time the Aquila came. And I hap- 
 pened to be near them when we started up-stairs. It was 
 plain she was glad to see him. But he gave her a package 
 that had been forwarded from Vivian Court. There was 
 a letter ; it may have been from Lucky Banks." 
 
 Marcia was silent. She lifted her brush and swept it 
 the length of her unbound hair. 
 
 " If it was," resumed Elizabeth, " if he has experimented 
 
FOSTER'S HOUR 269 
 
 far enough and wants to forfeit that bonus, I am going 
 to buy that piece of Wenatchee desert myself. The Nov- 
 elty mills will pay me enough for my tide lands." 
 
 " No, Elizabeth. You will hold on to your tide lands, 
 every foot." Mrs. Feversham paused to watch her sis- 
 ter's eyes capitulate under the batteries of her own, then 
 said : " But you need not worry ; Frederic will probably 
 take that option off Lucky Banks' hands. Now, please 
 db my puffs ; high, you know, so as to use the paradise 
 aigrette." 
 
 Foster, too, had felt the change in Mrs. Weatherbee's 
 mood since he left her at the foot of the staircase ; the ex- 
 hilaration that had been so spontaneous then, that had 
 seemed to expand to take him in, was now so manifestly 
 forced. And presently it came over him she was making 
 conversation, saying all these neutral things about the 
 villa and grounds to safeguard the one vital thing she 
 feared to have him touch. 
 
 " Tell me about yourself," he interrupted at last. 
 " You don't know how I've worried about you ; how I've 
 blamed myself all these slow months for leaving you as 
 I did. Of course you understood the company decided 
 to send me in to the Iditarod suddenly, with only a few 
 hours' notice, and to reach the interior while the summer 
 trails were passable I had to take the steamer sailing that 
 day. I tried to find you, but you were out of town; so 
 I wrote." 
 
 " I received the letter," she responded quickly. " I 
 want to thank you for it; it was very pleasant indeed to 
 feel the security of a friend in reserve. But you had writ- 
 ten if there was anything you could do, or if, any time, 
 I should need you to let you know, and there was no reason 
 to. I saw I had allowed you to guess the state of my 
 finances ; they had been a little depressed, I confess, but 
 soon after you sailed, I gave an option on that desert land 
 
270 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 east of the Cascades and was paid a bonus of three thou- 
 sand dollars." 
 
 " Then Tisdale did take that property off your hands, 
 after all. I tried to make myself believe he would; but 
 his offer to buy hinged on the practicability of that irri- 
 gation project." 
 
 " I know. He found it was practicable to carry it 
 out. But — I gave the option to Mr. Banks." 
 
 " Lucky Banks," questioned Foster incredulously, " of 
 Iditarod? Why, he talked of a big farming scheme in 
 Alaska." 
 
 " I do not know about that. But he had thought a 
 great deal of David. They had been partners, it seems, 
 in Alaska. Once, in a dreadful blizzard, he almost per- 
 ished, and David rescued him. He knew about the pro- 
 ject and offered to make the payment of three thousand 
 dollars to hold the land until he found out whether the 
 scheme was feasible. I needed the money very much. 
 There was a debt it was imperative to close. So I ac- 
 cepted the bonus without waiting to let Mr. Tisdale know." 
 
 Foster's brows clouded. "Well, why shouldn't you? 
 Tisdale has himself to blame, if he let his opportunity 
 go." 
 
 There was a silent interval. They had reached the 
 brow of the bluff and, coming into the teeth of the wind, 
 she dipped her head and ran to gain the shelter of the 
 pavilion. Then, while she gathered her breath, leaning 
 a little on the parapet and looking off to the broad sweep 
 of running sea, Foster said : " It was that debt that 
 worried me up there in the wilderness. You had referred 
 to it the evening after the theater, a week before I went 
 away. You called it a debt of honor. You laughed at 
 the time, but you warned me it was the hardest kind of 
 debt because an obligation to a friend kept one contin- 
 ually paying interest in a hundred small ways. You 
 
FOSTER'S HOUR 271 
 
 said it was like selling yourself on a perpetual instalment 
 plan. That wasn't the first time you had spoken of it, 
 but you seemed to feel the pressure more that night and, 
 afterwards, up there in the north, I got to thinking it 
 over. I blamed myself for not finding out the truth. I 
 was afraid the loan was Frederic Morganstein's." He 
 paused and drew back a step with a quick uplift of his 
 aggressive chin. " Was it? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." She drew erect and turned from the parapet 
 to meet his look. " My note came into his hands. But I 
 see I must explain. It began in a yearly subscription to 
 the Orthopedic hospital ; the one, you know, for little de- 
 formed children. I was very interested when the move- 
 ment started; I sang at concerts, danced sometimes you 
 remember, to help along the fund. And I endowed a little 
 bed. David always seemed just on the brink of riches 
 in those days, his letters were full of brilliant predictions, 
 but when the second annual payment fell due, I had to 
 borrow of Elizabeth. She suggested it. She herself was 
 interested deeper, financially, than I. All the people we 
 knew, who ever gave to charity, were eager to help the 
 Orthopedic ; the ladies at the head were our personal 
 friends ; the best surgeons were giving their services and 
 time. I hadn't the courage to have my subscription dis- 
 continued so soon, and I expected to cancel the debt when 
 I heard again from David. But the next spring it was the 
 same ; I borrowed again from Elizabeth. After that, when 
 she wanted to apply the sum to the hospital building fund, 
 Mrs. Feversham advanced the money, and I gave my note. 
 My bed, then, was given to a little, motherless boy. He 
 had the dearest, most trusting smile and great, dark eyes ; 
 the kind that talk to you. And his father had deserted 
 him. That seems incredible; that a man can leave his 
 own child, crippled, ill, unprovided for; but it does hap- 
 pen, sometimes." She paused to steady her voice and 
 
272 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 looked off again from the parapet. " The surgeons were 
 greatly interested in the case," she went on. " They were 
 about to perform an unusual operation. All his future 
 depended on it. So — I let my subscription run on ; so 
 much could happen in a year. The operation was a per- 
 fect success, and when the boy was ready to go, one of 
 the Orthopedic women adopted him. He is the happiest, 
 sturdiest little fellow now. 
 
 " At the end of the summer when the note fell due Mrs. 
 Feversham did not care to renew it; she was going to 
 Washington and wished to use the money in New York. 
 The desert tract was all I had, and when Mr. Morgan- 
 stein planned the motoring trip through the mountains 
 and down to Portland, he offered to take a day to look 
 the land over. He did not want to encumber himself with 
 any more real estate, he said, but would advise me on its 
 possibilities for the market. An accident to the car in 
 Snoquaimie Pass obliged him to give up the excursion, and 
 Marcia disposed of the note to him. She said it could 
 make little difference to me since her brother was willing 
 to let the obligation rest until I was ready to meet it. 
 I do not blame her; there are some things Marcia Fever- 
 sham and I do not see in the same light. It isn't so much 
 through custom and breeding ; it's the way we were created, 
 bone and spirit." Her voice broke but she laid her hand 
 Oil the parapet again with a controlling grasp and added 
 evenly, " That is the reason when Mr. Banks came I was 
 so ready to accept his offer." 
 
 " So, that was your debt of honor t " Foster began un- 
 steadily; the words caught in his throat, and for an in- 
 stant her face grew indistinct through the mist he could 
 not keep back from his eyes. " You knew you were trav- 
 eling on thin ice ; the break-up was almost on you, yet you 
 handicapped yourself with those foundlings. And you 
 never told me. I could have taken over that subscription, 
 
FOSTER'S HOUR 273 
 
 I should have been glad of the chance, you must have 
 known that, but you allowed me to believe it was a loan 
 to cover personal expenses." 
 
 She met the reproach with a little fleeting smile. 
 " There were times when those accounts pressed, I am go- 
 ing to admit that, in justice to Elizabeth. She always 
 buoyed me through. I have known her intimately for 
 years. We were at Mills Seminary together, and even 
 then she was the most dependable, resourceful, generous 
 girl in the school. I never should have had the courage 
 to dispose of things — for money — but she ofi^ered to. 
 Once it was the bracelet that had been my great-grand- 
 mother's; the serpent, you remember, with jewelled scales 
 and fascinating ruby eyes. The Japanese consul bought 
 it for his wife. And once it was that dagger the first 
 American Don Silva wore. The design was Moorish, you 
 know, with a crescent in the hilt of unique stones. The 
 collector who wanted it promised to give me the oppor- 
 tunity to redeem it if ever he wished to part with it, and 
 Elizabeth had the agreement written and signed." 
 
 " Like a true Morganstein. But I knew how much 
 she thought of you. I used to remind myself, up there 
 in the Iditarod wilderness, that you had her clear, prac- 
 tical sense and executive ability to rely on." 
 
 " That has been my one rare good-fortune ; to have 
 had Elizabeth. Not that I depreciate my other friends," 
 and she gave Foster another fleeting smile. " There was 
 Mrs. Brown who in the autumn, when I saw the necessity 
 to give up my apartment at Vivian Court, asked me to 
 stay in exchange for piano and dancing lessons. I had 
 often taught her little girls for pleasure, they were so 
 sweet and lovable, when they visited in my rooms. Still, 
 afterwards, I learned the suggestion came from Elizabeth. 
 Now you know everything," she added with determined 
 gaiety. " And I have had my draught of ozone. We 
 
274 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 must hurry back, or they will wonder what has become 
 of us." 
 
 She turned to the path, and the young engineer fol- 
 lowed in silence. He did not know everything; deep in 
 his heart the contradiction burned. Whatever may have 
 caused her exhilaration at the time the AquUa arrived, 
 it was not his return, and while her explanations satisfied 
 him that she was in no immediate financial distress, he 
 felt that her confidence covered unplumbed depths she did 
 not wish him to sound. 
 
 They had reached the footbridge over the cascade when 
 he said abruptly : " After all, I am glad Lucky Banks 
 got ahead on the irrigation project. He will find it feas- 
 ible, if any one can. He grew up on an Oregon farm, 
 and what he hasn't learned about sluicing in Alaska isn't 
 worth knowing. It leaves HoUis Tisdale no alternative." 
 
 She turned waiting, with inquiry in her eyes. 
 
 " I mean in regard to the Aurora, He hasn't the sav- 
 ing grace of an excuse, now, not to convey that last 
 half interest back to you." 
 
 " I do not want a half interest in the Aurora mine." 
 She drew herself very straight, swaying a little on the 
 balls of her feet. " You must not suggest it. I should 
 not accept it even through a United States court. It be- 
 longs to Mr. Tisdale. He furnished the funds that made 
 my husband's prospecting trip possible. And all the gold 
 in Alaska could not repay him for — what he did. Some- 
 times, when I think of him alone on that terrible trail, he 
 stands out more than a man. Epics have been written 
 on less; it was a friendship to be glorified in some great 
 painting or bronze. But then he touched so lightly on 
 his own part in the story; in the incense he burned to 
 David he was obscured." 
 
 Foster stood watching her in surprise. The color that 
 the wind had failed to whip back to her cheeks burned now, 
 
FOSTER'S HOUR 275 
 
 two brilliant spots ; raindrops, or tears, hung trembling 
 on her lashes, and through them flamed the blue fires of 
 her eyes. 
 
 " So," he said slowly, " so, Tisdale did hunt you up, 
 after all ; and, of course, you had the whole hard story 
 from him." 
 
 " I heard him tell it, yes, but he left out about the 
 — wolves." 
 
 " Wolves ^ " repeated Foster incredulously. " There 
 were no wolves. Why, to be overtaken by a pack, single- 
 handed, on the trail, is the worst that can happen to a 
 man." 
 
 She nodded. " Mr. Banks told me. He had talked 
 with the miners who found him. It was terrible." A 
 great shudder ran through her body; for a moment she 
 pressed her fingers to her eyes, then she added with diffi- 
 culty, almost in a whisper: "He was defending David." 
 
 " No, no ! Great Scott ! But see here," — Foster laid 
 his hand on her arm and drew her on down the path, 
 " don't try to tell me any more. I understand. Banks 
 shouldn't have told you. Come, remember Tisdale won 
 through. He's safe." 
 
 After a silence, she said : " I doubt if you know how ill 
 he has been." 
 
 " Tisdale ? No, I hadn't heard." 
 
 " I only learned to-day ; and he has been in a Washing- 
 ton hospital all these months. The surgeons advised am- 
 putating his hand," she went on with a tremulous breath- 
 lessness, " but he refused. He said he would take the 
 risk; that right hand was more than half of him, his 
 ' better half.' " 
 
 Involuntarily Foster smiled in recognition of that dom- 
 inant note in Tisdale. " But he never seemed more phys- 
 ically fit than on the night I left Seattle," he expostulated. 
 *'And there isn't a man in Alaska who understands the 
 
276 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 dangers and the precautions of frostbite better than Hol- 
 lis Tisdale does." 
 
 " It was not frost ; it was a vicious horse," she an- 
 swered. " It happened after you saw him, on that trip to 
 Wenatchee, while he was leading the vixen over a break in 
 the road. We were obliged to spend the night at a 
 wretched way-house, and the hurt became infected." 
 
 Foster stopped. " You were obliged to spend the 
 night ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Yes. It happened in this way. Mr. Tisdale had 
 taken the Milwaukee line over the mountains, intending 
 to finish the trip on horseback, to see the country, and I, 
 you remember, was motoring through Snoqualmie Pass 
 with the Morgansteins. His train barely missed collid- 
 ing with our car. Mr. Morganstein was injured, and the 
 others took the westbound home with him, but I decided 
 to board the eastbound and go on by stage to Wenatchee, 
 to see my desert tract, and return by way of the Great 
 Northern. I found the stage service discontinued, so Mr. 
 Tisdale secured a team instead of a saddle-horse, and we 
 drove across." 
 
 " I see." Foster smiled again. So Tisdale had capit- 
 ulated on sight. " I see. You looked the tract over to- 
 gether, yet he hesitated with his offer." 
 
 She did not answer directly. They had reached the 
 pergola, and she put out her hand groping, steadying her- 
 self through the shadows. " Mr. Tisdale believed at the 
 beginning I was some one else," she said then. " I was 
 so entirely different from his conception of David Weath- 
 erbee's wife. In the end he offered to finance the project 
 if I would see it carried through. I refused." 
 
 " Of course you refused," responded Foster quickly. 
 " It was preposterous of him to ask it of you. I can't 
 understand it in Tisdale. He was always so broad, so 
 fine, so head and shoulders above other men, so, well, 
 
FOSTER'S HOUR 277 
 
 chivalrous to women. But, meantime, while he hesitated, 
 Banks came with his offer? " 
 
 " Yes. While he was desperately ill in that hospital. 
 I — I don't know what he will think of me — when he 
 hears — " she went on with little, steadying pauses. " It 
 is difficult to explain. So much happened on that drive 
 to the Wenatchee valley. In the end, during an electrical 
 storm, he saved me from a falling tree. What he asked 
 of me was so very little, the weight of a feather, against 
 all I owe him. Still, a woman does not allow even such 
 a man to finance her affairs; people never would have 
 understood. Besides, how could I have hoped, in a life- 
 time, to pay the loan.? It was the most barren, desolate 
 place ; a deep, dry gulf shut in by a wicked mountain — 
 you can't imagine — and I told him I never could live 
 there, make it my home." They were nearly through the 
 pergola; involuntarily she stopped and, looking up at 
 Foster, the light from a Japanese lantern illumined her 
 small, troubled face. " But in spite of everything," she 
 went on, " he believes differently. To-day his first mes- 
 sage came from Washington to remind me he had not 
 forgotten the project. How can I — when he is so ill 
 — how can I let him know ? " 
 
 Foster had had his hour; and, at this final moment, 
 he sounded those hitherto unplumbed depths. " It will 
 be all right," he said steadily ; " wait until you see what 
 Lucky Banks does. You can trust him not to stand in 
 Tisdale's way. And don't think I underrate Hollis Tis- 
 dale. He is a man in a thousand. No one knows that 
 better than I. And that's why I am going to hold him 
 to his record." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 " AS MAN TO MAN " 
 
 IN January, when Mrs. Feversham returned to Wash- 
 ington, her brother accompanied her as far as Wenat- 
 chee. He went prepared to offer Banks as high as five 
 thousand dollars for his option. 
 
 At that time the Weatherbee tract was blanketed in 
 snow. It never drifted, because Cerberus shut out the 
 prevailing wind like a mighty door; even the bench and 
 the high ridge beyond lifted above the levels of the vale 
 smooth as upper floors. Previous to that rare precipita- 
 tion, gangs of men, put to work on both quarter sec- 
 tions, had removed the sage-brush and planted trees, and 
 the new orchard traced a delicate pattern on the white 
 carpet in rows and squares. Banks had hurried the con- 
 crete lining of the basin walls, and when it became neces- 
 sary to suspend construction on the flumes, he saw with 
 satisfaction that the reservoir would husband the melting 
 snows and so supply temporary irrigation in the early 
 spring. All the lumber estimates had been included in his 
 orders for building material in the autumn, and already 
 the house on the bench showed a tiled roof above its mis- 
 sion walls, while down the gap and midway up the side 
 slope of Cerberus rose the shingled gables of Annabel's 
 home. 
 
 To facilitate the handling of freight, the railroad com- 
 pany had laid a siding at the nearest point in Hesperides 
 Vale ; then, for the convenience of the workmen, the daily 
 local made regular stops, and the little station bore the 
 
"AS MAN TO MAN" 279 
 
 name of Weatherbee. Later, at the beginning of the year, 
 it had become a post-office, and the Federal building in- 
 cluded a general store. Also, at that time, the girders 
 of a new brick block rose on the adjoining lots, and a 
 sign secured to the basement wall announced : " Thi^ 
 strictly modern building will be completed about June 
 first. For office and floor space see Henderson Bailey." 
 
 The financier, who had motored up the valley in a rented 
 car, noted these indications of an embryo town with inter- 
 est. 
 
 " Who is Henderson Bailey? " he asked. 
 
 And the chauffeur answered with surprise : " Don't 
 you know Bailey? Why, he's the man that got in on the 
 ground floor. He owns the heart of Hesperides Vale. 
 That was his apple orchard we passed, you remember, a 
 few minutes ago. But the man who is backing him on 
 that brick block is Lucky Banks of Alaska. They are 
 pulling together, nip and tuck, for Weatherbee." 
 
 " Nip — and Tuck," repeated Morganstein thought- 
 fully. " That reminds me of a young team of bays I con- 
 sidered buying last fall, over at North Yakima. Rather 
 well named, if you knew 'em. But they were a little too 
 gay for Seattle hills and the lady I expected would drive 
 'em. George, though, they made a handsome showing. 
 A dealer named Lighter owned 'em, and they won the 
 blue ribbon for three-year-olds at Yakima and Spokane." 
 
 " I know them," replied the chauffeur. " They are 
 owned here in the valley now; and Lucky Banks' wife is 
 driving them. You can meet her most any day speeling 
 down to the Columbia to see her goats." 
 
 " Goats ? " queried Frederic. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Didn't you know she used to keep a flock 
 of Angoras up here? It was her land before she was 
 married. But when Banks turned up with his pile and 
 started the orchards, the goats had to go. It wouldn't 
 
280 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 have taken them a week to chew up every stick he planted. 
 So she hired a man to winter them down on the Columbia, 
 where she could keep an eye on them. Strange," the 
 chauffeur went on musingly, "what a difference clothes 
 make in a woman. Nobody noticed her much, only we 
 thought she was kind of touched, when she was herding 
 those billies by herself up that pocket, but the minute 
 Banks came, she blossomed out; made us all sit up and 
 take notice. Yes, sir, she's sure some style. To see 
 her in her up-to-date motoring-coat, veil to match, cape 
 gloves, and up behind that team, you'd think the Empress 
 of India had the road." 
 
 " Just what I said first time I saw her," Morganstein 
 chuckled thickly. " Or I guess it was the Queen of Sheba 
 I called her. Happened to be grand-opera night, and 
 she wore a necklace made of some of Banks' nuggets. 
 George, she could carry 'em ; had the throat and shoulders. 
 It isn't the clothes that make the difference, my boy; it's 
 the trick of wearing 'em. I know a slim little thorough- 
 bred, who puts on a plain gray silk like it was cloth of 
 gold. You'd think she was walking tiptoe to keep it off 
 this darned old earth. Lord, I'd like to see her in the 
 real stuff. George, I'll do it, soon's we're married," and 
 he laughed deeply at the notion. " I'll order a cloth 
 of gold gown direct from Paris, and I'll set a diamond 
 tiara on her proud little head. Bet it don't out-sparkle 
 her eyes. Lord, Lord, she'U make 'em all stare." 
 
 The chauffeur' gave the financier a measuring glance 
 from the corner of his eye, but he puckered his lips dis- 
 creetly to cover a grin, and with his head still cocked side- 
 wise, looked off to the lifting front of Cerberus, whist- 
 ling softly Queen Among the Heather. But the tune 
 ceased abruptly and, straightening like an unstrung bow, 
 he swerved the machine out of the thoroughfare and 
 brought it to a stop. 
 
"AS MAN TO MAN" 281 
 
 It was not the Empress of India who held the road, 
 but little Banks in his red car. Slackening speed, he 
 shouted back above the noise of the exhaust : " Hello ! 
 Is that you, Mr. Morganstein? I guess likely you're 
 looking for me. But I can't stop. I've got to catch the 
 local for Wenatchee ; the eastbound don't make our sta- 
 tion, and I'm booked for a little run through to Wash- 
 ington, D. C." 
 
 " That so ? " answered Morganstein thoughtfully. " I 
 came over just to look at this orchard of yours. See here, 
 wait a minute." He unbuttoned his heavy coat and, find- 
 ing a pocket, drew out a time-card. " You will have a 
 couple of hours to waste in Wenatchee between trains. 
 Give me half an hour, long enough to show me a bird's- 
 eye view of the project — that's all I want in this snow 
 and I guarantee to put you in Wenatchee on time for 
 your eastbound. The road is in good shape; driver 
 knows his car." 
 
 Banks left his roadster and came over to the larger 
 car. " I'll risk it since you've broke trail," he said, tak- 
 ing the vacant seat behind. " But I knew if I took 
 chances with snow, in this contrary buzz-wagon of mine, 
 she'd likely skid off the first mean curve." 
 
 Morganstein, laughing, changed his seat for the one 
 beside the prospector.. " It's like this, dry and firm as a 
 floor, straight through to Wenatchee. These are great 
 roads you have in this valley ; wish we had 'em on the other 
 side the range." 
 
 " I sent a scraper up from the station ahead of me," 
 said Banks. " And, driver, we may as well run up the 
 switchback to the house. It's level there, with room to 
 turn. And it will give you the chance to see the whole 
 layout below," he went on, explaining to Morganstein. 
 " The property on this side the mountain belongs to my 
 wife, but we ain't living here yet; we are stopping vith 
 
282 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 folks down by the station. Likely we'll move, soon's I 
 get back from my trip. That is, if the boys get busy. 
 Seem's if I have to keep after some of them all the time. 
 To-day it's the lathers. I've got to stop, going through 
 Weatherbee, to tell my wife to have an eye on them. They 
 get paid by the bundle, and they told me this morning 
 lathe would run short before they was through. I knew 
 I had ordered an extra hundred on the architect's figgers, 
 but I didn't say anything. Just prospected 'round and 
 came back unexpected, and caught one of them red-handed. 
 He was tucking a bunch between the ceiling and the upper 
 floor, without even cutting the string. I made them rip 
 off the lathe, and there they were stored thick, a full 
 bundle to 'bout every three they'd nailed on." 
 
 " That's the way," commented Morganstein, " every 
 man of 'em will do you, if he sees a chance. Mrs. Banks 
 will have to keep both eyes open, if you are leaving it 
 to her. But it will be compensation to her, I guess, driv- 
 ing those bays over from the station every day. Hand- 
 somest team in Washington. I'll bet," and he turned 
 his narrow eyes suddenly on Banks, " Lighter held you up 
 for all they were worth." 
 
 " The team belongs to Hollis Tisdale," answered 
 Banks. " He bought them at Kittitas last fall and drove 
 them through. They were in the valley when I came, 
 and he asked me to look after them while he was east. 
 My wife exercises them. She understands horses, my, yes. 
 One of those colts had a mean trick of snapping at you 
 if you touched the bit, but she cured him complete. 
 And she took such a shine to that team I thought likely 
 they'd do for a Christmas present. Tisdale told me in the 
 fall if I had a good chance, to sell, so I wrote and made 
 him an offer. But his answer never came till last night. 
 A nurse at the hospital in Washington wrote for him; 
 he had been laid up with a case of blood-poison all win- 
 
"AS MAN TO MAN" 283 
 
 ter, and it started from a nip that blame' colt gave him 
 on the trip from Kittitas. He refused my price because, 
 seeing's the team wasn't safe for a full-sized man to drive, 
 it went against his conscience to let them go to a lady." 
 
 " He was right," said Morganstein. " George, that 
 was a lucky escape. I was within an ace of buying that 
 team myself. But I put down Tisdale's sickness to frost- 
 bite; often goes that way with a man in the north." 
 
 " Sure ; it does." Banks paused, while his glance fell 
 to the empty fingers of his right glove. " But that colt, 
 Nip, gets the credit this time. It happened while Hollis 
 was trying to lead him over a break in the road. He said 
 it didn't amount to anything, the night I saw him before 
 he left Seattle, but he had the hand bandaged, and I'd 
 ought to have known it was giving him trouble." 
 
 Morganstein pondered a silent moment, then said 
 slowly, " Kittitas is close enough to be a suburb of El- 
 lensburg, and that's where the Wenatchee stage meets the 
 Milwaukee Puget Sound train. Friend of mine made the 
 trip about that time; didn't say anything of a break in 
 the road." 
 
 " There's just one road through," answered Banks, 
 *' and that's the one they used for hauling from the North- 
 em Pacific line while this railroad was building. Likely 
 there was a stage then, but it ain't running now." 
 
 Frederic pondered again, then a gleam of intelligence 
 flashed in his eyes. " Did Tisdale make that trip from 
 Kittitas alone ? " he asked. 
 
 Banks shook his head. " He didn't mention any pas- 
 sengers. Likely it was having to drive himself, after his 
 hand was hurt, that did the mischief. Anyhow, he's had 
 a close call; fought it out sooner than let the doctors 
 take his hand ; and he never let one of us boys know. That 
 was just the way with Dave Weatherbee; they was a team. 
 But I'm going to look him up, now, soon's I can. He had 
 
284 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 to get that nurse to write for him. Likely there ain't 
 a man around to tend to his business ; he might be all out 
 of money." 
 
 " I guess, with the Aurora mine to back him, you 
 needn't worry." 
 
 The little man shook his head. " It will take more 
 security than the Aurora to open a bank account in Wash- 
 ington, D. C. I ain't saying anything against Dave 
 Weatherbee's strike," he added quickly, " but, when you 
 talk Alaska to those fellows off there in the east, they get 
 cold feet." 
 
 Morganstein looked oif, chuckling his appreciation. 
 They had arrived at the final curve ; on one side, rising 
 from the narrow shoulder, stood Annabel's new home, while 
 on the other the mountain sloped abruptly to Weather- 
 bee's vale. Banks pointed out the peach orchard on the 
 bench at the top of the pocket; the rim of masonry, push- 
 ing through the snow, that marked the reservoir ; the apple 
 tract below. 
 
 " I see," said Frederic, " and this mountain we are on 
 must be the one Mrs. Weatherbee noticed, looking down 
 from that bench. Reminded her of some kind of a beast 1 " 
 
 Banks nodded. " It looked like a cross between a cougar 
 and a husky in the fall. One place you catch sight of 
 two heads. But she'll be tamer in the spring, when things 
 begin to grow. There's more peaches, set in narrow ter- 
 races where the road cross-cuts down there, and all these 
 small hummocks under the snow are grapes. It's warm 
 on this south slope and sheltered from the frosts ; the vines 
 took right ahold; and, with fillers of strawberries hurry- 
 ing on the green, Dave's wife won't know the mountain by 
 summer, my, no.'* 
 
 " Presume," said the financier abruptly, " you expect 
 to supply both tracts with water from those springs ? " 
 
 " My, no. This quarter section belongs to my wife, 
 
"AS MAN TO MAN" 285 
 
 and it's up to me to make the water connections safe for 
 her. I can do it." Banks set his lips grimly, and his 
 voice shrilled a higher key. " Yes, sir, even if I have to 
 tunnel through from the Wenatchee. But I think likely 
 I'll tap the new High Line and rig a flume with one of 
 these new-style electric pumps. And my idea would be 
 to hollow out a nice little reservoir, with maybe a fountain, 
 right here on this shoulder alongside the house, and let a 
 sluice and spillways follow the road down. There'd be 
 water handy then, and to spare, in case Dave's springs 
 happen to pinch out." 
 
 Morganstein's glance moved slowly over the sections of 
 road cross-cutting the mountain below, and on up the vale 
 to the distant bench. Presently he said : " What are 
 you building over there.? A bam, or is it a winery for 
 your grapes ? " 
 
 " It's neither," answered Banks with sharp emphasis. 
 " It's a regular, first-class house. Dave Weatherbee was 
 counting on striking it rich in Alaska when he drew the 
 plans. The architect calls it California-Spanish style. 
 The rooms are built around a court, and we are piping 
 for the fountain now." 
 
 Frederic grew thoughtful. Clearly an offer of five 
 thousand dollars for Lucky Banks' option on the 
 Weatherbee tract was inadequate. After a moment he 
 said : " What is it going to cost you ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, counting that house complete, without the 
 furniture, seven thousand would be cheap." 
 
 After that the financier was silent. He looked at his 
 watch, as they motored down Cerberus, considering, per- 
 haps, the probabilities of a telegram reaching Marcia ; but 
 he did not make the venture when they arrived in Wenat- 
 chee, and the nearest approach he made to that offer was 
 while he and Banks were waiting at the station for their 
 separate trains. They were seated together on a bench 
 
286 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 at the time, and Frederic, having lighted a cigar, drew 
 deeply as though he hoped to gather inspiration. Then 
 he edged closer and, dropping his heavy hand on the little 
 prospector's shoulder, said thickly : " See here, tell me 
 this, as man to man, if you found both those tracts too 
 big to handle, what would you take for your option on 
 the Weatherbee property ? " 
 
 And Banks, edging away to the end of the seat, answered 
 sharply : " I can handle both ; my option ain't for sale." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE DAY OF PUBLICATION 
 
 IT was a mild evening, the last in February, and Jimmie, 
 who had received two copies of the March issue of 
 Sampson's Magazine direct from the publisher, celebrated 
 the event by taking the Society Editor canoeing on Lake 
 Washington. Instead of helping with the bow paddle, of 
 which she was fully capable. Miss Atkins settled against 
 the pillows facing him, with the masterpiece in her lap. 
 The magazine was closed, showing his name among the 
 specially mentioned on the cover, but she kept the place 
 with her finger. She had a pretty hand, and it was 
 adorned by the very best diamond that could be bought 
 at Hanson's for one hundred and fifty dollars. 
 
 She waited, watching Jimmie's stroke, while the Peter- 
 boro slipped out from the boathouse and rose quartering 
 to the swells of a passing launch. Her hat was placed 
 carefully behind her in the bow, and the light wind rough- 
 ened her hair, which was parted on the side, into small 
 rings on her forehead. It gave her an air of boyish cam- 
 araderie, and the young author's glance, moving from the 
 magazine and the ring, swept her whole trim figure to the 
 mannish, flat-heeled little shoes, and returned to her face. 
 " This is my red-letter day," he said. 
 
 " It's the proudest in my life," answered Geraldine, and 
 the way in which she said it made him catch his breath. 
 
 " It makes me feel almost sure enough to cut loose from 
 the Press and go into business for myself." 
 
 " Oh, I shouldn't be in a hurry to leave the paper, if 
 
288 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 I were jou," she replied, " even though Sampson^s has 
 asked to see more of your work." 
 
 "It isn't the magazine opening I am considering; 
 though I shall do what I can in that way, of course. But 
 what would you think of an offer to take full charge of a 
 newspaper east of the Cascades.? It's so." He paused, 
 nodding in emphasis to the confirmation. " The letter is 
 there in my coat pocket. It's from Bailey — you remem- 
 ber that young fellow I told you about who made an in- 
 vestment in the Wenatchee valley. Well, it seems they 
 have incorporated a town on some of that property. His 
 city lots are selling so fast he has raised the price three 
 times. And they have put him up for mayor. He says 
 it's mighty hard to run an election without a newspaper, 
 and even if it's a late start, we will be ready next time. 
 And the valley needs advertising ; people in the east don't 
 know where Wenatchee apples grow. You understand. 
 He will finance a newspaper — or rather he and Lucky 
 Banks are going to — if I will take the management. 
 He is holding offices now, in a brick block that is build- 
 ing, until he hears from me." 
 
 " Is it in Hesperides Vale, where the Bankses live.? " 
 
 " Yes. The name of the town is Weatherbee. And I 
 heard from that little miner, too." Jimmie paused, smil- 
 ing at the recollection. " It was a kind of supplement to 
 Bailey's letter. He thought likely I could recommend 
 some young fellow to start a newspaper. A married man 
 was preferred, as it was a new camp and in need of more 
 ladies." 
 
 Geraldine laughed, flushing softly. " Isn't that just 
 like him ? " she said. " I can see his eyes twinkling." 
 
 " It sounds rather good to me," Jimmie went on ear- 
 nestly. " I have confidence in Bailey. And it was 
 mother's dream, you know, to see me establish a paper 
 over there ; it would mean something to me to see it real- 
 
THE DAY OF PUBLICATION 289 
 
 ized — but — do you think you could give up your career 
 to help me through ? " 
 
 Geraldine was silent, and Jimmie leaned forward a lit- 
 tle, resting on his stroke. " I know I am not worth it, 
 but so far as that goes, neither was my father ; yet mother 
 gave up everything to back him. She kept, him on that 
 desert homestead the first five years, until he proved up 
 and got his patent, and he might have stayed with it, been 
 rich to-day, if she had lived." 
 
 " Of course I like you awfully well," said Geraldine, 
 flushing pinkly, " and it isn't that I haven't every confi- 
 dence in you, but — I must take a little time to decide." 
 
 A steamer passed, and Jimmie resumed his strokes, me- 
 chanically turning the canoe out of the trough. Geral- 
 dine opened the magazine and began to scan the editor's 
 note under the title. " Why," she exclaimed tremulously, 
 " did you know about this ? Did you see the proofs ? " 
 
 "No. What is the excitement? Isn't it straight?" 
 
 " Listen ! " Miss Atkins sat erect ; the cushion dropped 
 under her elbow; her lips closed firmly between the sen- 
 tences she read. 
 
 " ' This is one of those true stories stranger than fic- 
 tion. This man, who wantonly murdered a child in his 
 path and told of it for the amusement of a party of 
 pleasure-seekers aboard a yacht on Puget Sound, who 
 should be serving a prison sentence to-day, yet never came 
 to a trial, is HoUis Tisdale of the Geographical Survey ; a 
 man in high favor with the administration and the sole 
 owner of the fabulously rich Aurora mine in Alaska. The 
 widow of his partner who made the discovery and paid for 
 it with his life is penniless. Strange as it may seem — for 
 the testimony of a criminal is not allowable in a United 
 States court — Hollis Tisdale has been called as a wit- 
 ness for the Government in the pending Alaska coal 
 trials ! " 
 
290 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 The Society Editor met Jimmie's appalled gaze. " It 
 sounds muckraky," she commented, still tremulously. 
 " But these new magazines have to do something to get a 
 hold. This is just to attract public attention." 
 
 " They'll get that, when Tisdale brings a suit for libel. 
 Hope he will do it, and that the judgment will swamp them. 
 They must have got his name from Mrs. Feversham." 
 
 " It looks political," said Geraldine conciliatingly, " as 
 though they were striking through him at the administra- 
 tion." 
 
 " Go on," said Jimmie recklessly. " Let's have it over 
 with." 
 
 And Geraldine launched quickly into the story. It had 
 been mercilessly and skilfully abridged. All those under- 
 currents of feeling, which Jimmie had faithfully noted, 
 had been suppressed; and of David Weatherbee, whom 
 Tisdale had made the hero of the adventure, there was not 
 a word. 
 
 " Great guns ! " exclaimed the unfortunate author at 
 the finish. " Great — guns ! " 
 
 But Geraldine said nothing. She only closed the maga- 
 zine and pushed it under the pillow out of sight. There 
 was a long silence. A first star appeared and threw a 
 wavering trail on the lake. Jimmie, dipping his paddle 
 mechanically, turned the Peterboro into this pale path- 
 way. The pride and elation had gone out of his face. 
 His mouth drooped disconsolately. 
 
 '^ And you called this your proudest day," he broke 
 out at last. 
 
 An unexpected gentleness crept over the Society Edi- 
 tor's countenance. " It would be great to help create a 
 city," she said then. " To start with it ourselves, at the 
 foundations and grow." And she added very softly, with 
 a little break in her voice : " I've decided to resign and 
 go to Weatherbee." 
 
CHAPTER XXrV 
 
 TISDALE, who was expected to furnish important 
 testimonj in the Alaska coal cases, had been served 
 official notice at the hospital during Banks' visit. The 
 trial was set for the twenty-fourth of March and in 
 Seattle. 
 
 The prospector had found him braced up in bed, and 
 going over the final proof of his Matanuska report, with 
 the aid of a secretary. " You better go slow, HoUis," 
 he said. " You are looking about as reliable as your 
 shadow. Likely the first puff of a wind would lift you out 
 of sight. My, yes. But I just ran over to say hello, 
 and let you know if it's the expense that's hurrying you, 
 there's a couple of thousand in the Wenatchee bank I 
 can't find any use for, now the water-works are done and 
 the house. You can have it well's not. It ain't drawing 
 any interest." And Tisdale had taken the little man's 
 hand between both his own and called him " true gold." 
 But he was in no pressing need of money, though it was 
 possible he might delay in refunding those sums Banks 
 had advanced on the project. He was able enough to be 
 on his feet, but these doctors were cautious; it might 
 be another month before he would be doing a man's work. 
 
 He started west, allowing himself ample time to reach 
 Seattle by the fifteenth of March, when Banks' option 
 expired, but the fourteenth found him, after three days of 
 delay by floods, snowbound in the Rockies. The morning 
 of the fifteenth, while the rotaries were still clearing track 
 
292 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 ahead, he made his way back a few miles to the nearest 
 telegraph station and got into communication with the 
 mining man. 
 
 " How are you? " came the response from Weatherbee. 
 " Done for? Drop off at Scenic Hot Springs, if your 
 train comes through. She wrote she was there. Came 
 up with a little crowd for the coasting. Take care of 
 yourself, and here is to you. 
 
 " Lucky." 
 
 And Tisdale, with the genial wrinkles deepening at the 
 corners of his eyes once more, wired : " Fit as a moose. 
 Go fifteenth. Close business." 
 
 A judge may pronounce a sentence yet, at the same 
 time, feel ungovernable springs of sympathy welling from 
 the depths of his heart, and while Tisdale pushed his way 
 back to the stalled train, he went over the situation from 
 Beatriz Weatherbee's side. He knew what the sale of 
 that desert tract must mean to her; how high her hopes 
 had flown since the payment of the bonus. Looking for- 
 ward to that final interview when, notwithstanding his im- 
 provements. Banks should relinquish his option, he weighed 
 her disappointment. In imagination he saw the light 
 go out of her eyes ; her lip, that short upper lip with its 
 curves of a bow, would quiver a little, and the delicate 
 nostril; then, instantly, before she had spoken a word, 
 her indomitable pride would be up like a lifted whip, to 
 sting her into self-control. Oh, she had the courage; 
 she would brave it out. Still, still, he had intended to 
 be there, not only to press the ultimate purpose, but 
 to — ease her through. Banks might be abrupt. He 
 was sorry. He was so^ sorry that though he had tramped, 
 mushed a mile, he faced about, and, in the teeth of a bitter 
 wind, returned to the station. 
 
SNOWBOUND IN THE ROCKIES 293 
 
 The snow was falling thickly; it blurred his tracks be- 
 hind him; the crest of a drift was caught up and carried, 
 swirling, into the railroad cut he had left, and a great 
 gust tore into the office with him. The solitary operator 
 hurried to close the door and, shivering, stooped to put a 
 huge stick of wood in the stove. " It's too bad," he said. 
 " Forgot the main point, I suppose. If this keeps up, 
 and your train moves to-morrow, it will be through a reg- 
 ular snow canyon. I just got word your head rotary is 
 out of commission, but another is coming up from the 
 east with a gang of shovellers. They'll stop here for 
 water. It's a chance for you to ride back to your train." 
 
 " Thank you, I will wait," Tisdale answered genially. 
 " But I like walking in this mountain air. I like it so 
 well that if the blockade doesn't lift by to-morrow, I am 
 going to mush through and pick up a special to the 
 coast." 
 
 While he spoke, he brushed the snow from his shoulders 
 and took off his hat and gloves. He stood another mo- 
 ment, rubbing and pinching his numb hands, then went 
 over to the desk and filled a telegraph blank. He laid 
 down the exact amount of the charges in silver, to which 
 he added five dollars in gold. 
 
 The operator went around the counter and picked up 
 the money. For an instant his glance, moving from the 
 message, rested on Tisdale's face in curious surprise. 
 This man surely enjoyed the mountain air. He had 
 tramped back in the teeth of a growing blizzard to send 
 an order for violets to Hollywood Gardens, Seattle. The 
 flowers were to be expressed to a lady at Scenic Hot 
 Springs. 
 
 After that Tisdale spent an interval moving restlessly 
 about the room. He read the advertisements on the walls, 
 studied the map of the Great Northern route, and when 
 the stove grew red-hot, threv/ open the door and tramped 
 
294 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 the platform in the piping wind. Finally, when the key- 
 board was quiet, the operator brought him a magazine. 
 The station did not keep a news-stand, but a conductor 
 on the westbound had left this for him to read. There 
 was a mighty good yarn — this was it — " The Tenas 
 Papoose." It was just the kind when a man was trying 
 to kill time. 
 
 Tisdale took the periodical. No, he had not seen it 
 aboard the train ; there were so many of these new maga- 
 zines, it was hard to choose. He smiled at first, that edi- 
 tor's note was so preposterous, so plainly sensational; or 
 was it malicious ? He re-read it, knitting his brows. Who 
 was this writer Daniels .^^ His mind ran back to that 
 day aboard the AquUa, Aside from the Morgans teins 
 and Mrs. Weatherbee, there had been no one else in the 
 party until the lieutenant was picked up at Bremerton, 
 after the adventure was told. But Daniels — he glanced 
 back to be sure of the author's name — James Daniels. 
 Now he remembered. That was the irrepressible young 
 fellow who had secured the photographs in Snoqualmie 
 Pass at the time of the accident to the Morganstein auto- 
 mobile ; who had later interviewed Mrs. Weatherbee on the 
 train. Had he then sought her at her hotel, ostensibly 
 to present her with a copy of the newspaper in which those 
 illustrations were published, and so ingratiated himself 
 far enough in her favor to gather another story from her? 
 
 Tisdale went over to a chair near the window and be- 
 gan to go over those abridged columns. He turned the 
 page, and his lips set grimly. At last he closed the maga- 
 zine and looked off through the drifting snow. He had 
 been grossly misrepresented, and the reason was clear. 
 This editor, struggling to establish a new periodical, had 
 used Daniels' material to attract the public eye. He may 
 even have had political ambitions and aimed deeper to 
 strike the administration through him. He may have 
 
SNOWBOUND IN THE ROCKIES 295 
 
 tai:en this method to curry favor with certain moneyed 
 men. Still, still, what object had there been in leaving 
 Weatherbee completely out of the story? Weatherbee, 
 who should have carried the leading role ; who, lifting the 
 adventure high above the sensational, had made it some- 
 thing fine. 
 
 Again his thoughts ran back to that cruise on the 
 Aquila. He saw that group on the after-deck; Rainier 
 lifting southward like a phantom mountain over the opal 
 sea; and westward the Olympics, looming clear-cut, vivid 
 as a scene in the tropics ; the purplish blue of the nearer 
 height sharply defined against the higher amethyst slope 
 that marked the gorge of the Dosewallups. This setting 
 had brought the tragedy to his mind, and to evade the 
 questions Morganstein pressed, he had commenced to re- 
 late the adventure. But afterwards he had found himself 
 going into the more intimate detail with a hope of reviving 
 some spark of appreciation of David in the heart of his 
 wife. And he had believed that he had. Still, who else, 
 in all that little company, could have had any motive in 
 leaving out Weatherbee.'* Why had she told the story at 
 all.? She was a woman of great self-control, but also- she 
 had depths of pride. Had she, in the high tide of her 
 anger or pique, taken this means to retaliate for the dis- 
 appointment he had caused her.'* 
 
 The approaching work-train whistled the station. He 
 rose and went back to the operator's desk and filled an- 
 other blank. This time he addressed a prominent attor- 
 ney, and his close friend, in Washington, D. C. And the 
 message ran: 
 
 " See Sampson^s Magfizirve, March, page 320. Find 
 whether revised or Daniels' copy." 
 
 Toward noon the following day the express began to 
 crawl cautiously out, with the rotaries still bucking ahead. 
 
296 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 through the great snow canyons. The morning of the 
 sixteenth he had left Spokane with the great levels of the 
 Columbia desert stretching before him. And that after- 
 noon at Wenatchee, with the white gates of the Cascades 
 a few hours off, a messenger called his name down the 
 aisle. The answer had come from his attorney. The 
 story was straight copy; published as received. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE IDES OF MAECH 
 
 IN order to prepare for the defense, Miles Feversham, 
 accompanied by his wife, arrived in Seattle the first 
 week in March. The month had opened stormy, with 
 heavy rains, and to bridge the interval preceding the trial, 
 Marcia planned an outing at Scenic Hot Springs where, 
 at the higher altitude, the precipitation had taken the 
 form of snow, and the hotel advertised good skeeing and 
 tobogganing. " Make the most of it," she admonished 
 Frederic ; " it's your last opportunity. If Lucky Banks 
 forfeits his bonus, and you can manage to keep your head 
 and use a little diplomacy, we may have the engagement 
 announced before the case comes up." 
 
 Though diplomacy was possible only through sugges- 
 tion, Frederic was a willing and confident medium. He 
 knew Mrs. Weatherbee had notified Banks she was at 
 Scenic and, watching her that day of the fifteenth, he was 
 at first puzzled and then encouraged that, as the hours 
 passed and the prospector failed to come, her spirits 
 steadily rose. 
 
 Elizabeth betrayed more anxiety. At evening she stood 
 at the window in Beatriz's room, watching the bold front 
 of the mountain which the Great Northern tracks cross- 
 cut to Cascade tunnel, when the Spokane local rounded 
 the highest curve and dropped cautiously to the first snow- 
 sheds. The bluffs between were too sheer to accumulate 
 snow, and against the dark background the vague outline^ 
 
298 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 of the cars passed like shadows; the electric lights, blaz- 
 ing from the coaches, produced the eflPect of an aerial, 
 fiery dragon. Then, in the interval it disappeared, an 
 eastbound challenged from the lower gorge, and the mon- 
 ster rushed from cover, shrieking defiance; the pawing 
 clamp of its trucks roused the mountainside, " There is 
 your last westbound," she said. " If your option man 
 isn't aboard, he forfeits his bonus. But you will be ahead 
 the three thousand dollars and whatever improvements he 
 may have made." 
 
 Mrs. Weatherbee stood at the mirror fastening a great 
 bunch of violets at her belt. There was a bouquet of them 
 on the dresser, and a huge bowl filled with them and re- 
 lieved by a single red rose stood on the table in the center 
 of the room. " That is what troubles me," she replied, 
 and ruffled her brows. " It seems so unjust that he 
 should lose so much ; that I should accept everything with- 
 out compensating him." 
 
 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 unre- 
 claimed tract, it altered the situation. It called for double 
 capital and, if he hesitated and it came to a choice, natu- 
 rally 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 dis- 
 covered 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. Per- 
 haps 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 
 
THE IDES OF MARCH 299 
 
 place is finished, they lose interest and go looking for a 
 chance to put their time and dollars into improving some- 
 where 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, inhal- 
 ing 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 vio- 
 lets at Mrs. Weatherbee's belt. 
 
 " Must have been sent from Seattle on that last east- 
 bound," he commented, frowning. " Say, Marcia, why 
 
300 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 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 deep- 
 ened in his cheeks. " I always figure the best is never 
 too good for her. Not that the highest priced makes so 
 much diff^erence 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 ap- 
 proached, 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 warn- 
 ing 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 look- 
 ing up, high as ever, to-morrow, setting your heart on 
 something else out of reach." 
 
 " Out of reach? " she responded evenly, arching her 
 
THE IDES OF MARCH 301 
 
 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 but- 
 toned 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 try- 
 ing 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 re- 
 pelling 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 Wen- 
 atchee 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 
 
302 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Yakima lamb, first on the market, dressing of fine herbs, 
 for the crowd. Suks 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 glow- 
 ing. " 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 lip 
 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 seri- 
 ously. 
 
 " 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 fin- 
 gers would get hurt hitting the keys." 
 
THE IDES OF MAKCII 803 
 
 Banks laughed his high, strained laugh, and Morgan- 
 stein echoed it deeply. " Ought to have an establish- 
 ment 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 go- 
 ing to be manicure and hair-dressing parlors 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. Natu- 
 rally, 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." 
 
304 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " Bet you ran for something, though," responded Mor- 
 ganstein. " 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 vio- 
 lets at her belt ; she singled one from the rest and, inhaling 
 its perfume, held it lightly to her lips. 
 
 " You thoroughbred I " said Frederic thickly. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE EVEELASTING DOOR 
 
 SOMETIME during the night of the fifteenth, the be- 
 lated Chinook wind began to flute through the can- 
 yon, 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 in- 
 credible 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 ob- 
 scured, 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 
 
306 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 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 dis- 
 turbed the gorge. Dawn broke still and crisp and clear. 
 The mountain tops shone in splendor, purple cliifs 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 Fred- 
 eric 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, survey- 
 ing 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 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 307 
 
 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 griide. 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 lit- 
 tle man's decision. A few spikes in his shoes, some hard- 
 tack 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 recon- 
 noiter 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 re- 
 mained a well-stocked hamper, including thermos bottles 
 of coff*ee 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 
 
308 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 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 re- 
 plied in his high, strained key. " It ain't any train mov- 
 ing; it's the Chinook waking up." He focussed on the 
 Oriental Limited, then slowly swept the peak that over- 
 topped 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 et slide toppled off that shoulder, 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 309 
 
 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." 
 
 The prospector paused to take the cup, then said : " I 
 guess likely we won't make the summit this trip. We've 
 got to hustle to get down before it turns soft." 
 
 " Oh, but we must make the summit," exclaimed Mar- 
 cia, taking up her alpenstock. " Why, we are all but 
 there." 
 
 " How does it look ahead? " inquired Frederic, walk- 
 ing along the buttress. " Heard you chopping ice." 
 
 " I was cutting steps across the tail end of a little 
 glacier. It's a gliddery place, but the going looks all 
 right once you get past. Well, likely you can make it," 
 he added shrilly, " but you've got to be quick." 
 
 The life of the trail that sharpens a man's perceptives 
 teaches him to read individuality swiftly, and this Alaskan 
 who, the first day out on a long stampede, could have told 
 the dominant trait of each husky in his team, knew his 
 party as well as the risk. Golf and tennis, added to a 
 naturally strong physique, had given the two sisters nerves 
 of steel. Marcia, who had visited some of the great gla- 
 ciers in the north, possessed the insight and coolness of 
 a mountain explorer; and all the third woman lacked in 
 physical endurance was more than made up in courage. 
 The man, though enervated by over-indulgence, had the 
 brute force, the animal instinct of self-preservation, to 
 carry him through. So presently, when the buttress was 
 passed, and the prospector uncoiled his rope, it was to 
 Mrs. Feversham he gave the other end, placing Morgan- 
 stein next, with Elizabeth at the center and Mrs. Weath- 
 erbee second. Once, twice, Banks felt her stumble, a sink- 
 
310 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 ing weight on the line, but in the instant he caught a twist 
 in the slack and fixed his heels in the crust to turn, she 
 had, in each case, recovered and come steadily on. It 
 was only when the gliddery passage was made, the peril 
 behind, that she sank down in momentary collapse. 
 
 Banks stopped to unfold his pocket-cup and take out 
 his flask. " You look about done for," he said briskly. 
 " My, yes, that little taste of glacier was your limit. 
 But you ain't the kind to back out. No, ma'am, all you 
 need is a little bracer to put you on your feet again, 
 good as new." 
 
 " I never can go back," she said, and met his con- 
 cerned look with wide and luminous eyes. " Unless — 
 I'm carried. Never in the world." 
 
 Morganstein forced a laugh. It had a frosty sound; 
 his lips were blue. " Excuse me," he responded. " Any- 
 where else I wouldn't hesitate, but here, I draw the line." 
 
 The prospector was holding the draught to her lips, 
 and she took a swallow and pushed away the cup. It 
 was brandy, raw, scalding, and it brought the color back 
 to her face. " Thank you," she said, and forced a smile. 
 " It is bracing ; my tensions are all screwed. I feel like 
 climbing on to — Mars." 
 
 Frederic laughed again. " You go on. Banks," he said, 
 relieving him of the cup ; " she's all right. You hurry 
 ahead before one of those girls walks over a precipice." 
 
 He could not persuade her to take more of the liquor, 
 so he himself drank the bracer, after which he put the 
 cup and the flask, which Banks had left, away in his own 
 pockets. She was up, whipping down her fear. " Come," 
 she said, " we must hurry to overtake them." 
 
 Her steps, unsteady at first, grew sure and determined ; 
 she drew longer, deeper breaths ; the pink of a wild rose 
 flushed her cheeks. But Frederic, plodding abreast, laid 
 his hand on her arm. 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 311 
 
 " See here," he said, " you can't keep this up ; stop a 
 minute. They've got to wait for us. George, that am- 
 bition of yours can spur you to the pace. Never saw so 
 much spirit done up in a small package. Go off, some- 
 time, like Fourth o^ July fireworks." He chuckled, look- 
 ing down at her with admiration in his round eyes. " Like 
 you for it, though. George, it's just that has made you 
 worth waiting for." 
 
 She gave him a quick glance and, setting her alpenstock, 
 sprang from his detaining hand. 
 
 " See, they have reached the summit," she called. 
 " They are waiting already for us. And see ! " she ex- 
 claimed tensely, as he struggled after her. " It is going 
 to be grand." 
 
 A vast company of peaks began to lift, tier on tier 
 like an amphitheater, above the rim of the dome, while 
 far eastward, as they cross-cut the rounding incline, 
 stretched those tawny mountains that had the appearance 
 of strange and watchful beasts, guarding the levels of the 
 desert, bare of snow. Glimpses there were of the blue 
 Columbia, the racy Wenatchee, but Weatherbee's pocket 
 was closed. Then, presently, as they gained the summit, 
 it was no longer an amphitheater into which they looked, 
 but a billowing sea of cloud, out of which rose steep and 
 inhospitable shores. Then, everywhere, far and away, 
 shone opal-shaded islands of mystery. 
 
 " Oh," she said, with a little, sighing breath, " these are 
 the Isles of the Blest. We have come through the Ever- 
 lasting Door into the better country." 
 
 She stood looking off in rapture, but the man saw only 
 the changing lights in her face. He turned a little, tak- 
 ing in the charm of pose, the lift of chin, parted lips, hand 
 shading softly shining eyes. After a moment he an- 
 swered : " Wish we had. Wish every other man you 
 knew was left out, on the other side of the door." 
 
312 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Her hand fell, she gave him her sweeping look and 
 moved to join the waiting group. 
 
 Banks came to meet them. " We've stayed to the limit ; 
 n^Jj yes, it's the last call," he explained in his tense key. 
 " There's a couple of places we don't want to see our- 
 selves caught in when the thaw strikes. And they're get- 
 ting a heavy rain down at the Springs now; likely up at 
 the tunnel it's snow or hail." He paused, turning to send 
 a final glance into the mist, then said : " Less than ten 
 minutes ago I had a sight of that train, but you see now 
 she's wiped off the map. It'll be a close race, my, yes. 
 Give me that stick, ma'am; you can make better time 
 on the down-grade holding on to me." 
 
 With this, he offered his able hand to Mrs. Weather- 
 bee and, followed by the rest of the party, helped her 
 swiftly down the slope. But clearly his mind was on the 
 stalled train. " Likely, hugging the mountainside, they 
 don't see how the snow crowds overhead," he said. " And 
 I'd ought to have taken time to run over and give 'em a 
 tip. I'm going to, I'm going to, soon's I get you down 
 to that old railroad track where you can make it alone." 
 
 "Do you mean the Limited is in danger.'^" she asked, 
 springing and tripping to his stride. 
 
 And Banks nodded grimly. " Yes, ma'am. It's a hard 
 proposition, even to a man like Tisdale, who is used to 
 breaking his own trail. He knows he's got to fight shy 
 of the slides along that burned over switchback, but if 
 he saw the box that train is in, he would just hike around 
 to this side of the canyon, where the pitches are shorter, 
 and the green trees stand some show to hold the snow, 
 and work down to the old track to the Springs." 
 
 "Is Mr. Tisdale" — her voice broke a little — "Mr. 
 Hollis Tisdale on that train? " 
 
 " Likely, yes. He was snowbound on her in the Rock- 
 ies, last I heard, and ' feeling fit as a moose.' Being 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 313 
 
 penned up so long, he'd likely rather take a hike down to 
 the hotel than not. It would be good for his health." 
 And the little man piped his high, mirthless laugh. 
 
 She stumbled, and he felt the hand in his tremble, but 
 the abrupt incline of the glacier had opened before them, 
 and he believed she dreaded to re-cross the ice. " Keep 
 cool," he admonished, releasing her to uncoil the rope 
 again, " Stand steady. Just recollect if you came over 
 this, you can get back." 
 
 But when, presently, the difficult passage safely made, 
 they rounded the crag and gained the level shoulder where 
 they had lunched, they seemed to have arrived at a dif- 
 ferent place. The lower canyon, which not two hours 
 before had stretched into blue distance below them, was 
 lost in the creeping sea of cloud ; the abyss at their feet 
 gathered immensity, and the top of the timbered ridge 
 lifted midway like a strange, floating garden. The sta- 
 tion at Cascade tunnel, all the opposite mountain, was 
 obscured, then, while Banks stood re-coiling his rope, the 
 sounds that had disturbed the guests at Scenic Hot 
 Springs those previous nights rose, reverberating, 
 through the hidden gorge. The Chinook had resumed its 
 work. 
 
 The way below the spur broke in easy steps to the long 
 and gradual slope that terminated abovfe the cleaver of 
 rock and, anxious to reach the unfortunate train. Banks 
 hurried on. Marcia and Elizabeth trailed quickly after, 
 but Mrs. Weatherbee remained seated on the shelving 
 ledge at the foot of the crag. Frederic sank heavily into 
 the place beside her and took out the flask. 
 
 " You are all in," he said. " Come, take this ; it's 
 diluted this time with snow." 
 
 But she gave him no attention, except to push aside 
 the cup. She waited, listening, leaning forward a little 
 as though her wide eyes could penetrate the pall. Then, 
 
314 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 torn by cross currents of wind, the cloud parted, and the 
 mountain loomed like a phantom peak over the gulf. 
 She started up and stood swaying gently on her feet while 
 the trees, tall and spectral and cloaked in snow, opened 
 rank on rank like a uniformed company. Lower still, 
 the steep roofs of the station reflected a shaft of the sun, 
 and the long line of cars appeared clearly defined, wait- 
 ing still on the tracks outside the portal. 
 
 The rent in the cloud closed. She turned with a great, 
 sighing breath. " Did you see ? " she said. " The train 
 is safe." 
 
 " Of course." And again, having himself taken the 
 bracer, Frederic rose and returned the flask to his pocket. 
 " So, that was troubling you ; thought that train might 
 have been struck. Guess if an avalanche had come down 
 there, we'd have heard some noise. It's safe enough here," 
 he added. " Top of this crag was built to shed snow like 
 a church steeple." 
 
 "But why are we waiting?" And glancing around, 
 she exclaimed in dismay : " The others have gone. See ! 
 They are almost out of sight." 
 
 She began to walk swiftly to the lower rim of the shoul- 
 der, and Frederic followed. Down the slope his sisters 
 and Banks seemed to be moving through a film. They 
 mingled with it indistinctly as the figures in faded tap- 
 estry. But Morganstein laid his hand on her arm to de- 
 tain her. " What's your hurry? " he asked thickly. 
 " All we got to do now is keep their trail. Tracks are 
 clear as day." 
 
 " We shall delay them ; they will wait." 
 
 She tried to pass him, but they had reached the step 
 from the spur, and he swung around to block the narrow 
 way. " Not yet," he said. " This is the moment Fve 
 been waiting for. First time in months you've given me 
 a fair chance to speak to you. Always headed me ofl^. 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 315 
 
 I'm tired of being held at arm's length. I've been pa- 
 tient to the hmit. I'm going to know now, to-day, before 
 we go down from this mountain, how soon you are going 
 to marry me." 
 
 She tried again to pass him but, taking incautious foot- 
 ing, slipped, and his arm saved her. " I don't care how 
 soon it is," he went on, " or where. Quietly at your ^ 
 apartments, or a big church wedding. On board the 
 first boat sailing for Yokohama, after those coal cases 
 are settled, suits me." 
 
 She struggled to free herself, then managed to turn 
 and face him, with her palms braced against his breast. 
 His arm relaxed a little, so that he was able to look down 
 in her lifted face. What he saw there was not altogether 
 anger, though aversion was in her eyes ; not surprise, not 
 wholly derision, though her lips suggested a smile, but an 
 indefinable something that baffled, mastered him. His arm 
 fell. " Japan is fine in the spring," he said. *' And we 
 could take our time, coming back by way of Hawaii to 
 see the big volcano, with another stop-over at Manila. 
 Get home to begin housekeeping at the villa in mid- 
 summer." 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed at last, " do you think I am a 
 silly girl to be dazzled and tempted.'^ Who knows noth- 
 ing of marriage and the cost.'' " 
 
 " No," he responded quickly. " I think you are a 
 mighty clever woman. But you've got to the point where 
 you can't hedge any more. Banks has gone back on that 
 option. If he won't buy, nobody else will. And it takes 
 ready money to run a big ranch like that, -even after the 
 improvements are in. You can't realize on your orchards, 
 even in the Wenatchee country, short of four years. So 
 you'll have to marry me; only way out." 
 
 She gave him her swift, sweeping look, and the blue 
 lights blazed in her eyes. " I will remember you are 
 
316 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Elizabeth's brother," she said. " I will try to remember 
 that. But please don't say any more. Every moment 
 counts ; come." 
 
 Morganstein laughed. As long as she parried, as long 
 as she did not refuse outright to marry him, he must keep 
 reasonably cool. He stooped to pick up the alpenstock 
 she had dropped, then offered his hand down the step 
 from the spur. " Sorry I put it just that way," he said. 
 " I'm a plain business man ; used to coming straight to the 
 point; but I guess you've known how much I thought of 
 you all these years. Had to keep on a high check-rein 
 while Weatherbee lived, and tried my best, afterwards, to 
 give him a year's grace, but you knew just the same. 
 Know — don't you.'' — I might take my pick out of the 
 dozen nicest girls in Seattle to-day. Only have to say 
 the word. Not one in the bunch would turn me down. 
 But I wouldn't have one of 'em for second choice. No- 
 body but you will do." He paused, then added with his 
 narrow look: "And what I want, you ought to know 
 that too, I get." 
 
 She met the look with a shake of the head and forced 
 a smile. " Some things are not to be bought at any 
 price. But, of course, I have seen — a woman does — " 
 she went on hurriedly, withdrawing her hand. " There 
 was a time, I confess, when I did consider — your way 
 out. But I dared not take it ; even then, I dared not." 
 
 " You dared not ? " Frederic laughed again. " Never 
 thought you were afraid of me. Never saw you afraid 
 of anything. But I see. Miserable experience with 
 Weatherbee made you little cautious. George, don't see 
 how any man could have deserted you. Trust me to make 
 it up to you. Marry me, and I'll show you such a good 
 time Weatherbee won't amount to a bad dream." 
 
 " I do not wish to forget David Weatherbee," she said. 
 
 " George ! " he exclaimed curiously. " Do you mean 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 317 
 
 you ever really loved him? A man who left you, prac- 
 tically without a cent, before you were married a month." 
 
 " No." Her voice was low ; her lip trembled a little. 
 ** No, I did not love him — as he deserved ; as I was able 
 to love." She paused, then went on with decision : " But 
 he did not leave me unprovided for. David Weatherbee 
 never deserted me. And, even though he had, though 
 he had been the kind of man I believed him to be , it would 
 make no difference. I could not marry you." 
 
 There was a silence during which they continued to 
 follow the tracks that cross-cut the slope. But Morgan- 
 stein's face was not pleasant to see. All the complai- 
 sancy of the egotist who has long and successfully shaped 
 lives to his own ends was withdrawn; it left exposed the 
 ugly inner side of the man. The trail was becoming soft ; 
 the damp of the Chinook began to envelop them; already 
 the advancing film stretched like a curtain over the sun, 
 and the three figures that had seemed parts of a shaken 
 tapestry disappeared. Then, presently. Banks' voice, 
 muffled like a voice under a blanket, rose through the pall. 
 And Frederic stopped to put his hand to his mouth. " All 
 right ! Coming ! " he answered, but the shout rebounded 
 as though it had struck a sounding board. 
 
 After another plodding silence, the prospector's hail 
 reached them again. It seemed farther off, and this time 
 Morganstein did not respond. He stopped, however, and 
 the woman beside him waited in expectation. " Suppose," 
 he said slowly, " we are lost on this mountain to-night. 
 Make a difference to-morrow — wouldn't it.'' — whether 
 you would marry me or not." 
 
 The color rushed to her face and went; her breast rose 
 and fell in deep, quick breaths, but she met his look fear- 
 lessly, lifting herself with the swaying movement from the 
 balls of her feet that made her suddenly taller. " No." 
 And her tone, the way in which she said it, must have stung 
 
318 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 even his small soul ; then she added : " You are more 
 brutal than I thought." 
 
 She turned after that and herself sent the belated re- 
 sponse to Banks. But though she repeated the call twice, 
 making a trumpet of her hands and with all the power 
 of her voice, his hail did not reach them again. She 
 started swiftly down. It was beginning to snow. 
 
 Frederic had nothing more to say. He moved on with 
 her. It was as though each tried to out-travel the other, 
 still they could not make up that delay. The snow fell 
 in big, soft flakes that blurred the tracks they followed; 
 soon they were completely blotted out, and though he 
 strained his eyes continually, watching for the cleaver of 
 rock they had climbed that morning, the landmark never 
 appeared. Finally, at the same instant, they both 
 stopped, listening. On the silence broke innumerable 
 small sounds like many little hurrying feet. The moun- 
 tain trembled slightly. " God Almighty 1 " he cried 
 thickly. Then came the closer rush of a considerable 
 body, not unlike sheep passing in a fog, and panic seized 
 him. " We've got to keep on top," he shouted and, grasp- 
 ing her arm, he swung her around and began to run back 
 up the slope. 
 
 In the face of this common peril, personality called a 
 truce, and she pushed on with him blindly, leaving it to 
 him to choose the way and set the pace. But their own 
 tracks down the incline had filled with incredible swiftness ; 
 soon they were completely effaced. And, when the noise 
 subsided, he stopped and looked about him, bewildered. 
 He saw nothing but a breadth of sharply dipping slope, 
 white, smooth as an unwritten scroll, over which hung 
 the swaying, voluminous veil of the falling snow. He put 
 his hands to his mouth then, and lifted his voice in a 
 great hail. It brought no reply, but in the moment he 
 waited, somewhere far below in those obscured depths, a 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 319 
 
 great tree, splitting under tremendous pressure, crashed 
 down, then quickly the terrific sweep and roar of a second 
 mightier avalanche filled the hidden gorge. 
 
 Morganstein caught her arm once more. " We must 
 get back to that shoulder where it's safe," he shouted. 
 " Banks will come to look us up." After that, as they 
 struggled on up the slope, he fell to saying over and 
 over, as long as the reverberations lasted : " Almighty 
 God!" 
 
 As they ascended, the snow fell less heavily and finally 
 ceased. It became firm underfoot, and a cross wind, start- 
 ing in puffs, struck their faces sharply with a promise of 
 frost. Then strange hummocks began to rise. They 
 were upheavals of ice, shrouded in snow. Sometimes a 
 higher one presented a sheer front shading to bluish- 
 green. They had not passed this point with Banks, but 
 Morganstein shaped a course to a black pinnacle, lifting 
 through the mist beyond, that he believed was the crag 
 at the shoulder. She stumbled repeatedly on the rough 
 surface. Her labored breathing in the great stillness, 
 like the beat of a pendulum in an empty house, tried his 
 strained nerves. He upbraided her for leaving her al- 
 penstock down the slope. But she paid no attention. 
 She looked back constantly ; she was like a woman being 
 led away from a locked door, moving reluctantly, listen- 
 ing against hope for a word or sign. So, at last, they 
 came to the rock. It was not the crag, but a hanging 
 promontory, where the mountain broke in a three-sided 
 precipice. The cloud surged around it like an un- 
 plumbed sea. 
 
 They crept back, and Morganstein tried again to deter- 
 mine their position. They were too high, he concluded; 
 they must work down a little to round the cliffs, so they 
 took a course diagonally into the smother. Then he, 
 too, began to lose alertness ; he walked mechanically, tak- 
 
320 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 ing the line of least resistance ; his head sagged forward ; 
 he saw nothing but the hummocks before him. These 
 grew larger; they changed to narrow ridges with fissures 
 between. After a while, one of these breaks roused him. 
 It was exceedingly deep ; he could not see either end of it. 
 The only way was to leap, and he did it clumsily. Then, 
 with his alpenstock fixed, and his spiked heels set in the 
 crust, he reached a hand to her. She was barely able to 
 spring to the lower side, but it did not terrify her. One 
 fear only possessed her. Her glance, seeking, returned 
 to the hidden canyon. But soon they were confronted 
 by a wider and still deeper chasm. It was impossible to 
 cross it, though it seemed to narrow upwards in the direc- 
 tion of the summit. He took her arm and began to 
 ascend, looking for a way over. The pitch grew steadily 
 sharper. They entered the thinning edge of the cloud, 
 and it became transparent like tissue of gold. Suddenly 
 it parted, and Frederic stopped, blinded by the blaze of 
 a red sunset on snow. He closed his eyes an instant, 
 while, to avoid the glare, he turned his face. His first 
 glance shocked him into a sense of great peril. The 
 two fissures ran parallel, and they were ascending a tongue 
 of ice between. Not far below, it narrowed to a point 
 where the two crevasses, uniting, yawned in one. His 
 knees weakened, but he managed to swing himself cau- 
 tiously around. The causeway seemed to rock under his 
 weight; then, shading his sight with his hand, he saw 
 they were almost beneath the shoulder he had tried to 
 reach. They had climbed too high, as he had believed, 
 but also they had descended too far. And they had come 
 directly down the glacier, to cross the upper end of which 
 Banks had found it necessary to use a lifeline. 
 
 " Be careful ! " he whispered thickly, and laid his hand 
 on her shoulder, impelling her on. " Be careful, but, for 
 God's sake, hurry ! " 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 321 
 
 He crowded her faster and faster up the incline; he 
 dared not move abreast, it was so narrow. Sometimes 
 he lifted her bodily, for with every step his panic grew. 
 Beads of moisture gathered on his face, though the wind 
 stiffened and sharpened; his own breath out-labored hers, 
 and he cried again over and over : " God Almighty 1 " 
 and " Almighty God 1 " Sometimes his tone was- blas- 
 phemy and sometimes prayer. 
 
 But the moment came when she could not be farther 
 pressed. Her shoulder trembled under his hold, her limbs 
 gave, and she sank down, to her knees at first, then to 
 her elbow. Even then she moved her head enough to 
 look backward over the abyss. " The train," she whis- 
 pered and, shuddering, dropped her face on her relaxed 
 arm. 
 
 Morganstein ventured to glance back. Ragged frag- 
 ments torn from the cloud below rose swirling across 
 the opposite mountain top, and between their edges, like 
 a picture in a frame, appeared briefly the roofs of the 
 little station. But where the Oriental Limited had stood, 
 the avalanche had passed'. " God Almighty ! " he re- 
 peated impotently, then immediately the sense of this 
 appalling catastrophe whet the edge of his personal ter- 
 ror. " Come ! " he cried ; " come, you can't stop here. 
 It's dangerous. Come, you'll freeze — or worse." 
 
 She was silent. She made no effort to rise or indeed 
 to move. He began to press by her and on in the direc- 
 tion of that safe spur. But presently another dread 
 assailed him ; the dread of the city-bred man — accustomed 
 to human intercourse, the swing of business, the stir of 
 social life, to face great solitudes alone. This cross- 
 fear became so strong it turned him back in a second 
 panic. Then floundering to keep his equilibrium after 
 an incautious step, he sat down heavily and found him- 
 self skidding towards the larger crevasse. He lifted his 
 
322 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 alpenstock and in a frenzy thrust it into the ice between 
 his knees. It caught fast just short of the brink and 
 held him astride, with heels dangling over the abyss. He 
 worked away cautiously, laboriously, shaking in all his 
 big, soft bulk ; and would have given up further attempt 
 to rescue Beatriz Weatherbee had he not at this moment 
 discovered himself at her side. 
 
 He had not yet tried to rise to his feet, so safe-guard- 
 ing himself with the alpenstock thrust once more in the 
 ice, he paused to take the flask from his pocket and 
 poured all that remained of the liquor into the cup. It 
 was a little over half full. Possibly he remembered how 
 lavish he had been with those previous draughts, for he 
 looked at his companion with a kind of regret as he 
 lifted the cup unsteadily to drink. Then, gathering the 
 remnants of his courage, he put his arm under her head, 
 raising it while he forced the small surplus of brandy 
 he had left between her lips. She revived enough under 
 the scalding swallow to push the cup away. Anywhere 
 else he would have laughed at her feeble effort to throw 
 off^ his touch ; but he did not urge her to finish the draught, 
 and, as he had done earlier that day, himself hastily 
 drained the cup. He dropped it beside the empty flask 
 and struggled up. 
 
 " Now," he said, " we've got to make that spur where 
 it's safe. Come. It isn't far; just been up to that place 
 where Banks helped us across ; had to come back for you." 
 
 But he was obliged to lift her to her feet and to sup- 
 port her up the slope. And this, even though the tongue 
 widened above them, threw him perilously close to the 
 crevasse. Once, twice, the ice broke on the brink and 
 dropped clinking down, down. It was impossible to make 
 the leap again to the higher surface they had descended; 
 unhampered, he must have been physically unfit. Be- 
 hind them the cloud closed over the Pass and the moun- 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 323 
 
 tain top under which the Oriental Limited had stood. 
 His companion no longer looked back; she moved as 
 mechanically though less certainly than one who walks 
 in sleep. The fears that possessed him, that she her- 
 self had held so finely in check when they had followed 
 Banks on this glacier, did not trouble her now. Her 
 indifference to their extremity began to play on Frederic's 
 unhinged nerves. This white, blue-lipped woman was not 
 the Beatriz Weatherbee he had known; who had climbed 
 the slope with him that morning, all exhilaration, spirit, 
 charm; whose example had challenged his endurance and 
 held his courage to the sticking point. 
 
 " Why don't you say something? " he complained. 
 *' Have you turned into ice.? Now look where you step, 
 can't you.? Deuced fix you got us into, dreaming there 
 in the clouds, when Lucky Banks had left the spur. Come 
 on, you bloodless ghost; come, or I'll let you stay where 
 you drop. Nice place to spend the night in. Almighty 
 God!" 
 
 So, upbraiding her when she stumbled, blaming her 
 for their plight, threatening to leave her if she should 
 fall, and flaying himself on with renewed panic, he brought 
 her to the top of the double crevasse and the prospector's 
 crossing. But here, with the levels of the spur before 
 them, her strength reached low ebb. This time he was 
 not able to rouse her, and he threw down his alpenstock 
 and took her in his armc, and went slipping and recover^ 
 ing the remaining steps. He stopped, winded, and stood 
 her on her feet, but her body sagged limply against him, 
 and the sight of her still face terrified him. He carried 
 her a little farther, to the shelter of the crag, and laid 
 her there. Then he dropped to his knees beside her, and 
 grasping her shoulders shook her, at first slowly, then 
 swiftly, with the roughness of despair. 
 
 *' Wake up," he cried thickly. " Wake up ! Don't 
 
324 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 jou see we're out of that hole? Come, Banks will be here 
 any minute. Come, wake up." 
 
 She made no response. The sun had set ; it was grow- 
 ing bitterly cold, and there was little protection under 
 the crag. It was a place where cross winds met. Torn 
 fragments from the sea of cloud below drove against the 
 pinnacle. It was like a lofty headland breasting rolling 
 surf. Frederic stood erect and sent his voice down through 
 the smother in a great shout. It brought no answer, 
 and he settled helplessly on the shelf beside her. It be- 
 gan to hail furiously, and he dropped his face, shielding 
 it in his arms. 
 
 The storm passed and, rousing himself, he searched his 
 pockets vainly for a match to light his remaining cigar. 
 Later he went through them again, hoping to find a piece 
 of chocolate — he had carried some that morning — but 
 this, too, was without result. He fell to cursing the 
 packer, for appropriating the port and tinned things 
 that were missing at lunch-time. But after that he did 
 not talk any more and, in a little while, he stretched 
 himself beside the unconscious figure at the foot of the 
 crag. A second cloud lifted in a flurry of snow. Every 
 hidden canyon sent out innumerable currents of air, and 
 gales, meeting, lifted the powdery crust in swirls, wrap- 
 ping them in a white sheet. Finally, from far off, 
 mingling with the skirling pipes of the wind came a dif- 
 ferent, human sound. And, presently, when the call — if 
 call it was — was repeated, the man sat up and looked 
 dully around. But he made no effort to reply. He 
 waited, listening stupidly, and the cry did not reach him 
 again. Then, his glance falling to the woman, a ray of 
 intelligence leaped in his eyes. He rose on his knees and 
 moved her so there was room for his own bulk between her 
 body and the rock. He had then, when he stretched him- 
 self on the snow, a windbreak. 
 
THE EVERLASTING DOOR 325 
 
 TKe wind rushed screaming into the vast spaces beyond 
 the mountain top, and returning, met the opposing forces 
 from the canyon and instantly became a whirlwind. It 
 cut like myriads of teeth; it struck two-edged with the 
 swish, slash of a sword; and it lifted the advancing cloud 
 in a mighty swirl, bellied it as though it had been a 
 gigantic sail, and shook from its folds a deluge of hail- 
 stones followed by snow. Through it all a grotesque 
 shape that seemed sometimes a huge, abnormal beetle 
 and sometimes a beast, worked slowly around the crag, 
 now crawling, now rearing upright with a futile flapping 
 of stiffs wings, towards the two human figures. It was 
 Lucky Banks, come to rescue them. 
 
 A heavier blast threw him on his face, but he rose to his 
 knees and, creeping close, squared his shoulders to pro- 
 tect the slighter body. At the same time the significance 
 of the position of Morganstein's unconscious bulk struck 
 him, *' You rat ! " he cried with smothered fury. " You 
 damn rat 1 " 
 
 Then he caught up a handful of snow with which he 
 began to rub the woman's face. Afterwards he removed 
 her gloves to manipulate her cold hands. He worked 
 swiftly, with the deftness of practice, but the results 
 were slow, and presently he took the rug from the pack 
 he carried and covered her while he felt in Frederic's 
 pockets for the flask he had neglected to return. 
 " Likely there wasn't a drop left when she came to need 
 it, you brute. And I'd like to leave you here to take 
 your chances. You can thank your luck I've got to use 
 you." 
 
 Banks keyed his voice high, between breaths, to out- 
 scale the wind, but he did not wait for a reply. Before 
 he finished speaking, he had opened his big, keen-bladed 
 clasp-knife and commenced to cut broad strips from the 
 rug. He passed some of these, not without eff^ort, under 
 
326 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Morganstein's body, trussing the arms. Then, wrapping 
 the smaller figure snugly in the blanket, he lifted it on to 
 the human toboggan he had made and bound it securely. 
 Finally he converted the shoulder-straps of his pack into 
 a sort of steering gear, to which he fastened his life-line. 
 
 These preparations had been quickly made. It was 
 not yet dark when he worked this sled over the rim of the 
 spur and began to descend the long slope. The violence 
 of the wind was broken there, so that he was able to 
 travel erect, drawing his load. After a while, when the 
 flurry of snow had passed, a crust formed on the surface, 
 and in steeper pitches he was obliged to let the toboggan 
 forge ahead, using himself as a drag. With the change 
 to colder temperature, there was no further" danger of 
 slides, and to avoid the avalanche that had turned 
 Morganstein back, the prospector shaped his course more 
 directly into the canyon. Soon he was below the clouds ; 
 between their ragged edges a few stars appeared. Be- 
 yond a buttress shone a ruddy illumination. Some firs 
 stood against it darkly. It was the fire Marcia and 
 Elizabeth were watching at the place where he had cached 
 the surplus supplies that morning. It served as a beacon 
 when the crispness ceased, and for an interval he was 
 forced to mush laboriously through soft drifts. Then 
 he came to a first bare spot. It was in crossing this rough 
 ground that Frederic showed signs of returning conscious- 
 ness. But Banks gave him no attention. He had caught 
 a strange sound on the wind. Others, far off, rose while 
 he listened. Presently, looking back beyond the end of 
 the ridge that divided the upper gorge, he saw twinkling 
 lights. They were the lanterns of the searchers at the 
 wrecked train. 
 
 The little man did not exclaim. He did not pray. His 
 was the anguish of soul which finds no expression. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 KISMET. AN ACT OF GOD 
 
 AFTERWARDS, some who compared the slope where 
 the Oriental Limited had stood, with the terrible 
 pitches along the lower switchback, said : " It was Fate ; " 
 and the defense in the damage suits against the Great 
 Northern, which were decided in favor of the company, 
 called that catastrophe at Cascade tunnel " An Act of 
 God." In either solution, the fact that counted was that 
 no avalanche had occurred at this point before; moun- 
 tain men had regarded it as absolutely safe. At noon 
 that day, a rumor reached the stalled train that a slide 
 at the front had struck one of the rotaries. Laborers, at 
 their own peril, had excavated the crew, but the plow was 
 out of commission, and the track was buried sixty feet 
 under fresh tons of snow and rock and fallen timber. 
 The Limited could not move within forty-eight hours, 
 perhaps three days. 
 
 Tisdale picked up his bag and went out to the observa- 
 tion platform. He knew that to attempt to follow the 
 railroad through those swaths the avalanches had left, 
 under the burned skeletons of trees ready to topple at the 
 first pressure of other bodies of snow, was to take one's 
 life needlessly in his hands; but there was another way. 
 The slope from the track at the portal dipped through a 
 park of hemlock and fir, and the blaze that had swept the 
 lower mountainside had not reached this timber ; the great 
 boughs, like fishers' nets, supported their dripping ac- 
 cumulations. Also, at this altitude, there was no under- 
 
328 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 growth. To make the drop directly into the canyon and 
 follow the river down to Scenic Hot Springs meant little 
 more to him than a bracing tramp of a few hours. 
 
 Snowshoes were a necessity, and the demand at the little 
 station had long exceeded the supply, but the operator was 
 able to furnish the length of bale rope Tisdale asked of 
 him. From the office door, where he had curiously fol- 
 lowed to see the line put to use, he watched the traveler 
 secure two pliable branches of hemlock, of the same size, 
 which he brought to the station platform, and, having 
 stripped them of needles, bent into ovals. Then, laying 
 aside one, he commenced to weave half of the rope net- 
 wise, filling the space in the frame he held. A sudden in- 
 telligence leaped in the agent's face. " That's simple 
 enough," he exclaimed. " And they'll carry you as far 
 as you want to go." 
 
 Tisdale smiled, nodding, and picked up the remaining 
 frame. 
 
 " Strange I never saw any one try the scheme before," 
 the operator commented. " I've weathered a good many 
 blockades up here; seen lots of fellows, men whose time 
 was money, bucking it out to open track. But I bet the 
 first time this idea struck you you were up against it. I 
 bet it's a yam worth listening to." 
 
 Tisdale glanced up ; the genial lines deepened. " It was 
 a situation to clear a man's head. There was snow from 
 three to seven feet deep ahead of me and going soft. My 
 snowshoes, lost with the outfit at a hole in a Yukon cross- 
 ing, were swinging down-stream under the ice. I had two 
 sea biscuit in my pocket and a few inches of dried venison, 
 with the nearest road-house over fifty miles away." 
 
 " Well, that was hard luck," the agent shook his head 
 gravely, 
 
 " It was the best kind of luck," responded Tisdale 
 quickly,' " to find myself with that rope in my hands and 
 
KISMET. AN ACT OF GOD 329 
 
 a nice little spruce on the bank to supply frames enough 
 for a regiment. I was rigging a kind of derrick to ease 
 my sled up the sharp pitch from the crossing." 
 
 " I see," said the operator thoughtfully, " and the sled 
 broke through. Lost it and the outfit. But your dogs 
 ^- saved them, didn't you? " 
 
 " All but two." Tisdale's brows contracted. " They 
 were dragged under the ice before I could cut the traces. 
 There was leather enough on the leaders to bind those 
 shoes on, but " — and the humorous lines deepened again 
 — " a couple of straps, from an old suitcase, if you hap- 
 pen to have one, would be an improvement." 
 
 The operator hurried into the office and, after a vigor- 
 ous search among the miscellaneous articles stored under 
 his desk, found an old valise, from which he detached the 
 desired straps. Tisdale adjusted the improvised shoes. 
 " I will send them back by a brakeman from Scenic 
 Springs," he said, rising from his seat on the edge of the 
 platform. " You can keep them for a pattern." 
 
 " All right," the operator laughed. " If you do, I'll 
 have to lay in a stock of bale rope." 
 
 It was beginning to snow again, big, soft flakes, and 
 the wind, skimming the drifts, speedily filled the broad, 
 light rings Tisdale left in his wake. A passenger with a 
 baby in his arms stood on the observation platform, and 
 the child held out its mittened hands to him, crowing, 
 with little springs. They had formed an acquaintance 
 during the delay in the Rockies, which had grown to in- 
 timacy in the Cascades, and Hollis slipped the carrying 
 strap of his bag over his shoulder and stopped to toss him 
 a snowball, before he turned from the track. " Good-by, 
 Joey," he said. " I am coming back for you if there's a 
 chance." 
 
 The operator, shivering, closed the door. " Never saw 
 such a man," he commented, " But if he's lived in 
 
330 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Alaska, a Cascade blizzard would just be a light breeze 
 to him." He paused to put a huge stick of wood in the 
 stove, then, after the habit of solitary humanity, resumed 
 his soliloquy. " I bet he's seen life. I bet, whoever he 
 is, he's somewheres near the top of the ladder. I bet, in 
 a bunch of men, he does the thinking. And I bet what 
 he wants, I don't care what's piled in his way, he gets." 
 
 As he descended, the trees closed behind Tisdale, rank 
 on rank, and were enveloped in the swaying curtain of the 
 snow. Always a certain number surrounded him; they 
 seemed to march with him like a bodyguard. But he was 
 oblivious of the peril that from the higher peak had ap- 
 peared so imminent to Lucky Banks. When the snow- 
 cloud lifted, the Pass was still completely veiled from him, 
 and the peak the prospector's party had ascended was then 
 cut off by the intervening ridge. He had crossed the 
 headwaters and was working along this slope down the 
 watercourse, when the noise of the first avalanche startled 
 the gorge. A little later a far shout came to his quick 
 ear. He answered, but when another call reached him 
 from a different point, high up beyond the ridge, he was 
 silent. He knew a company, separated in the neighbor- 
 hood of the slide, was trying to get into communication. 
 Then, in the interval that he waited, listening, began the 
 ominous roar of the mightier cataclysm. The mountain 
 he had descended seemed to heave ; its front gave way ; the 
 ridge on which he stood trembled at the concussion. 
 
 Instantly, before the clamor ceased and the first cries 
 reached him, Tisdale knew what had occurred. His sense 
 of location told him. Then the fact was pressed on him 
 that some on the unfortunate train still survived. He saw 
 that the course he had taken from the west portal was no 
 longer possible, but by keeping the curve of the ridge 
 which joined the mountain slope and formed the top of the 
 gorge, and by working upward, he should be able to gain 
 
KISMET. AN ACT OF GOD 331 
 
 the upper edge of the slide where rose the human sounds. 
 He took this way. His shoulder, turned a little, met the 
 lower boughs with the dip and push of the practiced woods- 
 man, and even on the up-grade the distance fell behind him 
 swiftly. Always subconsciously, as he moved, he saw that 
 baby crowing him a good-by, and the young father smil- 
 ing Godspeed from the observation platform; sometimes 
 the girl mother with tender brown eyes watched him from 
 the background. Suppose their coach, which had directly 
 preceded the observation car, had escaped; the snow- 
 cloud, parting on the mountain top, showed that the roofs 
 of the station still remained. 
 
 After a while he noticed two men working downward from 
 the portal along the swath of the avalanche. One, he 
 conjectured, was the operator, but they stopped some dis- 
 tance above him and commenced to remove sections of the 
 debris. Then Hollis saw before him some brilliant spots 
 on the snow. They proved to be only pieces of stained 
 glass from a shattered transom. The side of the car 
 with denuded window casings rested a few feet higher, 
 and a corner of the top of the coach protruded from under 
 the fallen skeleton of a fir. The voices now seemed all 
 around him. Somewhere a man was shouting " Help I " 
 Another groaned, cursing, and, deeper in the wreckage, 
 rose a woman's muffled, continous screaming. But, nearer 
 than the rest, a child was crying piteously. He reached 
 the intact portion of the crushed roof and found the baby 
 sitting unhurt on a clear breadth of snow. The body of 
 the father was pinned hopelessly beneath the tree, and the 
 mother lay under the fragment of roof, an iron bar on 
 her tender eyes. It was as though Destiny, having de- 
 stroyed them, whimsically threw a charmed circle around 
 this remaining atom of the family. 
 
 " Well, Joey," Tisdale said quietly, " I've come back 
 for you." 
 
332 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Instantly the child stopped crying and turned to listen ; 
 then, seeing Tisdale, he began to crow, rocking his little 
 body and catching up handsful of snow to demonstrate his 
 delight. The hands and round bud of a mouth were 
 blue. 
 
 " Cold, isn't it, Joey? " And he took the baby in his 
 arms. " We can't find your coat and mittens, but here 
 is a nice blanket." 
 
 He stooped, as he spoke, and pulled the blanket from 
 under a broken door, and the child nestled its face in his 
 neck, telling him in expressive, complaining sounds the 
 story of his terror and discomfort. 
 
 A man burrowed out of the snow above the log. His 
 leg was injured, but he began to creep, dragging it, in 
 the direction of the woman's voice. " I'm coming, Mary," 
 he cried. " For God's sake, stop." 
 
 Tisdale picked up a strip from the broken door and 
 hurried to his aid. He put the child down and used the 
 board as a shovel, and Joey, watching from the peephole 
 in his blanket, laughed and crowed again. Up the slope 
 the operator and his companion had extricated a brake- 
 man, who, forgetting his own injuries, joined the little 
 force of rescuers. 
 
 At last the cries ceased. Haste was no longer impera- 
 tive. The remaining coaches were buried under tons of 
 snow and debris. Weeks of labor, with relays of men, 
 might not reach them all. And it was time to let the out- 
 side world know. The telephone lines were down, the tele- 
 graph out of commission, and Tisdale, with the baby to 
 bear him company, started to carry the news to Scenic 
 Hot Springs. 
 
 It had grown very cold when he rounded the top of the 
 gorge. The arrested thaw hung in myriads of small ici- 
 cles on every bough; they changed to rubies when the late 
 sun blazed out briefly ; the trees seemed strung with gems ; 
 
KISMET. AN ACT OF GOD 333 
 
 the winds that gathered on the high dome above the upper 
 canyon rushed across the summit of the ridge. They 
 fluted every pipe, and, as though it were an enchanted for- 
 est, all the small pendants on all the branches changed 
 to striking cymbals and silver bells. The baby slept as 
 warm and safe in his blanket as though he had not left 
 his mother's arms. 
 
 Once there came a momentary lull, and on the silence, 
 far off — so far it seemed hardly more than a human 
 breath drifting with the lighter current that still set 
 towards him from the loftier peak — Tisdale heard some 
 one calling him. His pulses missed their beat and raced 
 on at fever heat. He believed, in that halting instant, 
 it was Beatriz Weatherbee. Then the gale, making up 
 for the pause, swept down in fury, and he hurried under 
 the shelter of the ridge with the child. He told himself 
 there had been no voice ; it was an illusion. That the 
 catastrophe, following so closely on his illness, had un- 
 hinged him a little. The Morganstein party had doubt- 
 less returned to Seattle at the beginning of the thaw ; and 
 even had Mrs. Weatherbee remained at Scenic Springs, 
 it was not probable she had strayed far from the comfort 
 and safety of the hotel. And recalling that night she had 
 passed in the Wenatchee mountains, he smiled. 
 
 As twilight fell, a ruddy illumination outlined the ridge. 
 He conjectured that the men he had heard early in the 
 afternoon in the vicinity of the first slide were a party of 
 belated hunters, who had camped in the upper canyon. 
 They must have known of the greater avalanche ; possibly 
 of the disaster. They may have sent a messenger to the 
 Springs and kindled this beacon to guide any one who 
 might choose this way to bring the news from the portal. 
 At least they would be able to direct him to the shortest 
 cut ; serve him the cup of coffee of which he was in need. 
 So, coming to the end of the ridge where the canyons met, 
 
334 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 he turned in the direction of the fire, and found — two 
 waiting women. 
 
 Their presence alone was an explanation. Mrs. Fever- 
 sham had only to say Lucky Banks had led their party, 
 in the ascent of the peak that brilliant morning, and in- 
 stantly everything was clear to Tisdale. The voice he 
 had heard from the top of the ridge was not an illusion. 
 She had called him. 
 
 " It was snowing," he said, interrupting the story, " but 
 if they left the shadow of a trail, Banks found it. There 
 are two of them, though, and up there — it's cold." 
 Then, having gone a few steps, he remembered the child 
 and came back to put him in Elizabeth's arms. *' His 
 father and mother are dead," he explained briefly, " but 
 he hasn't a bruise. When he wakes, he is going to be 
 hungry." 
 
 So, forgetting those wearing hours of rescue work, and 
 without the coffee for which he had intended to ask, he 
 started on the prospector's trail. In a little while, as he 
 skirted the foot of the slide, he heard a great commotion 
 on the slope beyond. It was Lucky Banks easing his 
 human toboggan down the last pitch to the canyon floor. 
 
 The two men stood a silent moment scanning each other 
 in the uncertain light across that load. Tisdale's eyes 
 were searching for an answer to the question he could 
 not ask, but the prospector, breathing hard, was trying 
 to cover the emotion Tisdale's unexpected appearance had 
 roused. 
 
 " HeUo, Hollis," he said at last. " Is that you? I had 
 to see after Dave's wife, but I thought likely, when I 
 got her to camp, I'd take a little hike up to the tunnel 
 and look you up." 
 
 But Tisdale, not finding the answer for which he looked, 
 sank to his knee beside the load and loosened the straps. 
 Then he lifted a comer of the rug that protected her face, 
 
KISMET. AN ACT OF GOD 335 
 
 and at the sight of it, so white, so still, his heart cried. 
 ** Little soldier ! " he said over and over and, as though 
 he hoped to warm them, laid his cheek gently to her blue 
 lips. " You called me ! I heard you. I failed you, 
 too!" 
 
 Then a fluttering breath steadied him. Instantly the 
 iron in the man cropped through. He felt her pulse, her 
 heart, as though she had been some stranger from the 
 unfortunate train and, moving her to a level place, fixed 
 her head low and began firmly, with exceeding care, those 
 expedients to eliminate the frost and start the circulation 
 that Banks had already hurriedly tried. His great, warm 
 personality enfolded her; he worked tirelessly, as though 
 he was determined to infuse her numb veins with his own 
 vigor. When the prospector would have aided him, he 
 wished to do everything alone, and directed the miner's 
 attention to Frederic Morganstein, who showed signs of 
 returning consciousness. 
 
 But the intrepid little man failed to respond. " I guess 
 likely he will pull through," he said dryly. " He had a 
 pretty good shaking up coming down, and I'd better run 
 around to camp and get a bottle of port I cached this 
 morning. The snipe got away with my flask; used the 
 last drop, likely, before she needed it." His voice took a 
 higher pitch, and he added over his shoulder, as he started 
 in the direction of the fire : " He made a windbreak of 
 her." 
 
 When he returned presently with the wine, Frederic 
 was filling the night with his complaints and groans. But 
 neither of the men gave him any attention. That was 
 left for Marcia, who had followed the prospector. 
 
 Beatriz Weatherbee was still unconscious. She was 
 carried to the camp and laid in a sheltered place re- 
 mote from the fire. Then Lucky Banks volunteered to 
 go to Scenic Springs with the news of the train dis- 
 
336 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 aster, and to bring an extra man with lanterns and a 
 stretcher. He was well on the way when Morganstein 
 crept in. Marcia found him a seat on the end of a log 
 and, wrapping the cached rug about him, regaled him with 
 the recovered portion of the luncheon. But it was long 
 after that when Beatriz Weatherbee's eyelids fluttered 
 open. Tisdale drew a little more into the shadows, wait- 
 ing, and the first to come within her range of vision was 
 the child. He was sitting on his blanket in the strong 
 glow, and just beyond him Elizabeth, who had found a 
 tin of cream in the cache and had been feeding him, was 
 putting away the cup. Joey faced the waking woman 
 and, catching her look, he put out his hands, rocking 
 gayly, and crowed. Instantly a flash of intelligence 
 lighted her face. She smiled and tried to stretch out her 
 arms. " Come ! " she said. 
 
 Elizabeth caught up the child and placed him beside her 
 on the rug. He put out his soft, moist fingers, touching 
 her face curiously, with gathering doubt. Then, satisfied 
 this was not his mother, as in the uncertain light he must 
 have supposed, he drew back with a whimper and clung to 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 At the same moment Mrs. Weatherbee's smile changed 
 to disappointment. " His eyes are brown, Elizabeth," she 
 said, " and my baby's were blue, like mine." And she 
 turned her face, weeping; not hysterically, like a woman 
 physically unstrung, but with the slow, deep sobs of a 
 woman who has wakened from a dream of one whom she 
 has greatly loved — and buried. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 SURRENDER 
 
 TISDALE had not seen Beatriz Weatherbee since she 
 had been brought semi-conscious from the foot of 
 the mountain, but he learned from the hotel physician 
 the following morning that she was able to travel on the 
 special train which was coming from Seattle to transport 
 the Morganstein party home. The first inquiry, after 
 news of the disaster reached the outside world, was from 
 Joey's grandfather, a lumberman on Puget Sound. Put 
 in communication with Tisdale, he telephoned he would 
 arrive at the Springs on the special. So, leaving the child 
 in charge of the housekeeper, Hollis returned to the west 
 portal, to join the little force of rescuers. It was then 
 no longer a question of life-saving, but of identification. 
 The Swiss chalet, which had ceased to be the mecca of 
 pleasure-seekers, had become a morgue. 
 
 But Lucky Banks, who went with him, had received a 
 message from Mrs. Weatherbee, and in the interval that 
 Tisdale was busy with long-distance and disposing of 
 Joey, the prospector went up to her room. She was pale 
 and very weak, but she smiled as he approached her couch 
 and held out her hand. " No, the right one," she said, 
 and added, taking it with a gentle pressure, " I know, 
 now, what it is — to be cold." 
 
 The little man nodded. His face worked, and he hur- 
 ried to conceal the maimed hand in his pocket. " But 
 the doctor says you'll pull through good as new," he com- 
 mented. " I am proud to know that ; my, yes." 
 
338 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 " And I am proud of you, Mr. Banks. It seems in- 
 credible, but Miss Morganstein told me you rescued her 
 brother, too. I've tried and tried to remember, but I am 
 not able. You must have carried me, at least, all of the 
 way." 
 
 Banks glanced at Elizabeth, who was seated beyond 
 the couch. She had laid a warning finger to her lips and 
 shook her head. " That was dead easy coming down- 
 grade," he answered. " And that little blow up there on 
 the mountain top wasn't anything to speak of, alongside 
 a regular Alaska blizzard. If I'd had to weight my pock- 
 ets with rocks, that would have been something doing. I 
 might have felt then that I was squaring myself with Dave 
 Weatherbee." 
 
 " I understand," she said slowly, " but," and she smiled 
 again, " I am grateful, Mr. Banks, just the same. Per- 
 haps, since you loved David so much, you will regard it 
 as a kind of compensation that I am going on with the 
 project." 
 
 "Is that so?" The little man beamed. "Well, the 
 house is all done and waiting, my, yes, whenever you are 
 ready to move over." 
 
 " Why, Beatriz," said Elizabeth in alarm, " I am going 
 to take that desert tract off your hands. I've been in- 
 terested in reclamation work for months." And looking 
 at Banks, she added significantly : " I am afraid she is 
 talking too much." 
 
 *' Likely," replied the prospector, rising, " and I am 
 due to take a little hike up the canyon with Hollis Tis- 
 dale." 
 
 "Mr. Tisdale?" she asked, with a quick brightening 
 of her face. " Then he is quite well again. Miss Morgan- 
 stein told me he was saved — from that unfortunate 
 train," and she added, shivering and closing her eyes, " I 
 remember — that." 
 
SURRENDER 339 
 
 " I couldn't have got there in time," Banks hurried to 
 explain, " even if you had given up making the summit. 
 Likely I'd have got caught by the slide, and Hollis was 
 half-way to the Springs and ' feeling fit as a moose ' when 
 it started. Well, good-by, ma'am ; take care of yourself." 
 
 " Good-by, Mr. Banks," and she smiled once more. 
 ** You may expect me at Hesperides Vale in a few days ; 
 as soon as my things at Vivian Court are packed." And 
 she added, with the color softly warming her cheek, " Mr. 
 Tisdale might like to know that. He always wished to see 
 David's project carried through." 
 
 And the little man replied from the door : " I'll tell 
 him, ma'am, my, yes." 
 
 The special, which brought other seekers besides Joey's 
 grandfather, also conveyed Jimmie Daniels. It was his 
 last assignment with the Press; he and Geraldine were to 
 be married within the week and assume the editorial posi- 
 tion at Weatherbee. And he pushed up over Tisdale's 
 trail, now become well broken, eager to make a final 
 scoop and his best one. Hours later, when he should 
 have been back at Scenic Hot Springs, rushing his copy 
 through to his paper, he still remained on the slope be- 
 low the west portal to carry out the brief and forceful 
 instructions of the man who directed and dominated 
 everybody; who knew in each emergency the one thing 
 to do. Once Jimmie found himself aiding Banks to wrap 
 a woman's body in a blanket to be lowered by tackle down 
 the mountainside. She was young, not older than 
 Geraldine, and the sight of her — rounded cheek, dimpled 
 chin, arm so beautifully molded — all with the life snuffed 
 out without a moment's warning — gave him a sensa- 
 tion of being smothered. He was seized with a compelling 
 desire to get away, and to conquer his panic, he asked 
 the prospector whether this man was not the superin- 
 tendent of the mountain division. 
 
340 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 The mining man replied : " No, that's the railroad boss 
 over there with the gang handling the derrick ; this is 
 Tisdale, HoUis Tisdale of Alaska and Washington, D. C. 
 You ought to have heard of him in your line of business 
 if you never happened to see him before." 
 
 Then Jimmie, turning to look more directly at the 
 stranger, hastily dropped his face. " You are right," 
 he said softly, " I've known him by sight some time." 
 
 Afterwards, while they were having coffee with the 
 station master, Daniels asked Banks how he and Tisdale 
 happened to be at Cascade Tunnel. " I was putting in a 
 little time at the Springs," Banks responded, " but Hollis 
 was a passenger on the stalled train. He took a notion 
 to hike down to the hotel just ahead of the slide." 
 
 " You mean that man who has taken charge out there," 
 exclaimed the operator. " I had a talk with him before 
 he started; he was rigging up some snowshoes. He said 
 he was from Alaska, and I put him down for one of those 
 bonanza kings." 
 
 " He is," said Banks in his high key. " What he 
 don't know about minerals ain't worth knowing, and he 
 owns one of the finest layouts in the north, Dave Weather- 
 bee's bore." 
 
 '' The Aurora mine," confirmed Daniels. " And I 
 presume there isn't a man better known, or as well liked, 
 in Alaska." 
 
 Banks nodded. " Dave and him was a team. The 
 best known and the best liked in the whole country. 
 And likely there's men on the top seats in Washington, 
 D. C, would be glad of a chance to shake hands with 
 Hollis Tisdale." 
 
 *' I knew he was somewhere near the top," commented 
 the operator. " He can handle men. I never saw such 
 a fellow. Why, he must have got half-way to the Springs 
 when the slide started, but he was back, climbing up 
 
SURRENDER 341 
 
 along the edge of it to the wreck, almost before it quit 
 thundering. And he took out a live baby, without a 
 damage mark, and all its folks lying right there dead, be- 
 fore the rest of us got in earshot." 
 
 Daniels put down his sandwich and took out his neg- 
 lected notebook. He gathered all the detail the ready 
 operator could supply: how Tisdale had wrapped the 
 child in a blanket and carried him from place to place, 
 talking to him in his nice, friendly way, amusing him, 
 keeping him quiet, while he worked with the strength of 
 two men to liberate other survivors. And how, when 
 none was left to save, he had taken the baby in his arms 
 and gone to break trail to the Springs to send out news 
 of the disaster. All that the station master and Banks 
 could not tell him, with the name and prominence of 
 Joey's family, Jimmie added later at the chalet, and he 
 finished with a skilful reference to the papoose, killed 
 by accident so many years before. It was a great story. 
 It went into the paper as it stood. And when the day 
 came to leave the Press office, the chief, shaking hands 
 with his " novelist," said it was a fine scoop, and he 
 had always known Jimmie had it in him to make good; 
 he was sorry to lose him. But the Society Editor, reading 
 between the lines, told him it was the greatest apology 
 he could have made. She was proud of him. 
 
 At Vivian Court late that afternoon, Elizabeth read the 
 story to Beatriz Weatherbee. Her couch was drawn into 
 the sunny alcove, where, from her pillows, she might 
 watch the changing light on Mount Rainier. Finally, 
 when Elizabeth finished, Beatriz broke the silence. " He 
 must have passed down the canyon while we were there." 
 
 " Yes, he did. He carried one end of your stretcher 
 all the way to the Springs." Then Elizabeth asked: 
 " Don't you remember the baby, either.? He had brown 
 eyes." 
 
342 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 "I seem to remember a child," she answered slowly, 
 " a baby sitting in the firelight, but " — and she shook 
 her head, " I've dreamed so many dreams." 
 
 " He was a fact ; a perfect dear. I should have adopted 
 him, if his relatives hadn't been so prominent and rich. 
 And you, too, fell instantly in love with him. You wanted 
 him in your arms the moment you opened your eyes." 
 
 Elizabeth paused with a straight look from under her 
 heavy brows and while she hesitated there was a knock 
 at the door. She threw it open and a porter brought in 
 one of those showy Japanese shrubs in an ornate jardi- 
 niere, such as Frederic Morganstein so often used as an 
 expression of his regard. His card hung by a ribbon from 
 a branch, like a present on a Christmas tree, and when the 
 boy had gone, she untied it and carried it to Mrs. Weather- 
 bee. " I wish you could marry Frederic and settle it 
 all," she said. " Japan is lovely in the spring." 
 
 Beatriz, who had taken the card indifferently, allowed 
 it to drop without reading it. Her glance rested again 
 on the shining dome. 
 
 " I told him I would ask you to see him a few moments 
 to-night," Elizabeth resumed. ^' He is feeling miserably. 
 He says he was ill when we made the ascent that day and 
 never should have left the hotel; his high temperature 
 and the altitude affected his head. He believes he must 
 have said things that offended or frightened you — things 
 he wasn't responsible for." She paused, then, for a woman 
 who had been so schooled to hold herself in hand as 
 Elizabeth Morganstein, went on uncertainly : " He is 
 just a plain business man, used to going straight to a 
 point, but not many men care so much for a woman as 
 he does for you. You could mold him like wax. He 
 says all he wants now — if he did make a mistake — is 
 a chance to wipe it out ; start with a clean slate." 
 
 Mrs. Weatherbee rose from the couch. She stood a 
 
SURRENDER 343 
 
 moment meeting Elizabeth's earnest look. The shadow 
 of a smile touched her mouth, but well-springs of affection 
 brimmed her eyes. " We cannot wipe out our mistakes, 
 dear," she said. " They are indelible. We have to ac- 
 cept them, study them, use them as a rule from which 
 to work out the problems of our lives. There is no going 
 back, no starting over, if we have missed an easier way. 
 Elizabeth, in one hour on that mountain I saw more of the 
 true Frederic Morganstein than in all the years I had 
 known him before. In the great moments of life, I should 
 have no influence with him. Even for your sake, dear, 
 I could not marry him. I do not want to see him any 
 more." 
 
 There was a silence, then Elizabeth said : " In that 
 case, I am going to ease things for you. I am going to 
 buy that desert land. Now, don't say a word. I am 
 going to pay you Lucky Banks' price, and, of course, for 
 the improvements whatever is right." 
 
 " But it is not on the market," replied Beatriz. " I 
 told you I had decided to live there. I hoped — you would 
 like to go with me. For awhile, at least, you might find it 
 interesting." 
 
 Elizabeth tried to dissuade her. It was ridiculous. It 
 was monstrous. She was not strong enough. It would 
 be throwing her life away, as surely as to transplant a 
 tender orchid to that burning sage-brush country. But in 
 the end she said : " Well, Bee, then I'll go with you." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 
 
 THE Mayor of Weatherbee stopped his new, six-pas- 
 senger car at the curb in front of the completed 
 brick block ; not at the comer which was occupied by the 
 Merchants' National Bank, but at the adjoining entrance, 
 above which shone the neat gilt sign : " Madame Lucile's." 
 He stood for a moment surveying the window display, 
 which was exceedingly up-to-date, showing the prevailing 
 color scheme of green or cerise in the millinery, softened 
 by a background of mauve and taupe in the arrangement 
 of the gowns. A card, placed unobtrusively in the cor- 
 ner of the plate glass, announced that Madame Lucile, 
 formerly with Sedgewick-Wilson of Seattle, was prepared 
 to give personal attention to all orders. 
 
 Bailey himself that day was equipped in a well-made 
 suit from the tailoring establishment on the opposite 
 side of the building. Though he had not yet gathered 
 that avoirdupois which is associated with the dignity of 
 office, there was in his square young frame an undeniable 
 promise. Already he carried himself with the deliberation 
 of a man whose future is assured, and his mouth took 
 those upward curves of one who is humorously satisfied 
 with himself and his world. 
 
 There were no customers when he entered, and since 
 it was the hour when her assistant was out at lunch, 
 Madame, attired in a gown of dark blue velvet, her black 
 hair arranged with elaborate care, was alone in the shop. 
 And Bailey's glance, having traveled the length of the 
 
BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 345 
 
 soft green carpet to the farthest mirror, returned in final 
 approval to her. " This certainly is swell," he said. 
 " It's like a sample right out of Chicago. But I knew 
 you could do it, the minute Mrs. Banks mentioned you. 
 Why, the first time I saw you — it was on the street the 
 day I struck Wenatchee — I told myself : ' This town 
 can't be very wild and woolly if it can turn out anything 
 as classy as that.' " 
 
 Madame laughed. " I must have looked like a moving 
 fashion plate to attract attention that way. I feel a 
 little over-dressed now, after wearing the uniform in 
 Sedgewick- Wilson's so long; but Mrs. Banks said I ought 
 to wear nice clothes to advertise the store." 
 
 Bailey tipped back his head at that, laughing softly. 
 " I guess your silent partner is going to be the power 
 behind the throne, all right." 
 
 Madame nodded, with the humor still lingering in her 
 brown eyes. " But it was good advice. I sold a gown 
 like this to my first customer this morning. And she 
 had only come in to see millinery ; she hadn't meant to 
 look at gowns. But she liked this one the moment she 
 saw it." 
 
 " Is that so.? Well, I don't wonder. It certainly 
 looks great — on you." 
 
 Madame flushed and turned her face to look off^ through 
 the plate glass door. " Why," she exclaimed, " you didn't 
 tell me your new automobile had come." She moved a 
 few steps, sweeping the car with admiring eyes. " Isn't 
 it luxurious though, and smart? But you deserve it; 
 you deserve everything that's coming to you now, stay- 
 ing here, sticking it out as you have in the heat and 
 sand. I often thought of it summer days while I was 
 over on the Sound." 
 
 "You did?" questioned Bailey in pleased surprise. 
 " Well, I am glad to know that. I wonder whether you 
 
346 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 ever thought over the time we tramped the railroad ties 
 up to Leavenworth to that little dance? " 
 
 " Often," she responded quickly. " And how we came 
 back in the Oleson wagon, riding behind with our heels 
 hanging over, and the dust settling like powder on our 
 party clothes. But I had the loveliest time. It was 
 the starriest night, with moonlight coming home, and I 
 danced every number." 
 
 " Seven times with me," returned the mayor. 
 
 " I wanted to learn the two-step," she explained 
 hastily. 
 
 " And I wanted to teach you," he laughed. " But say, 
 how would you like to take a little spin up the Leaven- 
 worth road this evening, in the new car.^^ " 
 
 " Oh, that would be delightful." Madame Lucile 
 glowed. " With a party ? " she asked. 
 
 " Well, I thought of asking Daniels and his wife to go 
 with us. I am on the way to the station now, to meet 
 them. And Mrs. Weatherbee and Miss Morganstein are 
 due on the same train. I promised Mr. Banks I would 
 take them out to the Orchards in the machine; but we are 
 to motor around to the new bungalow first, to leave the 
 bride and Jimmie and have luncheon." 
 
 " I know. Mrs. Banks is going to have the table in 
 that wide veranda looking down the river. I would like 
 to be there when they find out that dear little bungalow 
 is their wedding present. It was perfectly lovely of Mrs. 
 Banks to think of it; and of you to give them that 
 beautiful lot on the point. You can see Hesperides Vale 
 for miles and miles to the lower gap." 
 
 Bailey smiled. " Mrs. Banks said it was a good way 
 to use up the lumber that was left over from the ranch 
 house. And that bungalow certainly makes a great show- 
 ing for the town. It raised the value of the adjoining 
 lots. I sold three before the shingles were on the walls, 
 
BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 347 
 
 and the people who bought them thought they had a 
 snap." 
 
 " All the same, it is a lovely present," said Madame 
 Lucile. 
 
 " There's the train, whistling up the valley," said the 
 mayor, but he paused to ask, almost with diffidence, as 
 he turned to the door : " Say, what do you think of this 
 tie? " 
 
 " I like it." She nodded, with a reassuring smile. 
 "And it's a nice shade for you; it brings out the blue 
 in your eyes." 
 
 The mayor laughed gaily. " I ought to wear it steady 
 after that, but I am coming to black ones with a frock 
 coat and silk hat. I am going to begin to-morrow, when 
 those German scientists, on their way home from the 
 Orient, stop to see Hesperides Vale." 
 
 " Oh, I hope you will wear this nice business suit, un- 
 less they come late in the afternoon. It seems more sen- 
 sible here on the edge of the desert, and even if you are 
 the first mayor to do it, I know, the world over, there 
 isn't another as young." 
 
 Bailey grew thoughtful. " The mayor in Chicago al- 
 ways wore a Prince Albert. Why, that long coat and 
 silk hat stood for the office. They were the most impor- 
 tant part of him. But good-by," he said hastily, as the 
 train whistled again, nearer, " I'll call for you at seven." 
 Ten minutes later, the mayor stood on the station plat- 
 form shaking hands with Mrs. Weatherbee. " Say, I am 
 sui-prised," he said. " I often wondered what you thought 
 of the vale. Lighter told me how you drove those colts 
 through that day, and I was disappointed not to hear 
 from you. You didn't let me know you had an invest- 
 ment already, and it never occurred to me, afterwards, 
 that you were our Mrs. Weatherbee." 
 
 Then, introductions being over, he assisted Miss Mor- 
 
348 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 ganstein into the tonneau with the bridal couple and 
 gave the seat in front to Mrs. Weatherbee. He drove 
 very slowly up the new thoroughfare, past the Bailey 
 building, where she expressed her astonishment at the 
 inviting window display of the millinery store. He ex- 
 plained that offices for the Weatherhee Record had been 
 reserved on the second floor, and that in the hall, in the 
 third story, the first inaugural ball was to be given the 
 following night. It had been postponed a few days until 
 her arrival, and he hoped he might have the privilege of 
 leading the grand march with her. And, Mrs. Weather- 
 bee having thanked him, with the pleasure dancing in her 
 eyes, Bailey pointed out the new city hospital, a tall, 
 airy structure, brave in fresh paint, which was equipped 
 with a resident physician and three trained nurses, in- 
 cluding Miss Purdy, the milliner's sister, who was on her 
 way from Washington to join the force. 
 
 After that they motored through the residence district, 
 and Mrs. Weatherbee expressed greater wonder and de- 
 light at the rows of thrifty homes, each with its breadth 
 of green lawn and budding shrubbery, where hardly six 
 months ago had been unreclaimed acres of sage. And so, 
 at last, they came to the city park, where the road wound 
 smooth and firm between broad stretches of velvety green, 
 broken by beds of blossoming tulips, nodding daffodils, 
 clumps of landscape foliage putting forth new leaves. 
 Sprinklers, supplied by a limpid canal that followed the 
 drive, played here, there, everywhere, and under all this 
 moisture and the warm rays of the spring sun, the light 
 soil teemed with awakening life. Then, finally, the car 
 skirted a low, broad mound, in which was set the source 
 of the viaduct, a basin of masonry, brimming with water 
 crystal clear and fed by two streams that gushed from a 
 pedestal of stone on the farther rim. " How beautiful ! " 
 she exclaimed. " How incredible ! And there is to be a 
 
BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 349 
 
 statue to complete it. A faun, a water nymph, some fig- 
 ure to symbolize the spirit of the place." 
 
 " I can't tell you much about the statue," replied 
 Bailey, watching the curve ahead. " Mr. Banks engaged 
 the sculptor; some noted man in the east. He is carry- 
 ing the responsibility; it was his idea. But it was to 
 have been in place, ready to be unveiled by the fifteenth, 
 and there was some delay." 
 
 After that, the mayor was silent, devoting his atten- 
 tion to the speeding car. They left the park and, tak- 
 ing the river road, arrived presently at the bungalow. 
 The shingles still lacked staining, the roof was incom- 
 plete, but a sprinkler threw rainbow mist over the new 
 lawn, which was beginning to show shades of green. A 
 creeper, planted at the corner of the veranda, already sent 
 out pale, crinkled shoots. 
 
 Lucky Banks came beaming down the steps, and Anna- 
 bel, in a crisp frock of royal blue taffeta, stood smiling 
 a welcome as the automobile stopped. Then Bailey, 
 springing down to throw open the door of the tonneau, 
 lifted his voice to say : " And this — is the home of the 
 Editor of the Weatherbee Record and Mrs. Daniels." 
 
 They did not at once grasp his meaning, and the pros- 
 pector made it clear as they went up to the veranda. 
 " The house is a wedding present from Mrs. Banks," he 
 said ; " and Mr. Bailey, here, put up the lot, so's I thought 
 this would come in handy; it will take quite a bunch of 
 furniture." 
 
 There was a silent moment while Geraldine stood re- 
 garding the envelope he had put in her hand. She was 
 looking her best in a trim, tailored suit of gray. There 
 was a turquoise facing to the brim of her smart gray 
 hat, but her only ornaments were a sorority pin fastened 
 to the lapel of her coat and a gold button that secured 
 her watch in the small breast pocket made for it. At 
 
350 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 last she looked up, an unusual flush warmed her face, and 
 she began : " It's perfectly lovely of you — we are so sur- 
 prised — we never can thank you enough." 
 
 But Jimmie turned away. He stood looking down the 
 valley in the direction of that place, not very far off, 
 where his mother had carried water up the steep slope 
 in the burning desert sun. His forehead creased; he 
 closed his lips tight over a rising sob. Then Geraldine 
 laid her hand on his arm. " Do you understand what 
 these people have done for us ? " she asked unconven- 
 tionally. " Did you hear.^ " 
 
 Jimmie swung around. His glance met Annabel's. 
 " I can't explain how I feel about it," he burst out, " but 
 I know if my mother could have been here now, it — this 
 — would have paid her for all — she missed. I don't de- 
 serve it — but Geraldine does ; and I pledge myself to 
 stay by the Weatherbee Record as long as you want me 
 to. I don't see how I can help making good." 
 
 Then Annabel, winking hard, hastily led the way over 
 the house; and, presently, when the party returned to 
 the table in the veranda, and the Japanese boy she had 
 brought from the ranch house was successfully passing 
 the fried chicken, she wanted to know about the wed- 
 ding. 
 
 " Yes, we tried to have it quiet," responded Jimmie, 
 " and we planned it so the taxi would just make our train ; 
 but the fellows caught on and were waiting for us at the 
 station, full force, with their pocketfuls of rice and 
 shoes. They hardly let us get aboard." 
 
 " Gracious ! " exclaimed Annabel. " You might as 
 well have been married in church. You'd have looked 
 pretty in a train and veil," she said, addressing Geral- 
 dine, who was seated on her right. " Not but what you 
 don't look nice in gray. And I like your suit real well; 
 it's a fine piece of goods; the kind to stand the desert 
 
BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 351 
 
 dust. But I would have liked to see you in white, with 
 a blaze of lights and decorations and a crowd." 
 
 Geraldine laughed. " We had a nice little wedding, 
 and the young men from the office made up for their 
 noise. They gave the porter a handsome case of silver 
 at the last moment, to bring to me." 
 
 " And," supplemented Jimmie, " there was a handsome 
 silver tea service from the chief. He told her she had 
 been a credit to the staff, and he would find it hard to 
 replace her. Think of that coming from the head of a 
 big daily. It makes me feel guilty. But she is to have 
 full latitude in the new paper ; society, clubs, equal suffrage 
 if she says so ; anything she writes goes with the Weather- 
 bee Record." 
 
 " If I were you, I'd have that down in writing." Anna- 
 bel looked from Daniels to the bride, and her lip curled 
 whimsically. " They all talk that way at first, as though 
 the earth turned round for one woman, and the whole 
 crowd ought to stop to watch her go by. He pretends, 
 so far as he is concerned, she can stump the county for 
 prohibition or lead the suffragette parade, but, after- 
 wards, he gets to taking the other view. Instead of 
 thanking his lucky stars the nicest girl in the world 
 picked him out of the bunch, he begins to think she nat- 
 urally was proud that the best one wanted her. Then, be- 
 fore they've been married two years, he starts trying to 
 make her over into some other kind of a woman. Why, 
 I know one man right here in Hesperides Vale who set to 
 making a Garden of Eden out of a sandhole in the moun- 
 tains, just because it belonged to a certain girl." She 
 paused an instant, while her glance moved to Banks, and 
 the irony went out of her voice. " He could have bought 
 the finest fruit ranch in the valley, all under irrigation 
 and coming into bearing, for he had the money, but he 
 went to wasting it on that piece of unreclaimed sage 
 
352 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 desert. And now that he has got it all in shape, he's 
 talking of opening a big farm in Alaska." 
 
 Banks laughed uneasily. " The boys need it up there," 
 he said in his high key. " Besides, I always get more 
 fun out of making new ground over. It's such mighty 
 good soil here in Hesperides Vale things grow themselves 
 soon's the water is turned on. It don't leave a man 
 enough to do. And we could take a little run down to 
 the ranch, any time; we could count on always wintering 
 here, my, yes." 
 
 Annabel smiled. " He thinks by mid-summer he can 
 take me right into the interior, in that cranky red car. 
 And I don't know but what I am ready to risk it; there 
 are places I'd like to see — where he was caught his first 
 winter in a blizzard, and where he picked up the nuggets 
 for my necklace. You remember it — don't you? — Mrs. 
 Daniels. I wore it that night in Seattle we went to hear 
 " Carmen." 
 
 " I certainly do remember. It was the most wonder- 
 ful thing in the theater that night, and fit for an empress." 
 Involuntarily Geraldine glanced down at her own solitary 
 jewel. It flashed a lovely blue light as she moved her 
 hand. 
 
 Annabel followed the glance. " Your ring is a beauty," 
 she said. " Not many young men,, just starting in busi- 
 ness for themselves, would have thought they could afford 
 a diamond like that." 
 
 Geraldine laughed, flushing a little. " It seems the 
 finest in the world to me," she replied almost shyly. " And 
 it ought to show higher light and color than any other; 
 the way it was bought was so splendid." 
 
 " Do you mean the way the money was earned to buy 
 it ? " inquired Annabel. 
 
 Geraldine nodded. " It was the price, exactly, of his 
 first magazine story. Perhaps you read it. It was pub- 
 
BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 353 
 
 lished in the March issue of Sampson's, and the editors 
 liked it so well they asked to see more of his work." 
 
 Jimmie looked at his wife in mingled protest and sur- 
 prise. He had believed she, as well as himself, had wished 
 to have that story quickly forgotten. " It is an Indian 
 story," she pursued ; " about a poor little papoose that 
 was accidentally killed. It was a personal experience of 
 Mr. Tisdale's." 
 
 Mrs. Banks had not read it, but the prospector pushed 
 aside his sherbet glass and, laying his arms on the table, 
 leaned towards Geraldine. " Was that papoose cached 
 under a log? " he asked softly. " And was its mother 
 berrying with a bunch of squaws up the ridge.? " 
 
 " Yes," smiled Geraldine. " I see you have read it." 
 
 " No, but I heard a couple of men size it up aboard the 
 train coming from Scenic Hot Springs. And once," he 
 went on with gathering tenseness, " clear up the Tanana, 
 I heard Dave and Hollis talking it over. My, yes, it 
 seems like I can see them now; they was the huskiest, 
 cleanest-cut, openest-faced team that ever mushed a trail. 
 It was one of those nights when the stars come close and 
 friendly, and the camp-fire blazes and crackles straight 
 to heaven and sets a man thinking; and Tisdale started 
 it by saying if he could cut one record out of his past 
 he guessed the rest could bear daylight. Then Dave told 
 him he was ready to stand by that one, too. And Hollis 
 said it was knowing that had taken the edge off, but it 
 hadn't put the breath back into that papoose. Of course 
 he never suspicioned for a minute the kid was in the 
 road when he jumped 'that log, and the heart went out of 
 him when he picked it up and saw what he was respon- 
 sible for. They had to tell me the whole story, and I 
 wish you could have heard 'em. Dave smoothing things 
 when Hollis got too hard on himself, and Hollis chipping 
 in again for fear I wouldn't get full weight for Dave's 
 
354 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 part. And the story sure enough does hinge on him. 
 Likely that's why Tisdale gave it to your magazine; to 
 show up Dave Weatherbee. But those men on the train 
 — they had the seat in front of me so's I heard it plain — 
 lost their bearings. They left out Dave and put Hollis 
 in a bad light. He was ' caught red-handed and never 
 was brought to an honest trial.' And it was clear be- 
 sides, being ' hand in glove with the Secretary of the In- 
 terior ' he had a ' pull with the Federal court.' I couldn't 
 stand for it." The prospector's voice reached high pitch, 
 his forehead creased in many fine lines, his eyes scintil- 
 lated their blue glacier lights, and he added, striking the 
 table with his clenched hand, " I up and says : ' It's all 
 a damn lie.' " 
 
 There was a silence. The self-possession and swiftness 
 of the Japanese boy saved the sherbet glass and its 
 contents, but the mayor, who had been interrupted in a 
 confidential quotation of real estate values to Miss Mor- 
 ganstein, sat staring at Banks in amazement. A spark 
 of admiration shot through the astonishment in Anna- 
 bel's eyes then, catching the little man's aggressive glance, 
 she covered her pride with her ironical smile. Mrs. 
 Weatherbee was the only one who did not look at Banks. 
 Her inscrutable face was turned to the valley. She might 
 never have heard of Hollis Tisdale or, indeed, of David. 
 But Elizabeth, who had kept the thread of both conver- 
 sations, said : " You were right. There was a coro- 
 ner's inquest that vindicated Mr. Tisdale at the time." 
 
 " But," explained Geraldine courageously, " that was 
 left out of the magazine. Mr. Daniels took it all ac- 
 curately, just as Mr. Tisdale told it, word for word; but 
 the story was cut terribly. Nothing at all was said of 
 Mr. Weatherbee's part. We couldn't understand that, 
 for with names suppressed, there could be no motive, and 
 he was so clearly the leading character. But magazines 
 
BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 355 
 
 have no conscience. It's anything, with the new ones at 
 least, to catch the public eye, and they stir more melo- 
 drama into their truths than the yellow journals do. 
 But Mr. Daniels apologized to Mr. Tisdale, and explained 
 how he wasn't responsible for the editor's note or for 
 printing his name, and he did his best to make it up in 
 his report of the disaster at Cascade tunnel. That story 
 went into the Press straight and has been widely 
 copied." 
 
 It was in Jimmie's favor that Lucky Banks had read 
 the newspaper story, and also that they had had those 
 hours of intimacy at the west portal. " Well, likely you 
 ain't to blame," the prospector admitted finally, " but 
 there's people who don't know Hollis Tisdale that might 
 believe what the magazine says. And, if I was you, I'd 
 take a little run over to Washington or New York, wher- 
 ever it is — I'll put up the money — and locate that edi- 
 tor. I'd make him fix it right, my, yes." 
 
 " I should be glad to," said Daniels, brightening, " but 
 it's possible those missing pages were lost on the way." 
 
 " Well, I'd find out," persisted Banks. " And there's 
 other stories I got wind of when I was in Washington, 
 D. C, and Seattle, too, last time I was down, that ought 
 to be trailed. Maybe it's just politics, but I know for a 
 fact they ain't so." 
 
 The irony had gone out of Annabel's face. She had 
 seen Hollis Tisdale but once, yet his coming and going 
 had marked the red-letter day of her life. Her heart 
 championed Banks' fight for him. She turned her dark 
 eyes from him to Daniels. 
 
 " It's too bad you tried to tell Hollis Tisdale's story 
 for him," she said. " Even if the magazine had got it 
 all straight, it wouldn't have been the same as getting 
 it first hand. It's like listening to one of those fine 
 singers in a phonograph; you can get the tune and some 
 
356 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 of the words, and maybe the voice pretty fair, but you 
 miss the man." 
 
 With this she rose. " We are ready to go out to the 
 Orchards, Mr. Bailey. Mr. Banks and I are going to 
 change places with the bride and groom." Then from her 
 silk bag, she brought forth a bunch of keys which she 
 gave to Geraldine. " Nukui is going to stay to clear 
 away," she explained, " and bring our car home. And 
 when you have finished making your plans, and want to 
 go down to see the newspaper office, he will show you a 
 nice short cut through the park." 
 
 So again the mayor's chocolate six-passenger car 
 threaded the park and emerged this time on a straight, 
 broad thoroughfare through Hesperides Vale. " This," 
 said Bailey, turning from the town, " is the Alameda. 
 They motor from Wenatchee and beyond to try it. It's 
 a pretty good road, but in a year or two, when these 
 shade trees come into full leaf, it will be something to 
 show." 
 
 There were tufts on most of them now and on the 
 young fruit trees that ran in geometrical designs on 
 either side, covering the levels that last year had been 
 o.vergrown with sage. As these infant orchards dropped 
 behind and the Wenatchee range loomed near, Cerberus 
 detached from the other peaks; but it was no longer a 
 tawny monster on guard; its contour was broken by 
 many terraces, luxuriant with alfalfa and planted with 
 trees. 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Mrs. Weatherbee, " there is the 
 gap. Then, this must be the mountain — it reminded me 
 once of a terrible, crouching, wild beast — but it has 
 changed." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," responded Banks, " she's looking tamer 
 now. The peaches have taken right hold, and those 
 fillers of strawberries are hurrying on the green. But 
 
BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 357 
 
 you give 'em three years or maybe four, and take 'em 
 in blossom time, — my, you won't know this old moun- 
 tain then." 
 
 A drive, cross-cutting the bold front, led to the level 
 beneath the summit, where rose the white walls and green 
 gables of Annabel's home, but they rounded the mountain 
 into the smaller vale. " This," said the mayor, with 
 culminating pride, " is Weatherbee Orchards. It shows 
 what money, in the right hands, can do." 
 
 A soft breeze came down over the ridge as they as- 
 cended; the flume, that followed the contour of the road- 
 way, gurgled pleasantly. Everywhere along the spill- 
 ways alfalfa spread thriftily, or strawberry plants sent 
 out new tendrils. All growing things were more advanced 
 in that walled pocket than in the outer vale ; the arid gulf 
 had become a vast greenhouse. Cerberus no longer 
 menaced. Even the habitation of the goat-woman, that 
 had been the central distraction of the melancholy picture, 
 was obliterated. In all that charming landscape there 
 was no discordant note to break the harmony. 
 
 The car doubled the curve at the top of the bench and 
 ran smoothly between breadths of green lawn, bordered 
 by nodding narcissus, towards the house, which was long 
 and low, with a tiled roof and cream-colored walls that 
 enclosed a patio. A silence fell over the company. As 
 they alighted, every one waited, looking expectantly at 
 Beatriz Weatherbee. The music of a fountain fluted 
 from the court, and she went forward, listening. Her 
 face was no longer inscrutable; it shone with a kind of 
 inner illumination. But when she saw the slender column 
 of spray and the sparkKxig basin, with a few semi-tropical 
 plants grouped on the curb, a cactus, a feathery palm in 
 a quaint stone pot, she turned, and her eyes sought Eliza- 
 beth's. " It is all like the old hacienda where grandfather 
 was bom, and mother, and " — her voice broke — " Only 
 
358 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 that had adobe walls," she finished. " It is like — coming 
 home." 
 
 " It is simply marvelous," replied Elizabeth, and she 
 added abruptly, looking at the prospector : " Mr. Banks, 
 you are a problem beyond me." 
 
 " It looks all right, doesn't it.^^ " the little man beamed. 
 " Likely it would about suit Dave. And I was able to 
 stand the investment. My, yes, now your brother has 
 bought out the Annabel, what I spent wouldn't cut any 
 figure. But," and his glance moved to the woman who 
 had profited by the venture, " I'll likely get my money 
 back." 
 
 Afterwards, when the party had inspected the reser- 
 voirs and upper flumes, Beatriz found herself returning 
 to the bench with Lucky Banks. It was almost sunset, 
 and the far Chelan peaks were touched with Alpine fire; 
 below them an amethyst mist filtered over the trans- 
 formed vale. They had been discussing the architecture 
 of the building. 
 
 "I had often gone over the map of the project with 
 David," she said, " but he must have drawn the plans of 
 the house later, in Alaska. It was a complete surprise. 
 I wonder he remembered the old hacienda so accurately; 
 he was there only once — when we were on our wedding 
 journey." 
 
 " There were a few measurements that had to be looked 
 up," admitted Banks ; " but I took a little run around 
 into lower California last winter, on my way home from 
 Washington, D. C." 
 
 *' You were there ? You troubled to go all the way 
 to the old rancheria for details ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. It was a mighty good grazing coun- 
 try down there, but the people who bought the place were 
 making their money out of one of those fine hotels; it 
 was put up alongside a bunch of hot springs. Nobody 
 
BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE 359 
 
 but a couple of Mexicans was living in the old house. 
 It was in bad shape." 
 
 " I know. I know. If I had been a man, it would have 
 been diiferent. I should have restored it; I should have 
 worked, fought to buy back every acre. But you saw 
 old Jacinta and Carlos.? It was recorded in the title 
 they should be allowed to stay there and have the use 
 of the old home garden as long as they lived. My mother 
 insisted on that." 
 
 They had reached the level and walked on by the house 
 towards the solitary pine tree on the rim of the bench. 
 After a moment he said: "Now Dave's project is run- 
 ning in good shape, there isn't much left for me to do, 
 my, no, except see the statue set up in the park." 
 
 " I wanted to ask you about that, Mr. Banks ; we 
 passed the place on the way to the bungalow. It was 
 beautiful. I presume you have selected a woman's fig- 
 ure — a lovely Ceres or Aphrodite.? " 
 
 " No, ma'am," responded Banks a little sharply. " It's 
 a full-sized man. Full-sized and some over, what the 
 sculptor who made it calls heroic ; and it's a good like- 
 ness of Dave Weatherbee." 
 
 They had reached the pine tree, and she put out her 
 hand to steady herself on the bole. " I understand," she 
 said slowly. " It was a beautiful — tribute." 
 
 " It looks pretty nice," corroborated the prospector. 
 " There was a mighty good photograph of Dave a young 
 fellow on a Yukon steamer gave me once, to go by. He 
 was standing on a low bluff, with his head up, looking 
 off like a young elk, when the boat pulled out, and the 
 camera man snapped him. It was the day we quit the 
 partner lay, and I was going down-stream, and he was 
 starting for the headwaters of the Susitna. Tisdale told 
 me about a man who had done first-class work in New 
 York, and I sent that picture with a check for a starter 
 
360 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 on my order. I wrote him the price wasn't cutting any 
 figure with me; what I wanted was the best he could do 
 and to have it delivered by the fifteenth of March. And 
 he did; he had it done on time; and he said it was his 
 best work. It's waiting down in Weatherbee now. Mol- 
 lis thought likely I better leave it to you whether to have 
 the burying with the statue down in the park, or up here, 
 somewhere, on Dave's own ground." 
 
 " Do you mean," she asked, and her voice almost failed, 
 ''' you have brought — David — home ^ " 
 
 Banks nodded. "It was cold for him wintering up 
 there in the Alaska snow." 
 
 " Oh, I know. I've thought about — that. I should 
 have done — as you have — had I been able." 
 
 After a moment she said: "What is there I can say 
 to you? I did not know there were such men in the 
 world until I knew you and Hollis Tisdale. Of course 
 you believed, as he did, that I was necessary to round 
 out David's project. That is why, when it was success- 
 fully completed, you forfeited the bonus and all the in- 
 vestment. I may never be able to fully refund you but — 
 I shall do my best. And this other — too. Mr. Banks, 
 was that Mr. Tisdale's suggestion ^ Did he share that — 
 expense — with you? '* 
 
 " No, ma'am, he let me have that chance when we 
 talked it over. I had to get even with him on the 
 proj ect." 
 
 " Even with him on the project? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. He let me put up the money, but it's 
 got to be paid back out of Dave's half interest in the 
 Aurora mine. And likely, likely, that's what Dave Weath- 
 erbee would have wanted done." 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE JUNIOR DEFENDANT 
 
 IT was following a recess during the third afternoon of 
 the trial; a jury had at last been impanelled, the 
 attorney for the prosecution and the leading lawyer for 
 the defense had measured swords, when Stuart Foster, 
 the junior defendant in the " Conspiracy to Defraud the 
 Government," was called to the stand. Frederic Mor- 
 ganstein, the head of the Prince William Development 
 Company, straightened in his seat beside the vacated 
 chair. He was sleekly groomed, and his folded, pinkish 
 white hands suggested a good child's ; his blank face as- 
 sumed an expression of mildly protesting innocence. But 
 the man who stepped from his shadow into the strong 
 light of the south windows was plainly harassed and worn. 
 His boyishness was gone; he seemed to have aged years 
 since that evening in September when he had sailed for 
 Alaska. Tisdale's great heart stirred, then his clear 
 mind began to tally the rapid fire of questions and Fos- 
 ter's replies. 
 
 " When were you first connected with the Prince Wil- 
 liam Development Company, Mr. Foster? " 
 
 " In the summer of 1904." 
 
 " You were then engaged in the capacity of mining 
 engineer at a fixed salary, were you not.'' " The prose- 
 cuting attorney had a disconcerting manner of arching 
 his brows. His mouth, taken in connection with his 
 strong, square jaw, had the effect of closing on his ques- 
 tions like a trap. 
 
362 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 *' Yes," Foster answered briefly, " I was to receive two 
 hundred and fifty dollars a month the first year, and its 
 equivalent in the company's stock." 
 
 " Did you not, at the same time, turn over to the com- 
 pany your interests in the Chugach Railway and Develop- 
 ment Company ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Foster. 
 
 " And was not this railroad built for the purpose of 
 opening certain coal lands in the Matanuska region, in 
 which you held an interest ? " 
 
 " Yes, I had entered a coal claim of one hundred and 
 sixty acres." 
 
 "All the law allowed to an individual; but, Mr. Fos- 
 ter, did you not induce others, as many as thirty persons, 
 to locate adjoining claims with the idea that the entire 
 group would come under one control ? " 
 
 Foster colored. " It was necessaTy to co-operate," he 
 said slowly, " in order to meet the enormous expense of 
 development and transportation. We wished to build a 
 narrow-gauge road — it was then in course of construc- 
 tion — but the survey was through the Chugach Moun- 
 tains, the most rugged in North America. The cost of 
 moving material, after it was shipped from the States, 
 was almost prohibitive ; ordinary labor commanded higher 
 wages than are paid skilled mechanics here in Seattle." 
 
 " Mr. Foster, were not those coal claims located with 
 a purpose to dispose of them in a group at a profit? " 
 
 " No, sir. I have told you on account of the great 
 expense of development it was necessary to work to- 
 gether ; it was also necessary that as many claims as pos- 
 sible should be taken." 
 
 The prosecution, nodding affirmatively, looked at the 
 jury. " The more cunning and subtle the disguise," he 
 said, " the more sure we may be of the evasion of the law. 
 So, Mr. Foster, you promoted an interest in the fields, 
 
THE JUNIOR DEFENDANT 363 
 
 selected claims for men who never saw them; used their 
 power of attorney? " 
 
 " Yes. That was in accordance with the law then in 
 force. We paid for our coal claims, the required ten 
 dollars an acre. The land office accepted our money, 
 eighty thousand dollars. Then the President suspended 
 the law, and we never received our patents. About that 
 time the Chugach forest reserve was made, and we were 
 hampered by all sorts of impossible conditions. Some of 
 us were financially ruined. One of the first locators spent 
 one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, his whole for- 
 tune, in development. He opened his mine and had sev- 
 eral tons of coal carried by packers through the moun- 
 tains to the coast, to be shipped to Seattle, to be tested 
 on one of the Government cruisers. The report was so 
 favorable it encouraged the rest of us to stay with the 
 venture." 
 
 " Mr. Foster," the attorney's voice took a higher, more 
 aggressive pitch, " were not many of those claims entered 
 under names furnished by an agent of the Morganstein in- 
 terests ? " 
 
 " Well, yes." Foster threw his head with something of 
 his old boyish defiance. He was losing patience and skill. 
 " Mr. Morganstein himself made a fiHng, and his father. 
 That is the reason all our holdings are now classed as the 
 Morganstein group." 
 
 "And," pursued the lawyer, "their entries were inci- 
 dental with the consolidation of your company with the 
 Prince William Development Company? " 
 
 Foster flushed hotly. " The Prince William Develop- 
 ment Company was in need of coal; no enterprise can be 
 carried on without it in Alaska. And the consolidation 
 brought necessary capital to us ; without it, our railroad 
 was bankrupt. It meant inestimable benefit to the coun- 
 try, to every prospector, miner, homesteader, who must 
 
364 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 waste nerve-breaking weeks packing his outfit through 
 those bleak mountains in order to reach the interior. But, 
 before forty miles of track was completed, the executive 
 withdrew all Alaska coal lands from entry, and we discon- 
 tinued construction, pending an Act of Congress to allow 
 our patents. The material carried in there at so great a 
 cost is lying there still, rotting away." 
 
 "Gentlemen, is it not all clear to you?" The prose- 
 cuting attorney flashed a glance of triumph over the jury. 
 " Do you not see in this Prince William Development Com- 
 pany the long arm of the octopus that is strangling 
 Alaska? That has reached out its tentacles everywhere, 
 for gold here, copper there ; for oil, coal, timber, anything 
 in sight? That, but for the foresight of the executive 
 and GifFord Pinchot, would possess most of Alaska to- 
 day? " 
 
 The men on the jury looked thoughtful but not alto- 
 gether convinced. One glanced at his neighbor with a 
 covert smile. This man, whom the Government had se- 
 lected to prosecute the coal fraud cases was undeniably 
 able, often brilliant, but his statements showed he had 
 brought his ideas of Alaska from the Atlantic coast; to 
 him, standing in the Seattle courtroom, our outlying pos- 
 session was still as remote. As his glance moved to the 
 ranks of outside listeners, who overflowed the seats and 
 crowded the aisles to the doors, he must have been con- 
 scious that the sentiment he had expressed was at least un- 
 popular in the northwest. Faces that had been merely in- 
 terested or curious grew suddenly lowering. The atmos- 
 phere of the place seemed surcharged. 
 
 The following morning Morganstein took the stand. 
 Though in small matters that touched his personal com- 
 fort he was arrogantly irritable, under the cross-examina- 
 tion that assailed his commercial methods he proved suave 
 and non-committal. As the day passed, the prosecutor's 
 
THE JUNIOR DEFENDANT 365 
 
 insinuations grew more open and vindictive. Judge Fever- 
 sham sprang to his feet repeatedly to challenge his accusa- 
 tions, and twice the Court calmed the Government's at- 
 torney with a reprimand. The atmosphere of the room 
 seemed to seethe hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. 
 Finally, during the afternoon session, Foster was recalled. 
 
 Through it all Tisdale wa.ited, listening to everything, 
 separating, weighing each point presented. It was begin- 
 ning to look serious for Foster. Clearly, in his deter- 
 mination to win his suit, the prosecution was losing sight 
 of the simple justice the Government desired. And a man 
 less dramatic, less choleric, with less of a reputation for 
 political intrigue than Miles Feversham might better have 
 defended Stuart Foster. Foster was so frank, so honest, 
 so eager to make the Alaska situation understood. And 
 it was not an isolated case ; there were hundreds of young 
 men, who, like him, had cast their fortunes with that new 
 and growing country, to find themselves, after years of 
 hardship and privation of which the outside world had no 
 conception, bound hand and foot in an intricate tangle of 
 the Government's red tape. 
 
 The evening of the fourth day the attorney for the 
 prosecution surprised Tisdale at his rooms. " Thank 
 you," he said, when Hollis offered his armchair, " but those 
 windows open to the four winds of heaven are a little 
 imprudent to a man who lives by his voice. Pretty, 
 though, isn't it? " He paused a moment to look down on 
 the harbor lights and the chains of electric globes stretch- 
 ing off to Queen Anne hill and far and away to Magnolia 
 bluff, then seated himself between the screen and the table 
 that held the shaded reading lamp. " Has it occurred to 
 you, Mr. Tisdale," he asked, " that a question may be 
 raised as to the legality of your testimony in these coal 
 cases ? " 
 
 " No." Hollis remained standing. He looked at his 
 
366 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 visitor in surprise. " Please make that clear, Mr. Brom- 
 ley," he said. 
 
 The attorney smiled. " This is a trial case," he began. 
 **A dozen others hinge on it. I was warned to be pre- 
 pared for anything; so, when my attention was called to 
 that article in Sampson's Magazine, my suspicions were in- 
 stantly awake. It looked much like blackmail and, in con- 
 nection with another story I heard in circulation at Wash- 
 ington, seemed a systematic preparation to attack the 
 Government's witness. Possibly you do not know it was 
 Mr. Jerold, your legal adviser and my personal friend, who 
 put me in touch with the magazine. You had wired him 
 to find out certain facts, but he was unable to go to New 
 York at the time and, knowing I was there for the week, 
 he got into communication with me by telephone and asked 
 me to look the matter up. The publishers, fearing a libel 
 suit which would ruin them, were very obliging. They al- 
 lowed me to see not only the original manuscript, but Mrs. 
 Feversham's letter, which I took the trouble to copy." 
 
 " Mrs. Feversham's letter? " Tisdale exclaimed. " Do 
 you mean it was Mrs. Feversham who was responsible for 
 that story.?" 
 
 " As it was published, yes. But Daniels was not a pen 
 name. There really was such a writer — I have taken 
 the trouble to find that out since I arrived in Seattle. He 
 was on the staff of the Press and wrote a very creditable 
 account of the catastrophe on the Great Northern rail- 
 road, in which glowing tribute was given you. But since 
 then, and this is what makes the situation so questionable, 
 he has left the paper and dropped completely out of 
 sight." 
 
 Tisdale drew forward his chair and settled himself com- 
 fortably. " There is no need to worry about Jimmie 
 Daniels," he said ; " he is all right. I saw him at Cascade 
 tunnel ; he told me he was about to be married and go to 
 
THE JUNIOR DEFENDANT 367 
 
 the Wenatchee country to conduct a paper of his own. 
 It's too bad there wasn't another reporter up there to tell 
 about him. He worked like a Trojan, and it was a place 
 to try a man's mettle. Afterwards, before he left, he 
 came to me and introduced himself. He had been aboard 
 the yacht that day I told the story. He had taken it 
 down in his notebook behind an awning. He told me one 
 of the ladies on board — he did not mention her name — 
 who read his copy later, offered to dispose of it for him." 
 
 " So," said the lawyer slowly, " you did tell the story ; 
 there was a papoose; the unfortunate incident really oc- 
 curred." 
 
 " Yes," responded Tisdale, " it happened in a canyon 
 of those mountains across the Sound. You can barely 
 make out their outline to-night; but watch for them at 
 sunrise; it's worth waiting for." Then, after a moment, 
 he said, " I told the story to show the caliber of Weather- 
 bee, the man who put himself in my place when the Indians 
 came to our camp, looking for me ; but, in editing, all men- 
 tion of him was cut out. Daniels couldn't understand 
 that. He said the manuscript was long, but if it was 
 necessary to abridge in making up the magazine, why had 
 they thrown out the finest part of the story? " 
 
 " Let me see," said the attorney thoughtfully, " wasn't 
 Weatherbee the name of the man you grub-staked in 
 Alaska, and who discovered the Aurora mine ? " 
 
 Tisdale bowed, then added, with the vibration playing 
 softly in his voice ; " And the name of the bravest and 
 noblest man that ever fought the unequal fight of the 
 north." 
 
 " Which proves the story was not published to exploit 
 a hero," commented Bromley. " But now," he went on 
 brusquely, " we have arrived at the other story. Do you 
 know, Mr. Tisdale, it is being said in Washington, and, 
 too, I have heard it here in Seattle, that though your own 
 
368 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 half interest in the Aurora mine, acquired through the 
 grub-stake you furnished Weatherbee, will make you a 
 millionaire at least, you are withholding the widow's 
 share." 
 
 This time Tisdale did not express surprise. " I have 
 had that suggested to me," he answered quietly. " But 
 the stories of the Aurora are very much inflated. It is a 
 comparatively new mine, and though it promises to be one 
 of the great discoveries, the expense of operating so far 
 has exceeded the output. Heavy machinery has been 
 transported and installed, and Mrs. Weatherbee could not 
 have met any part of these payments. In all probability 
 she would have immediately disposed of an interest at a 
 small price and so handicapped me with a partner with his 
 own ideas of development. David Weatherbee paid for 
 the Aurora with his life, and I have pledged myself to 
 carry out his plans. But, Mr. Bromley, do not trouble 
 about that last half interest. I bought it: the transfer 
 was regularly recorded; Mr. Jerold has assured me it is 
 legally mine." 
 
 " I know what Mr. Jerold thinks," replied the attorney. 
 " It nettled him to hear me repeat that story. ' Why, it's 
 incredible,' " he said. " ' There are documents I drew up 
 last fall that refute it completely.' " Mr. Bromley paused, 
 then went on slowly : " Last fall you were in a hospital, 
 Mr. Tisdale, beginning a long, all but hopeless fight for 
 your life, and it was natural you should have called in Mr. 
 Jerold to settle your affairs. I inferred from his remark 
 that you had remembered Mrs. Weatherbee, at least, in 
 your will." He halted again, then added still more de- 
 liberately : " If I am right, I should like to be prepared, 
 in case of emergency, to read such a clause in court." 
 
 Tisdale was silent. He rose and turned to the west 
 windows, where he stood looking down on the harbor lights. 
 
 " Am I right ? " persisted the attorney. 
 
THE JUNIOR DEFENDANT 369 
 
 Hollis thrust his hands into his pockets and swung 
 around. He stood with his chin lowered, looking at the 
 lawyer with his upward glance from under slightly frown- 
 ing brows. " Well," he said at last, " suppose you are. 
 And suppose I refuse to have my private papers read in 
 open court? " 
 
 " In that case," answered Mr. Bromley, rising, " I must 
 telegraph to Washington for one of the Alaska coal com- 
 mission to take your place. I am sorry. You were 
 named to me at the beginning as a man who knew more 
 about Alaska coal, and, in fact, the whole Alaska situation, 
 than any other employee of the Government." 
 
 Still, having said this, Mr. Bromley did not seem in any 
 hurry to go, but stood holding his hat and waiting for a 
 word from Tisdale to redeem the situation. At last it 
 came. " Is there no other way," he asked, " than to drag 
 my private affairs into court ? " 
 
 The attorney gravely shook his head. " You never can 
 tell what a jury will do," he said. " Less than a prejudice 
 against a witness has swung a decision sometimes." 
 
 Hollis said no more. He went over to his safe and se- 
 lected a package containing three documents held together 
 by a rubber band. After a hesitating moment, he drew 
 out one, which he returned to its place. The others he 
 brought to the attorney, who carried them to the reading 
 lamp to scan. One was a deed to the last half interest in 
 the Aurora, the one which Weatherbee had had recorded, 
 and the remaining paper was, as Mr. Bromley conjectured, 
 Tisdale's will; but it contained a somewhat disconcerting 
 surprise. However, the lawyer seated himself and, spread- 
 ing the paper open on the table, copied this clause. 
 
 ..." The Aurora mine, lying in an unsurveyed region 
 of Alaska, accessible from Seward by way of Rainy Pass, 
 and from the Iditarod district north by east, I bequeath to 
 Beatriz Silva Gonzales Weatherbee, to be held for her in 
 
370 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 trust by Stuart Emory Foster for a period of five years, 
 or until development, according to David Weatherbee's 
 plans, shall have been fully carried out. The profits, 
 above the cost of all improvements and all operating ex- 
 penses — which shall include a superintendent's salary of 
 four thousand dollars a year to said Stuart Emory Foster 
 — to be paid in semi-annual dividends to said Beatriz Silva 
 Gonzales Weatherbee." 
 
 " Stuart Emory Foster," repeated the lawyer medi- 
 tatively, putting away his fountain pen. " You evidently 
 have considerable confidence in his engineering skill, Mr. 
 Tisdale." 
 
 " Yes." His voice mellowed, but he regarded the at- 
 torney with the upward, watchful look. " I have confi- 
 dence in Stuart Emory Foster in every way. He is not 
 only one of the most capable, reliable mining engineers, 
 but also one of the most respected and most trusted men 
 in the north." 
 
 There was a silence, during which Mr. Bromley thought- 
 fully folded his copy and placed it in his pocket-book. 
 " Thank you, Mr. Tisdale," he said finally, and rose once 
 more. "You may not be called for several days but when 
 you are, it is advisable that you have the original docu- 
 ments at hand. Good night." 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 TISDALE OF ALASKA AND WASHINGTON, D. C. 
 
 IT was evident, after his interview with HoUis Tisdale, 
 that Mr. Bromley was in no hurry to precipitate the 
 side issue for which he had prepared. Every one who 
 had taken coal land in the Morganstein group had been on 
 the witness stand, and many more who had not filed claims 
 had given testimony, yet the prosecution held him in re- 
 serve. Then came a day when Lucky Banks, recalled to 
 tell what he knew about the Chugach trail, made some as- 
 tonishing statements. He had traveled that route with a 
 partner at the end of a season in the Copper River plateau. 
 They had expected to finish the distance by the new rail- 
 road. The little man was brief but graphic. It seemed 
 to have been a running fight with storms, glaciers, and 
 glacial torrents to reach that narrow-gauge track before 
 the first real September blizzard. " But we could have 
 stood it," he concluded in his high key, " my, yes, it 
 wouldn't have amounted to much, if we could have had 
 firewood." 
 
 " Did you not know the fallen timber was at your serv- 
 ice? " questioned Mr. Bromley, " Provided, of course, you 
 conformed to the laws of the reserve in building your fire 
 and in extinguishing it when you broke camp." 
 
 " There wasn't any fallen timber," responded Banks 
 dryly ; " and likely we would have took it green, if there 
 had been a tree in sight. It was getting mighty cold, 
 nights, and with the frost in his wet clothes, a man needs 
 a warm supper to hearten him." 
 
372 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Mr. Bromley sharply. "Do you 
 mean you saw no trees .^^ Remember you were in the Chu- 
 gach forest ; or did you lose your way ? " 
 
 " No, sir. We struck the Chugach Railway just where 
 we aimed to, but a mighty lot of the Chugach reserve is 
 out of timber line. That's why we banked on Foster's 
 new train to hurry us through. But we found she had 
 quit running. The Government had got wind of the scheme 
 and sent a bunch of rules and regulations. First came 
 a heavy tax for operating the road ; and next was an order 
 to put spark arresters on all his engines. He only had 
 two first-class ones and a couple of makeshifts to haul his 
 gravel cars ; and his sparks would have froze, likely, where 
 they lit, but there he was, tied up on the edge of a fill he 
 had counted on finishing up before his crew went out for 
 the winter, and the nearest spark arrester farther off than 
 Christmas." 
 
 A ripple of amusement ran through the crowded room, 
 but little Banks stood waiting frostily. When his glance 
 caught the judge's smile, his eyes scintillated their blue 
 light. " Likely Foster would have sent his order out and 
 had those arresters shipped around Cape Horn from New 
 York," he added. " They'd probably been in time for 
 spring travel; but he opened another bunch of mail and 
 found there wouldn't be any more sparks. Washington, 
 D. C, had shut down his coal mine." 
 
 Mr. Bromley had no further questions to ask. He 
 seemed preoccupied and passed the recess that followed the 
 prospector's testimony in pacing the corridor. Lucky 
 Banks had been suggested as an intelligent and honest 
 fellow on whom the Government might rely ; but his state- 
 ments failed to dovetail with his knowledge of Alaska 
 and the case, and after the intermission Tisdale was 
 called. 
 
 The moment he was sworn, Miles Feversham was on his 
 
TISDALE OF ALASKA 373 
 
 feet. He held in his hand a magazine, in which during the 
 recess, he had been engrossed, and his forefinger kept the 
 place. 
 
 " I object to this witness," he said sonorously and 
 waited while a stir, like a gust of wind in a wood, swept the 
 courtroom, and the jury straightened, alert. " I object, 
 not because he defrauded the widow of David Weatherbee 
 out of her half interest in the Aurora mine, though, gentle- 
 men, you know this to be an open fact, but for the reason 
 that he is a criminal, self-confessed, who should be serv- 
 ing a prison sentence, and a criminal's testimony is not al- 
 lowable in a United States court." 
 
 Before he finished speaking, or the Court had recovered 
 from the shock, Mr. Bromley had taken a bundle of papers 
 from his pocket and stepped close to the jury box. 
 
 ** This is an infamous fabrication," he exclaimed. " It 
 was calculated to surprise us, but it finds us prepared. In 
 ten minutes we shall prove it was planned six months ago 
 to defame the character of the Government's witness at 
 this trial. I have here, gentlemen, a copy of the Alaska 
 record showing the transfer of David Weatherbee's inter- 
 est in the Aurora mine to Hollis Tisdale ; it bears the sig- 
 nature of his wife. But this extract from Mr. Tisdale's 
 will, which was drawn shortly after his return from 
 Alaska, last year, and while he was dangerously ill in 
 Washington, proves how far it was from his intention to 
 defraud the widow of David Weatherbee." Here Mr. 
 Bromley read the clause. 
 
 Tisdale, standing at ease, with his hand resting on his 
 chair, glanced from the attorney to Foster. No mask 
 covered his transparent face; the dark circles under his 
 fine, expressive eyes betrayed how nearly threadbare his 
 hope was worn. Then, suddenly, in the moment he met 
 Tisdale's look, wonder, swift intelligence, contrition, and 
 the gratitude of his young, sorely tried spirit flashed from 
 
874 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 his countenance. To Hollis it became an illuminated 
 scroll. 
 
 " As to the main charge," resumed Mr. Bromley, " that 
 is ridiculous. It is based on an unfortunate accident to 
 an Indian child years ago. The distorted yam was pub- 
 lished in a late issue of a sensational magazine. No doubt 
 most of you ^ave read it, since it was widely circulated. 
 
 Different isn't it ? — from that other story of Mr. Tis- 
 
 dale which came down from Cascade tunnel. Gentlemen, 
 I have the letter that was enclosed with the manuscript 
 that was submitted to Sampson*s Magazine, It was not 
 written by the author, James Daniels, but by a lady, who 
 had offered to dispose of the material for him, and who, 
 without his knowledge, substituted a revised copy." 
 
 Miles Feversham had subsided, dumbfounded, into his 
 chair; his self-sufficiency had deserted him; for a moment 
 the purple color surged in his face; his chagrin over- 
 whelmed him. But Marcia, seated in the front row out- 
 side the bar, showed no confusion. Her brilliant, compel- 
 ling eyes were on her husband. It was as though she 
 wished to reinforce him, and at the same time convey some 
 urgent, vital thought. He glanced around and, reading 
 the look, started again to his feet. He began to retract 
 his denunciation. It was evident he had been misinformed ; 
 he offered his apologies to the witness and asked that the 
 case be resumed. But the prosecuting attorney, disre- 
 garding him, continued to explain. " In the Daniels' 
 manuscript, gentlemen, a coroner's inquest exonerated the 
 man who was responsible for the death of the papoose; 
 this the magazine suppressed. I am able to offer in evi- 
 dence James Daniels' affidavit." 
 
 Then, while the jury gathered these varying ideas in 
 fragments. Lucky Banks' treble rose. " Let's hear what 
 the lady wrote." And some one at the back of the court- 
 room said in a deep voice : " Read the lady's letter." 
 
TISDALE OF ALASKA 375 
 
 It seemed inevitable. Mr. Bromley had separated a let- 
 ter from the bundle of papers. Involuntarily Marcia 
 started up. But the knocking of the gavel, sounding 
 smartly, insistently, above the confusion, brought unex- 
 pected deliverance. 
 
 " It is unnecessary to further delay this Court with this 
 issue," announced the judge. " The case before the jury 
 already has dragged through nearly four weeks, and it 
 should be conducted as expeditiously as possible to a close. 
 Mr. Bromley, the witness is sustained." 
 
 Marcia settled back in her place ; Miles Feversham, like 
 a man who has slipped on the edge of a chasm, sat a mo- 
 ment longer, gripping the arms of his chair; then his 
 ahifting look caught Frederic's wide-eyed gaze of uncom- 
 prehending innocence, and he weakly smiled. 
 
 " Mr. Tisdale," began the prosecution, putting aside 
 his papers and endeavoring to focus his mind again on 
 the case, " you have spent some years with the Alaska di- 
 vision of the Geological Survey.'^ " 
 
 " Every open season and some of the winters for a period 
 of ten years, with the exception of three which I also spent 
 in Alaska." 
 
 " And you are particularly familiar with the locality in- 
 cluded in the Chugach forest reserve, I understand, Mr. 
 Tisdale. Tell us a little about it. It contains vast 
 reaches of valuable and marketable timber, does it not ? " 
 
 The genial lines crinkled lightly in Tisdale's face. 
 *' The Chugach forest contains some marketable timber on 
 the lower Pacific slopes," he replied, " where there is ex- 
 cessive precipitation and the influence of the warm Japan 
 current, but along the streams on the other side of the 
 divide there are only occasional growths of scrubby spruce, 
 hardly suitable for telegraph poles or even railroad ties." 
 He paused an instant then went on mellowly : *' Giff ord 
 Pinchot was thousands of miles away; he never had seen 
 
876 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Alaska, when he suggested that the Executive set aside the 
 Chugach forest reserve. No doubt he believed there was 
 valuable timber on those lofty peaks and glaciers, but I 
 don't know how he first heard of a Chugach forest, unless " 
 
 — he halted again and looked at the jury, while the humor 
 deepened in his voice — " those Pennsylvania contractors, 
 who were shipping coal around Cape Horn to supply the 
 Pacific navy, took the chance of there being trees in those 
 mountains and interested the Government in saving the 
 timber — to conserve the coal." 
 
 A ripple of laughter passed over the jury and on through 
 the courtroom. Even the presiding judge smiled, and Mr. 
 Bromley hurried to say : " Tell us something about that 
 Alaska coal, Mr. Tisdale. You have found vast bodies 
 
 — have you not? — of a very high grade; to compare 
 favorably with Pennsylvania coal." 
 
 " The Geodetic Survey estimates there are over eight 
 millions of acres of coal land already known in Alaska," re- 
 plied HoUis statistically. " More than is contained in all 
 Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Ohio combined. It is of 
 all grades. The Bonnifield near Fairbanks, far in the 
 interior, is the largest field yet discovered, and in one 
 hundred and twenty-two square miles of it that have been 
 surveyed, there are about ten billions of tons. Cross sec- 
 tions show veins two hundred and thirty-one feet thick. 
 This coal is lignite." 
 
 " How about the Matanuska fields ? " asked Mr. Brom- 
 ley. 
 
 ** The Matanuska cover sixty-five thousand acres ; the 
 coal is a high grade bituminous, fit for steam and coking 
 purposes. There are also some veins of anthracite. I 
 consider the Matanuska the best and most important coal 
 yet discovered in Alaska, and with the Bering coal, which 
 is similar though more broken, these fields should supply 
 the United States for centuries to come." 
 
TISDALE OF ALASKA 377 
 
 Mr. Bromley looked at the jury. His smile said: 
 
 "You heard that, gentlemen?" Then, his glance re- 
 turning to the witness : 
 
 ** Why the most important ? " he asked. 
 
 *' Because all development, all industry, in the north de- 
 pends on the opening up of such a body of coal. And 
 these fields are the most accessible to the coast. A few 
 hundreds of miles of railroad, the extension of one or two 
 of the embryo lines on which construction has been sus- 
 pended, would make the coal available on Prince William 
 Sound. Used by the Pacific Navy, it would save the Gov- 
 ernment a million dollars a year on transportation." 
 
 The prosecuting attorney looked at the jury again in 
 triumph. " And that, gentlemen, is why the Prince 
 William Development Company was so ready to finance 
 one of those embryo railroads; why those Matanuska 
 coal claims were located by the syndicate's stenographers, 
 bookkeepers, any employee down here in their Seattle of- 
 fices. Mr. Tisdale, if those patents had been allowed and 
 the claims had been turned over to the company, would it 
 not have given the Morganstein interests a monopoly on 
 Alaska coal? " 
 
 Tisdale paused a thoughtful moment. " No, at leasli 
 only temporarily, if at all. Out of those eight millions 
 of acres of coal land already discovered in Alaska, not 
 more than thirty-two thousand acres have been staked — 
 only one claim, an old and small mine on the coast, has 
 been allowed." His glance moved slowly over the jury, 
 from face to face, and he went on evenly : " You can't 
 expect capital to invest without some inducement. The 
 Northern Pacific, the first trans-continental railroad in 
 the United States, received enormous land grants along 
 the right of way; but the Prince William Development 
 Company, which intends ultimately to bridge distances as 
 vast, to tap the unknown resources of the Alaska interior, 
 
378 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 has not asked for concessions, beyond the privilege to de- 
 velop such properties as it may have acquired by location 
 and purchase. Surely the benefit that railroad would be 
 in opening the country to settlement and in the saving of 
 human life, should more than compensate for those few 
 hundreds of acres of the Government's coal." 
 
 " Mr. Tisdale," said the attorney sharply, " that, in an 
 employee of the Government, is a strange point of view." 
 
 Tisdale's hands sought his pockets ; he returned Mr. 
 Bromley's look with his steady, upward gaze from under 
 slightly frowning brows. " The perspective changes at 
 close range," he said. " The Government knows less about 
 its great possession of Alaska than England knew about 
 her American colonies, one hundred and fifty years ago. 
 The United States had owned Alaska seventeen years be- 
 fore any form of government was established there; more 
 than thirty before a criminal code was provided, and 
 thirty-three years before she was given a suitable code of 
 civil laws. Now, to-day, there are no laws operative in 
 Alaska under which title may be acquired to coal land. 
 Alaska has yielded hundreds of millions of dollars from her 
 placers, her fisheries, and furs, but the only thing the Gov- 
 ernment ever did for Alaska was to import reindeer for the 
 use of the Esquimos." 
 
 Another ripple of laughter passed through the court- 
 room ; even the judge on the bench smiled. But Mr. Brom- 
 ley's face was a study. He began to fear the effect of 
 Tisdale's astonishing statements on the jury, while at the 
 same time he was impelled to listen. In the moment he 
 hesitated over a question, Hollis lifted his head and said 
 mellowly : " The sins of Congress have not been in com- 
 mission but in omission. They are under the impression, 
 far away there in Washington, that Alaska is too bleak, 
 too barren for permanent settlement ; that the white popu- 
 lation is a floating one, made up chiefly of freebooters and 
 
TISDALE OF ALASKA 379 
 
 outlaws. But we know the foundations of an empire have 
 been laid there; that, allowed the use of the fuel Nature 
 has so bountifully stored there and granted a fair meas- 
 ure of encouragement to transportation, those great in- 
 land tundras would be as populous as Sweden; as pro- 
 gressive as Germany." His glance moved to the jury ; all 
 the nobility, the fineness, the large humanity of the man 
 was expressed in that moment in his face ; a subdued emo- 
 tion pervaded his voice. " We know the men who forged 
 a way through that mighty bulwark of mountains to the 
 interior were brave, resourceful, determined — they had to 
 be — but, too, they saw a broad horizon ; they had patri- 
 otism; if there are any Americans left who have inherited 
 a spark of the old Puritan spirit, they are the ones who 
 have cast their fortunes with Alaska." 
 
 He paused again briefly, and his eyes rested on Foster. 
 "Do you know.f^ " he resumed, and his glance returned to 
 the prosecuting attorney, " when I came out last season, 
 I saw a ship at the terminus of the new Copper River 
 and Northwestern Railroad discharging Australian coal. 
 This with the great Bering fields lying at their side door ! 
 The people of Cordova wanted to see that road finished; 
 the life of their young seaport depended on it — but — 
 that night they threw the whole of that cargo of foreign 
 coal into the waters of Prince William Sound. It is re- 
 ferred to, now, as the ' Cordova tea-party.' " 
 
 In the silence that held the courtroom, Tisdale stood 
 still regarding the lawyer. His expression was most en- 
 gaging, a hint of humor lurked at the corners of his 
 mouth, yet it seemed to veil a subtle meaning. Then the 
 jury began to laugh quietly, with a kind of seriousness, 
 and again the judge straightened, checking a smile. It 
 was all very disturbing to Mr. Bromley. Pie had been as- 
 sured by one high in the administration that he might rely 
 on Tisdale's magnetic personality and practical knowl- 
 
380 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 edge as well as his technical information in prosecuting 
 the case ; but while he hesitated over the question he wished 
 to ask, Tisdale said mellowly, no doubt to bridge the awk- 
 ward pause : " The Copper River and Northwestern 
 couldn't mine their coal, and they couldn't import any, so 
 they changed their locomotives to oil burners." 
 
 Then Mr. Bromley said abruptly : " This is all very 
 interesting, Mr. Tisdale, but it is the Chugach Railway 
 and not the Copper River Northwestern, that bears on our 
 case. You have been over that route, I believe ? " 
 
 " Yes." Tisdale's voice quickened. " I used the road- 
 bed going to and from the Matanuska Valley. Also I 
 went over the proposed route once with Mr. Foster and the 
 civil engineers." 
 
 " Was it, in your opinion, a bona fide railroad, Mr. Tis- 
 dale? Or simply a lure to entice people to make coal lo- 
 cations in order that they might be bought after the pat- 
 ents were issued? " 
 
 " It was started in good faith." The steel rang, a warn- 
 ing note, in his voice. " The largest stockholder had 
 spent nearly a hundred thousand dollars in opening his 
 coal claim. He was in need of immediate transportation." 
 
 " This was after the Chugach Company consolidated 
 with the Prince William syndicate, Mr. Tisdale? " 
 
 *' No, sir. It was previous to that time. The Chugach 
 Railway and Development Company had chosen one of the 
 finest harbors in Alaska for a terminus. It was doubly 
 protected from the long Pacific swell by the outer, precipi- 
 tous shore of Prince William Sound. But their greatest 
 engineering problem met them there at the start. It was 
 necessary to cross a large glacier back of the bay. There 
 was no possible way to build around it ; the only solution 
 was a bore under the ice. The building of such a tunnel 
 meant labor and great expense. And it was not a rich 
 company ; it was made up principally of small stockholders, 
 
TISDALE OF ALASKA 881 
 
 young men, just out of college some of them, who had 
 gone up there with plenty of enthusiasm and courage to 
 invest in the enterprise, but very little money. They did 
 their own assessment work, dug like any coal miners with 
 pick and shovel, cut and carried the timbers to brace their 
 excavations under Mr. Foster's instructions. And when 
 construction commenced on the railroad, they came down 
 to do their stunt at packing over the glacier — grading be- 
 gan from the upper side — and sometimes they cut ties." 
 
 " And meantime," said the attorney brusquely, " Mr. 
 Foster, who was responsible I believe, was trying to interest 
 other capital to build the tunnel." 
 
 " Yes. And meantime, the Prince William syndicate 
 started a parallel railroad to the interior from the next 
 harbor to the southwestward. It was difficult to interest 
 large capital with competition so close." Tisdale paused ; 
 his glance moved from Mr. Bromley to the jury, his voice 
 took its minor note. " Stuart Foster did hold himself re- 
 sponsible to those young fellows. He had known most of 
 them personally in Seattle; they were a picked company 
 for the venture. He had youth and courage himself, in 
 those days, but he knew Alaska — he had been there be- 
 fore and made good. He had their confidence. He was 
 that kind of man ; one to inspire trust on sight, anywhere." 
 Hollis paused another instant, while his eyes turned to 
 Foster, and involuntarily, one after the other, the jury 
 followed his look. " It was then," he added, " when other 
 capital failed, the Chugach Company gave up their sea- 
 port and consolidated with the Prince William syndicate." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Tisdale," said the attorney for the 
 prosecution. " That is all." 
 
 Miles Feversham had, as Frederic afterward expressed 
 it, " caught his second wind." While he listened atten- 
 tively to the testimony, he made some sweeping revisions 
 in his notes for the argument which he was to open the 
 
382 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 following day. He laughed at, while he congratulated 
 himself, that the Government's star witness, of whom he 
 had been so afraid, should have proved so invaluable to the 
 defense. And when court adjourned, and the trio went 
 down the steps to the street, he assured his brother-in-law 
 there was a chance for him to escape, under Foster's cloak. 
 To Marcia he said j ocularly, though still in an undertone : 
 " ' Snatched like a brand from the burning 1 ' " And he 
 added : " My lady, had you consulted me, I should have 
 suggested the April issue. These magazines have a bad 
 habit of arriving too soon." 
 
 Frederic, released from the long day's strain, did not 
 take this facetiousness meekly, but Marcia was silent. For 
 once the " brightest Morganstein " felt her eclipse. But 
 while they stood on the curb, waiting for the limousine to 
 draw up, a newsboy called : " All about the Alaska bill 1 
 Home Rule for Alaska ! " 
 
 The special delegate bought a copy, and Marcia drew 
 close to his elbow while they scanned the message together. 
 It was true. The bill, to which they both had devoted 
 their energies that season in Washington, had passed. 
 Feversham folded the paper slowly and met his wife's bril- 
 liant glance. It was as though she telegraphed : " Now, 
 the President must name a governor." 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE OTHER DOCUMENT 
 
 THE argument, which Miles Feversham opened with un- 
 usual brilliancy the following morning, was prolonged 
 with varying degrees of heat to the close of another week; 
 then the jury, out less than two hours, brought in their 
 verdict of " Not Guilty." 
 
 And that night, for the first time since Tisdale's re- 
 turn, Foster climbed to the eyrie in the Alaska building. 
 " I came up to thank you, Hollis," he began in his straight- 
 forward way. " It was breakers ahead when you turned 
 the tide. But," he added after a pause, " what will the 
 President think of your views ? " 
 
 Tisdale laughed softly. " He heard most of them be- 
 fore I left Washington, and this is what he thinks." 
 
 As he spoke, he took a letter from the table which he 
 gave to Foster. It bore the official stamp and was an 
 appointment to that position which Miles Feversham had 
 so confidently hoped, with Marcia's aid, to secure. 
 
 "Well, that shows the President's good judgment!" 
 Foster exclaimed and held out his hand. " You are the 
 one man broad enough to fit the place." After a moment 
 he said, " But it is going to leave you little time to devote 
 to your own affairs. How about the Aurora? " 
 
 Tisdale did not reply directly. He rose and walked the 
 length of the floor. " That depends," he said and stopped 
 with his hands in his pockets to regard Foster with the 
 upward, appraising look from under knitting brows. " I 
 presume, Stuart, you are through with the syndicate.? " 
 
384 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Foster colored. " I put in my resignation as mining 
 engineer of the company shortly after I came out, at the 
 beginning of the year." 
 
 " And while you were in the interior," pursued Tisdale, 
 " you were sent to the Aurora to make a report. What 
 did you think of the mine? " 
 
 " I thought Frederic Morganstein would be safe in 
 bonding the property if he could interest you in selling; 
 it looked better to me than even Banks' strike in the Idi- 
 tarod. This season's clean-up should justify Weather- 
 bee." 
 
 " You mean in staying on at the risk of his reason and 
 life?" 
 
 Foster nodded ; a shadow crossed his open face. " I 
 mean everything but — his neglect to make final provision 
 for his wife." 
 
 Tisdale frowned. " There is where you make your mis- 
 take. Weatherbee persisted as he did, in the face of de- 
 feat, for her sake." 
 
 Foster laughed mirthlessly. " The proofs are other- 
 wise. Look at things, once, from her side," he broke 
 out. '' Think what it means to her to see you realizing, 
 from a few hundred dollars you could easily spare, this big 
 fortune. I know you've been generous, but after all, of 
 what benefit to her is a bequest in your will, when now 
 she has absolutely nothing but that hole in the Columbia 
 desert? Face it, be reasonable; you always have been in 
 every way but this. I don't see how you can be so hard, 
 knowing her now as you do." 
 
 Tisdale turned to the window. " I have not been as 
 hard as you think," he said. " But it was necessary, in 
 order to carry out Weatherbee's plans, to — do as I did." 
 
 " That's the trouble." Foster rose from his chair and 
 went a few steps nearer Tisdale. " You are the sanest 
 man in the world in every way but one. But you can't 
 
THE OTHER DOCUMENT 385 
 
 think straight when it comes to Weatherbee. There is 
 where the north got its hold on you. Can't you see it? 
 Look at it through my eyes, or any one's. You did for 
 David Weatherbee what one man in a thousand might have 
 done. And you've interested Lucky Banks in that recla- 
 mation project; you've gone on yourself with his develop- 
 ments at the Aurora. But there's one thing you've lost 
 sight of — justice to Beatriz Weatherbee. You've done 
 your best for liim, but he is dead. Hollis, old man, 
 I tell you he is dead. And she is living. You have sent 
 her, the proudest, sweetest woman on God's earth, to 
 brave out her life in that sage-brush wilderness. Can't 
 you see you owe something to her? " 
 
 Tisdale did not reply. But presently he went over to 
 his safe and took out the two documents that were fastened 
 together. This time it was the will he returned to its 
 place ; the other paper he brought to Foster. " I am go- 
 ing to apologize for my estimate of Mrs. Weatherbee the 
 night you sailed north," he said. " My judgment then, 
 before I had seen her, was unfair ; you were right. But 
 I could hardly have done differently in any case. There 
 was danger that she would dispose of a half interest in the 
 Aurora at once, at any low price Frederic Morganstein 
 might name. And you know the syndicate's methods. I 
 did not want a Morganstein partnership. But, later, at 
 the time I had my will drawn, I saw this way." 
 
 Foster took the document, but he did not read it im- 
 mediately ; he stood looking at Tisdale. " So you too 
 were afraid of him. But I knew nothing about Lucky 
 Banks' option. It worried me, those endless nights up 
 there in the Iditarod, to think that in her extremity she 
 might marry Frederic Morganstein. There was a debt 
 that pressed her. Did you know about that? " 
 
 " Yes. She called it a ' debt of honor.' " 
 
 " And you believed, as I did, that it was a direct loan 
 
386 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 to cover personal expenses. After I came home, I found 
 out she borrowed the money originally of Miss Morgan- 
 stein, to endow a bed in the children's hospital. Think 
 of it! And Mrs. Feversham, who took it off her sister's 
 hands, transferred the note to Morganstein." 
 
 Tisdale did not say anything, but his rugged face worked 
 a little, and he turned again to look out into the night. 
 Foster moved nearer the reading-lamp and unfolded the 
 document. It was a deed conveying, for a consideration 
 of one dollar, a half interest in the Aurora mine to 
 Beatriz Silva Gonzales Weatherbee ; provided said half in- 
 terest be not sold, or parceled, or in any way disposed of 
 for a period of five years. Her share of the profits above 
 operating expenses was to be paid in semi-annual divi- 
 dends, and, as in the will, Stuart Emory Foster was named 
 as trustee. 
 
 Foster folded the document slowly. His glance moved 
 to Tisdale, and his eyes played every swift change from 
 contrition to gratitude. HoUis turned. " I want you to 
 take the management of the whole mine," he said mellowly. 
 " At a salary of five thousand a year to start with. And 
 as soon as you wish, you may deliver this deed." 
 
 Foster's lips trembled a little. " You've made a mis- 
 take," he said unsteadily. Then : " Why don't you take 
 it to her yourself, HoUis ? " he asked. 
 
 Tisdale was silent. He turned back to the window, and 
 after an interval, Foster went over and stood beside him, 
 looking down on the harbor lights. His arm went up 
 around Tisdale's shoulder as he said : " If Weatherbee 
 could know everything now; if he had loved her, put her 
 first always, as you believe, do you think he would be any 
 happier to see her punished like this? " 
 
 Still Tisdale was silent. Then Foster's arm fell, and 
 he said desperately : " Can't you see, HoUis ? Weather- 
 bee was greater than either of us. I grant that. But the 
 
THE OTHER DOCUMENT 387 
 
 one thing in the world you are so sure he most desired — 
 the lack of which wrecked his life — the one thing I have 
 tried for the hardest and missed — has fallen to you. Go 
 and ask her to sail to Alaska with you. You'll need her 
 up there to carry the honors for you. You prize her, you 
 love her, — you know you do." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE CALF-BOTJND NOTEBOOK 
 
 THE statue was great. So Tisdale told Lucky Banks, 
 that day the prospector met him at the station and 
 they motored around through the park. The sculptor 
 himself had said he must send people to Weatherbee when 
 they wanted to see his best work. It was plain his sub- 
 ject had dominated him. He had achieved with the free- 
 dom of pose the suggestion of decision and power that had 
 been characteristic of David Weatherbee. Quick intelli- 
 gence spoke in the face, yet the eyes held their expression 
 of seeing a far horizon. To Hollis, coming suddenly, as 
 he did, upon the bronze figure in the Wenatchee sunshine, 
 it seemed to warm with a latent consciousness. He felt 
 poignantly a sense of David's personality, as he had known 
 him at the crowning period of his life. 
 
 " It suits me," responded Banks. " My, yes, it's about 
 as good a likeness as we can get of Dave." He put on his 
 hat, which involuntarily he had removed, and started the 
 car on around the curve. " But it's a mighty lot like 
 you. It crops out most in the eyes, seeing things off 
 somewheres, clear out of sight, and the way you carry 
 your size. You was a team." 
 
 " I am sorry I missed those services," said Tisdale. " I 
 meant to be here." 
 
 Banks nodded. " But it all went off fine. She agreed 
 with me it was the best place. If I was to go back to 
 Alaska, and she was off somewheres on a trip, it would 
 be sure to get taken care of here in the park ; and, after- 
 
THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK 389 
 
 wards, when neither of us can come around to keep things 
 in shape any more. And I told her how the ranchers up 
 and down the valley would get to feeling acquainted and 
 friendly with Dave, seeing his statue when they was in 
 town ; and how the fruit-buyers and the pickers, and maybe 
 the tourists, coming and going, would remember about him 
 and tell everybody they knew; and how the school chil- 
 dren would ask questions about the statue, thinking he was 
 in the same class with Lincoln and Washington, and be 
 always telling how he was the first man that looked ahead 
 and saw what water in this valley could do." 
 
 " You were right, Johnny. The memory of him will 
 live and grow with this town when the rest of us are for- 
 gotten." 
 
 They had turned from the park and went speeding up 
 between the rows of new poplars along the Alameda, and 
 the prospector's eyes moved over the reclaimed vale, where 
 acres on acres of young fruit trees in cultivated squares 
 crowded out the insistent sage. " And this town for a 
 fact is bound to grow," he said. 
 
 Then at last, when Cerberus loomed near, and they en- 
 tered the gap, the little man's big heart rose and his bleak 
 face glowed, under Tisdale's expressions of wonder and 
 approbation at the advance the vineyards and orchards 
 had made, so soon after the consummation of the project. 
 Fillers of alfalfa stretched along the spillways from the 
 main canal like a green carpet; strawberry plants were 
 blossoming; grapes reached out pale tendrils and many 
 leaves. But, at the top of the pocket, where the load be- 
 gan to lift gently in a double curve across the front of the 
 bench, Hollis dismissed Banks and his red car and walked 
 the rest of the way. On the rim of the level, near the 
 solitary pine tree, he stopped to look down on the trans- 
 formed vale, and suddenly, once more he seemed to feel 
 David's presence. It was as though he stood beside him 
 
390 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 and saw all this awakening, this responding of the desert 
 to his project. Almost it compensated — for those four 
 days. 
 
 Almost! Tisdale drew his hand across his eyes and 
 turned to follow the drive between the rows of nodding 
 narcissus. The irony of it! That Weatherbee should 
 have lived to find the Aurora ; that, with many times the 
 needed capital in sight, he should have lost. The perfume 
 of the flowers filled the warm atmosphere; the music of 
 running water was everywhere. As he left the side of the 
 flume, the silver note of the fountain came to him from the 
 patio, then, like a mirage between him and the low Spanish 
 building, rose that miniature house he had found in the 
 Alaska wilderness, with the small snow figure before it, 
 holding a bundle in her arms. 
 
 The vision passed. But that image with the bundle 
 was the one unfinished problem in the project he had come 
 to solve. 
 
 He entered the court and saw on his right an open door 
 and, across the wide room, Beatriz Weatherbee. She was 
 seated at a quaint secretary on which were several bundles 
 of papers, and the familiar box that had contained David's 
 letters and watch. At the moment Tisdale discovered her, 
 she was absorbed in a photograph she held in her hands, 
 but at the sound of his step in the patio she turned and 
 rose to meet him. Her face was radiant, yet she looked 
 at him through arrested tears. 
 
 " I am sorry if I startled you," he said conventionally. 
 " Banks brought me from the station, but he left me to 
 walk up the bench." 
 
 " I should have seen the red car down the gap had I 
 been at the window," she replied, " but I was busy put- 
 ting away papers. Freight has been moving slowly over 
 the Great Northern, and my secretary arrived only to-day. 
 It bore the trip very well, considering its age. It belonged 
 
THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK 391 
 
 to my great-grandfather, Don Silva Gonzales. He 
 brought it from Spain, but Elizabeth says it might have 
 been made for this room. She is walking somewhere in the 
 direction of the spring." 
 
 While she spoke, she touched her cheeks and eyes swiftly 
 with her handkerchief and led the way to some chairs be- 
 tween the secretary and the great window that overlooked 
 the vale. Tisdale did not look at her directly ; he wished 
 to give her time to cover the emotion he had surprised. 
 
 " I should say the room was built for Don Silva's desk," 
 he amended. " And — do you know.? — this view reminds 
 me of a little picture of Granada, a water-color of my 
 mother's, that hung in my room when I was a boy. But 
 this pocket has changed some since we first saw it; your 
 dragon's teeth are drawn." 
 
 " Isn't it marvelous how the expression of the whole 
 mountain has altered ? " she responded. " There, at the 
 end of the pines, that looked like a bristling mane, the 
 green gables of Mrs. Banks' home have changed the con- 
 tour. And the Chelan peaks are showing now beyond it. 
 That day the farther ones were obscured. But we watched 
 the rain tramp up Hesperides Vale, you remember, and 
 swing off unexpectedly to the near summits. There was a 
 rainbow, and I said that perhaps somewhere in this valley 
 I should find my pot of gold." 
 
 " I remember. And I shouldn't be surprised if you do." 
 
 " Do you think I do not know I have already ? " she 
 asked. " Do you think I have no appreciation, no grati- 
 tude.? Why, even had I been too dull to see it, Elizabeth 
 would have told me that this house alone, to say nothing 
 of the project, must have cost a good deal of money; and 
 that, no matter how deeply Mr. Banks may have felt his 
 obligation to David, it was not in reason he should have 
 allowed everything to revert to me. But I told him I 
 should consider the investment as a loan, and now, since 
 
392 THE KIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 he has let me know the truth " — her voice fluctuated softly 
 — " I shall make it a debt of honor just the same. Some- 
 time — I shall repay you.'* 
 
 It was very clear to Tisdale that though she saw the 
 property had so greatly increased in value, and that the 
 reclamation movement in the outer vale made the tract 
 readily salable, she no longer considered placing it on the 
 market. " I thought Banks showed you a way easily to 
 cancel that loan," he began. But meeting her look, he 
 paused; his glance returned to the window while he felt in 
 his pocket for that deed Foster had refused to bring. It 
 was going to be more difficult than he had foreseen to offer 
 it to her. " Madam," and compelling his eyes to brave 
 hers, he slightly frowned, " your share in the Aurora mine 
 should pay you enough in dividends the next season or two 
 to refund all that has been expended on this project." 
 
 " My share in the Aurora mine? " she repeated. " But 
 I see, I see. You have been maligned into giving me the 
 interest David conveyed to you. Oh, Mr. Banks told me 
 about that. How you were attacked at the trial ; the use 
 that was made of that Indian story in the magazine ; that 
 monstrous editorial note." 
 
 Tisdale smiled. " That had nothing to do with it. 
 This deed was drawn last year as soon as I reached Wash- 
 ington. David knew the value of the Aurora. That is 
 the reason he risked another winter there, in the face of — 
 all — that threatened him. And when he felt the fight 
 was going against him, he turned his interest over to me, 
 not only as security on the small loan I advanced to him, 
 but because I was his partner, and he could trust me to 
 finish his development work and put the mine on a paying 
 basis. That is accomplished. There is no reason now 
 that I should not transfer his share back to you." 
 
 He rose to give her the deed, and she took it with re- 
 luctance and glanced it over. " I think it is arranged 
 
THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK 39S 
 
 about as David would have wished," he added. " He had 
 confidence in Foster." 
 
 She looked up. " Mr. Foster knows how I regard the 
 matter. I told him I would not accept an interest in the 
 Aurora mine. I said all the gold in Alaska could not com- 
 pensate you for — what you did. Besides, I do not be- 
 lieve as you do, Mr. Tisdale. I think David meant his 
 share should be finally yours." 
 
 Hollis was silent. He stood looking off again over Cer- 
 berus to the loftier Chelan peaks'. For a moment she sat 
 regarding his broad back ; her lip trembled a little, and a 
 tenderness, welling from depths of compassion, brimmed 
 her eyes. *' You see I cannot possibly accept it," she said, 
 and rose to return the deed to him. 
 
 She had forgotten the photograph, which dropped from 
 her lap, and Tisdale stooped to pick it up. It was lying 
 face upward on the floor, and he saw it was the picture of 
 a child; then involuntarily he stopped to scan it, and it 
 came over him this small face, so beautifully molded, so 
 full of intelligence and charm, was a reproduction of 
 Weatherbee in miniature ; yet retouched by a blend of the 
 mother; her eyes under David's level brows. He put the 
 picture in her hand and an unspoken question flashed 
 in the look that met hers. 
 
 Since he had not reheved her of the deed, she laid it down 
 on the secretary to take the photograph. 
 
 " This is a picture of little Silva," she said. *' It would 
 have made a difference about the share in the Aurora if he 
 had lived. He must have been provided for. David would 
 have seen to that." 
 
 " There was a child ! " His voice rang softly like a vi- 
 brant string. " You spoke of him that night you were lost 
 above Scenic Springs, but I thought it was a fancy of de- 
 lirium. It seemed incredible that David should not have 
 told me if he had a son." 
 
394 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 She did not answer directly, but nodded a little and 
 moved back to her chair. 
 
 " He was christened Silva Falconer, for my mother's 
 father and mine," she said. " They both were greatly 
 disappointed in not having a son. I am going to tell you 
 about him, only it will be a long story ; please he seated. 
 And it would be easier if you would not look at me." 
 
 She waited while he settled again in his chair and turned 
 his eyes to the blue mountain tops. She was still able to 
 see his face. " Silva was over six months old when this 
 photograph was taken," she began. " It was lost, with 
 the letter to David that enclosed it, on some terrible 
 Alaska trail. Afterwards, when the mailbag was recov- 
 ered and the letter was returned to me through the dead- 
 letter office, two years had passed, and our little boy was 
 — gone. You must understand I expected David back 
 that first winter, and when word came that his expedition 
 to the interior had failed, and he had arranged to stay in 
 the north in order to make an early start in the following 
 spring, I did not want to spoil his plans. So I answered 
 as gayly as I could and told him it would give me an op- 
 portunity to make a long visit home to California. I went 
 far south to Jacinta and Carlos. They were caretakers 
 at the old hacienda. My mother had managed that, with 
 the people who bought the rancheria and built the hotel 
 and sanitarium. Jacinta had been her nurse and mine. 
 She was very experienced. But Silva was born lame. He 
 could not use his lower limbs. A great specialist, who came 
 to the hotel, said he might possibly recover under treat- 
 ment, but if he should not in a year or two, certain cords 
 must be cut to allow him to sit in a wheel chair, and in that 
 case I must give up hope he would ever walk. But — the 
 treatment was very painful — Jacinta could not bear to — 
 torture him ; I could not afford a trained nurse ; so — I 
 did everything. He was the dearest baby ; so lovable. He 
 
THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK 395 
 
 never was cross, but he used to nestle his cheek in my neck 
 and explain how it hurt and coax me not to. Not in 
 words, but I understood — every sound. And he under- 
 stood me, I know. ' You are going to blame me, by and 
 by, if I stop,' I would say, over and over ; ' you are going 
 to blame me for bringing you into the world.' " 
 
 Her voice broke; her breast labored with short, quick 
 breaths, as though she were climbing some sharp ascent. 
 Tisdale did not look at her ; his face stirred and settled in 
 grim lines. 
 
 " I could not write all this about our baby," she went 
 on, " and I told myself if the treatment failed it would be 
 soon enough for David to know of Silva when he came 
 home. There was nothing he could do, and to share my 
 anxiety might hamper him in his work. He wrote glow- 
 ingly of the new placer he had discovered, and that was a 
 relief to me, for I was obliged to ask him to send me a good 
 deal of money, — the specialist's account had been so 
 large. I believed he would start south when the Alaska 
 season closed, for he had written I might expect him then, 
 with his pockets full of gold dust, and I made my letters 
 entertaining — or tried to — so he need not feel any need 
 to hurry. At last, one morning in the bath, when Silva 
 was five months old, he moved his right limb voluntarily. 
 I shall never forget. It renewed my courage and my 
 faith. At the end of another month he moved the left one, 
 and after that, gradually, full use came to them both. It 
 was then, when the paralysis was mastered, I sent the let- 
 ter that was lost. At the same time David wrote that he 
 must spend a second winter in Alaska. But before that 
 news reached me, my reaction set in. I was so ill I was 
 carried, unconscious, to the sanitarium. And, while I was 
 there, Silva, who had grown so sturdy and was creeping 
 everywhere, followed his kitten into the garden, and a 
 little later old Jacinta found him in the arroyo. There 
 
396 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 was only a little water running but — he had fallen — 
 face down." 
 
 Tisdale rose. Meeting her look, the emotion that was 
 the surface stir of shaken depths swept his face. Then, as 
 though to blot out the recollection, she pressed her fingers 
 to her eyes. 
 
 " And David was thousands of miles away," he said. 
 *' You braved that alone, like the soldier you are." 
 
 " When I read David's letter," she went on, " he was 
 winter-bound in the interior. A reply could not have 
 reached him until spring. And meantime Elizabeth Mor- 
 ganstein came with her mother to the hotel. We had been 
 friends at boarding-school, and she persuaded me to go 
 north to Seattle with them. Later, after the AquUa was 
 launched in the spring, I was invited to join the family on 
 a cruise up the inside passage and across the top of the 
 Pacific to Prince William Sound. It seemed so much easier 
 to tell David everything than to write, so — I only let him 
 know I intended to sail to Valdez with friends and would 
 go on by mail steamer to Seward to visit him. That had 
 been his last post-office address, and I believed he expected 
 to be in that neighborhood when the season opened. But 
 our stay was lengthened at Juneau, where we were enter- 
 tained by acquaintances of Mrs. Feversham's, and we spent 
 a long time around Taku glacier and the Muir. I missed 
 my steamer connections, and there was not another boat 
 due within a week. But the weather was delightful, and 
 Mr. Morganstein suggested taking me on in the yacht. 
 Then Mrs. Feversham proposed a side trip along Columbia 
 glacier and into College fiord. It was all very wonderful 
 to me, and inspiring; the salt air had been a restorative 
 from the start. And I saw no reason to hurry the party. 
 David would understand. So, the second mail steamer 
 passed us, and finally, when we reached Seward, David had 
 gone back to the interior. The rest - — you know," 
 
THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK 397 
 
 " You mean," said Tisdale slowly, " you heard about 
 Mrs. Barbour." 
 
 She bowed affirmatively. The color swept in a wave to 
 her face ; her lashes fell. 
 
 " Mrs. Feversham heard about it, how David had 
 brought her down from the interior. I saw the cabin he 
 had furnished for her, and she herself, sewing at the win- 
 dow. Her face was beautiful." 
 
 There was a silence, then Hollis said : " So you came 
 back on the AquUa to Seattle. But you wrote; you ex- 
 plained about the child? " 
 
 She shook her head. " I waited to hear from David 
 first. I did not know, then, that the letter with Silva's 
 picture was lost." 
 
 Tisdale squared his shoulders, looking off again to the 
 snow-peaks above Cerberus. 
 
 " Consider ! " She rose with an outward movement of 
 her hands, like one groping in the dark for a closed door. 
 " It was a terrible mistake, but I did not know David 
 as you knew him. My father, who was dying, arranged 
 our marriage. I was very young and practically without 
 money in a big city ; .there was not another relative in the 
 world who cared what became of me. And, in any case, 
 even had I known the meaning of love and marriage, in 
 that hour, — when I was losing him, — I must have agreed 
 to anything he asked. We had been everything to each 
 other; everything. But I've b^een a proud woman; sensi- 
 tive to slight. It was in the blood — both sides. And I 
 had been taught early to cover my feelings. My father 
 had adored my m.other; he used to remind me she was 
 patrician to the finger-tips, and that I should not wear 
 my heart on my sleeve if I wished to be like her. And, 
 when I visited my grandfather, Don Silva, in the south, 
 he would say : ' Beatriz, remember the blood of generations 
 of soldiers is bottled in you; carry yourself like the last 
 
398 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 Gonzales, with some fortitude.' So — at Seward — I re- 
 membered." 
 
 Her voice, while she said this,, almost failed, but every 
 word reached Tisdale. He felt,, without seeing, the some- 
 thing that was appeal yet not appeal, that keyed her 
 whole body and shone like a changing light and shade 
 in her face. " I told myself I would not be sacrificed, ef- 
 faced," she went on. " It was my individuality against 
 Fate. Since little Silva was dead, my life was my own to 
 shape as I might. I did not hear from David for a long 
 time ; he wrote less and less frequently, more briefly every 
 year. He never spoke of the baby, and I believed he 
 must have heard through some friend in California of 
 Silva's death. Nothing was left to tell. He never spoke 
 of his home-coming, and I did not ; I dreaded it too much. 
 Whenever the last steamers of the season were due, I nerved 
 myself to look the passenger lists over ; and when his name 
 was missing, it was a reprieve. Neither my father nor 
 my grandfather had believed in divorce; in their eyes 
 it was disgrace. It seemed right, for Silva's sake, out of 
 the rich placers David continued to find, he should contrib- 
 ute to my support. So — I lived my life — the best I was 
 able. I had many interests, and always one morning of 
 each week I spent among the children at the hospital where 
 I had endowed the Silva Weatherbee bed." 
 
 She paused so long that Tisdale turned. She seemed 
 very tired. The patient lines, fine as a thread, deepened 
 perceptibly at the corners of her mouth. He hurried to 
 save her further explanation. " Foster told me," he said. 
 " It was a beautiful memorial. Sometime I should like 
 to go there with you. I know you met the first ex- 
 pense of that endowment with a loan from Miss Morgan- 
 stein, which of course you expected to cancel soon, 
 when you had found David at Seward. I understand 
 how, when the note came into her brother's hands, your 
 
THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK 399 
 
 only chance to meet it at once was through a sale of this 
 land. And I have thought since I knew this, that even- 
 ing aboard the AquUa, when you risked Don Silva's 
 ruby, it was to make the yearly payment at the hos- 
 pital." 
 
 " Yes, it was. But the option money from Mr. Banks 
 made it possible to meet all my debts. I did not know 
 they were only assumed — by you. Though, looking 
 back, I wonder I failed to see the truth." 
 
 With this she turned and took up the photograph which 
 she had laid on the secretary, and while her glance rested 
 on the picture, Tisdale's regarded her face. " So," he 
 said then, " when the lost letter came back to you, you 
 kept it; Weatherbee never knew." 
 
 She looked up. " Yes, I kept it. By that time I be- 
 lieved little Silva's coming and going could make little 
 difference to him." 
 
 "And you went on believing all you had heard at 
 Seward ? " 
 
 She bowed again affirmatively. " Until you told me 
 the true story about Mrs. Barbour that night on the 
 mountain road. I know now that once he must have 
 loved me, as you believed. This house, which is built so 
 nearly like the old hacienda where I was born, must have 
 been planned for me. But, afterwards, when he thought 
 I had failed him, when he contrasted me with Mrs. Bar- 
 bour, her devotion to her husband, it was different." 
 
 She laid the photograph down again to draw the tin 
 box forward. The letters were on the desk with David's 
 watch, but there still remained a calf-bound notebook, 
 such as surveyors use in field work. It fitted snugly 
 enough for a false bottom, and she was obliged to reverse 
 the box to remove it, prying slightly with a paper-knife. 
 Tisdale's name was lettered across the cover, and the first 
 pages were written in his clear, fine draughtsman's hand; 
 
400 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 then the characters changed to Weatherbee's. She turned 
 to the last ones. 
 
 " This is a book you left among some old magazines at 
 David's camp," she explained. " He carried it with him 
 until he discovered the Aurora. He began to use it as 
 a sort of diary. Sometime you will want to read it all, 
 but please read these last notes and this letter now." 
 
 She waited a moment, then as he took up the letter 
 and began to unfold it, she turned and went out into the 
 patio. 
 
 The letter was from Lilias Barbour. It was friendly, 
 earnest, full of her child and a gentle solicitude for Weath- 
 erbee. Hollis read it through twice, slowly. The last 
 paragraph he went over a third time. " You are stay- 
 ing too long in that bleak country," — so it ran. " Come 
 back to the States, at least for a winter. If you do not, 
 in the spring. Bee and I are going to Alaska to learn the 
 reason. We owe it to you." 
 
 The date was the end of August, of the same year David 
 had written that final letter which reached him the fol- 
 lowing spring at Nome. But the date on the open pa^e 
 of the notebook was the fifteenth of January of that winter, 
 his last at the Aurora mine. 
 
 " Last night I dreamed of Beatriz," It began. *' I 
 thought I went down to Seward to meet her, and when 
 the steamer came, I saw her standing on the forward deck, 
 waving her hand gaily and smiling just as she did that 
 day I left her at Seattle so long ago. Then, as the ship 
 came alongside the dock, and she walked down the gang- 
 way, and I took her hand to kiss her, her face suddenly 
 changed. She was not Beatriz ; she was Lilias. My God, 
 if it had been Lilias ! Why, she would be here now, she 
 and little Bee, filling this frozen cabin with summer." 
 
 The final date was two months later. 
 
THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK 401 
 
 " Still snowing," it ran. " Snowing. God, how I want 
 to break away from this hole. Get out somewhere, where 
 men are alive and doing things. Nothing is moving here 
 but the snow and those two black buttes out there. They 
 keep crowding closer through the smother, watching every- 
 thing I do. I've warned them to keep back. They must, 
 or I'll blow them off the face of the earth. Oh, I'll do 
 it, if it takes all that's left of the dynamite. I won't 
 have them threatening Lilias when she comes. She is com- 
 ing; she said she would, unless I went out to the States. 
 And I can't go; I haven't heard from Tisdale. I never 
 have told her about those buttes. It's unusual ; she might 
 not believe it; she would worry and think, perhaps, I am 
 growing like Barbour. God! Suppose I am. Suppose 
 she should come up here in this wilderness to find me a 
 wreck like him. She must not come. I've got to prevent 
 it. But I've offered my half interest in the Aurora to 
 Tisdale. He will take it. He never failed me yet." 
 
 Tisdale closed the book and laid it down. Furrows 
 seamed his face, changing, re-forming, to the inner up- 
 heaval. After awhile, he lifted Weatherbee's watch from 
 the desk and mechanically pressed the spring. The lower 
 case opened, but the picture he remembered was not there. 
 In its place was the face of the other child, his namesake, 
 " Bee." 
 
 Out in the patio the pool rippled ceaselessly; the foun- 
 tain threw its silver ribbon of spray, and Beatriz waited, 
 listening, with her eyes turned to the room she had left. 
 At last she heard his step. It was the tread of a man 
 whose decision was made. She sank down on the curb of 
 the basin near one of the palms. Behind her an open 
 door, creaking in the light wind, swung wide, and beyond 
 it the upper flume stretched back to the natural reservoir 
 where she had been imprisoned by the fallen pine tree. 
 
402 THE RIM OF THE DESERT 
 
 His glance, as he crossed the court, moved from her 
 through this door and back to her face. 
 
 " You were right," he said. " But it would have been 
 different if David had known about his child. His great 
 heart was starved." 
 
 She was silent. Her glance fell to the fountain. A ray 
 of sunshine slanting across it formed a rainbow. 
 
 " But my mistake was greater than yours," he went on, 
 and his voice struck its minor chord ; " I have no excuse for 
 throwing away those four days, I never can repair that, 
 but I pledge myself to make you forget my injustice to 
 you." 
 
 At this she rose. "You were not unjust — knowing 
 David as you did. You taught me how fine, how great 
 he was. Silva — would have been proud of his name." 
 
 There was another silence. Tisdale looked off again 
 through the open door to the distant basin, and her glance 
 returned to the fountain. " See ! " she exclaimed. " A 
 double rainbow ! " 
 
 " Fate is with us again," he replied. " She's promis- 
 ing a better fight. But there is one debt more, soldier," 
 and, catching her swift look, he saw the sparkles break 
 softly in her eyes. " My ship sails for Alaska the tenth ; 
 I shall stay indefinitely, and I want you to pay me — 
 in full — before I go." 
 
 THE END 
 
By the Author of " The Rim of the Desert 
 
 THE STRAIN OF WHITE 
 
 % ADA WOODRUFF ANDERSON 
 Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth. $1.30 net 
 
 A well-told interesting story. — New York Sun. 
 
 The story of a splendid girl, Francesca, half-Indian, in whom 
 the nobler traits of both white and Indian had been devel- 
 oped. — Boston Herald. 
 
 Refreshingly out of the common is this strong, vivid story of 
 the Puget Sound country, which has the value of bringing into 
 fiction certain historic conditions in that country. — Brooklyn 
 Daily Times. 
 
 . . . She shows us an astonishingly vivid picture. . . . "The 
 Strain of White " is a charming success, forceful, pathetic, and 
 constructed with literary and technical skill. Perhaps no one 
 but a woman could have told it so well or so completely have 
 captured our sympathies for a somewhat difl&cult heroine, 
 Francesca, a girl born of an Indian mother and a white father. 
 ... It is a beautiful story, redolent with pathos and with the 
 stem heroism of the day. — San Francisco Argonaut. 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN & CO., Publishers 
 34 Beacon Stbeet, Boston 
 
This is the best book of the kind that we have ever read. — 
 Bookseller, Newsdealer, and Stationer, New York 
 
 THE HEART 
 OF THE RED FIRS 
 
 By ADA WOODRUFF ANDERSON 
 Illustrated by Ch. Grunwald. 12mo. |1.30 net. 
 
 A stirring pioneer story. ... A wholesome, refresh- 
 ingly original novel of the Puget Sound country. — Port- 
 land Oregonian. 
 
 Packed with incident and atmosphere of the forests and 
 mines of the most northwesterly of the United States. — 
 Chicago News. 
 
 A most readable story. It has the freshness of the 
 woods on every page, and has nothing of the stereotyped 
 Western story. — Denver Republican. 
 
 Her art is good in all lines : in the portrayal of people 
 and their mental attitudes ; in making the local scenery 
 appear before our eyes in its wonderful beauty and 
 grandeur ; in translating the spirit and call of the forests ; 
 in interpreting the gambling temptations of the opium 
 smugglers and their desperate risks by land and sea. Her 
 heroine is an admirable creation, strong and beautiful of 
 body and mind, resourceful, charming. — Hartford Courant. 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers 
 34 Beacon Street, Boston 
 
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