Desert Conquest; or, Precious Waters

by A. M. Chisholm

  CHAPTER III

  Considerably more than a year after her experience with the trainrobbers, Clyde Burnaby received a dinner invitation from the Wades.Kitty Wade was an old friend; her husband, Harrison Wade, was a lawyerjust coming into prominence. They had an unpretentious home on theNorth Side, and such entertaining as they did was on a modest scale.Nevertheless, one met there people worth while, coming people, most ofthem, seldom those who had "arrived" in the French signification of theword--young professional and business men, authors, playwrights, andpoliticians in embryo--comparatively unknown as yet, but who, in a fewmonths or a few years, might be famous.

  "Oh, Clyde," said Kitty Wade, as Clyde, having removed her wraps, wasarranging her hair before the mirror, "I had planned to have Van Cromertake you in to dinner, but at the last moment he couldn't come, andStella Blake couldn't come either. I had a Mr. Casey Dunne for her. Andso, if you don't mind----"

  "Of course not," said Clyde. "But post me a little, Kitty. What has Mr.Casey Dunne done, or what is he going to do? What does one talk aboutto him?"

  "Crops," replied Mrs. Wade.

  Clyde sighed resignedly. "My dear, I don't mind for once, but I nevercould understand the market. May wheat, September options, war andrumours of wars, and the effect on prices of the weather sent by divineProvidence, probabilities of a large or short crop--these be sealedmysteries to me."

  "But Mr. Dunne isn't a broker," said Mrs. Wade. "He's a farmer."

  "A--a _farmer_!" Clyde repeated, in much the same tone she would haveused if her hostess had informed her that she was to be paired with aZulu.

  Mrs. Wade laughed. "Not the 'Old Homestead' kind, dear. It's the faultof my Eastern bringing up. I should have said a 'rancher.' He comesfrom somewhere near the Rockies, and I believe he grows wheat and hayand cattle and--oh, whatever else ranchers grow."

  "Oh!" said Clyde doubtfully. "And is he excessively Western? Does heexude the 'God's-own-country' and 'land-of-opportunity' line ofconversation? Will he try to sell me land? And how old is he?"

  "I have never seen him," Mrs. Wade replied. "He did Harrison a goodturn once--gave him some information about lands or something. Harryassures me that he doesn't wear big revolvers or spurs, or eat with hisknife--in fact, he is quite presentable. But if you like I'll give yousome one else."

  "Oh, no," said Clyde. "Mr. Dunne will do very well. I think I shallprefer him to a broker."

  "So good of you, dear," smiled Kitty Wade. "Shall we go down? I thinkthe others will be arriving."

  Clyde endeavoured to construct an advance portrait of Casey Dunne, butwithout much success. Unconsciously she was influenced by thecharacters of alleged Western drama, as flamboyant and nearly asaccurate as the Southerners of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." She was genuinelysurprised when she found him to be a rather good-looking young man inirreproachable evening clothes.

  At that moment dinner was announced. He offered his arm withouthesitation. Clyde intercepted a glance from her hostess, brimming withlaughter. She laughed back with relief. She had rather dreaded theexperience of a dinner companion who would be guilty of all manner ofsolecisms. Clearly her fears had been groundless. Save in the matter oftan, which was rather becoming, Wade's Western friend differed in nooutward detail from the other men in the room.

  When they were seated came the embarrassing moment--when it becamenecessary to find a conversational topic of common acquaintance. Butthis passed easily. From the table decorations Clyde turned deftly toflowers in general, to trees, to outdoor things. Casey Dunne laughedgently.

  "You are trying to talk of things I am expected to know about, aren'tyou, Miss Burnaby?"

  She evaded the charge, laughing also. "What _shall_ we talk about, Mr.Dunne? You shall choose for both of us."

  "No, I won't do that. Talk of whatever interests you. I'll follow yourlead if I can."

  She took him at his word, finding that his acquaintance with currentliterature and topics of the day was rather more intimate than her own.He seemed to have ideas and opinions formed by his own thought, notmere repetitions of reviews or newspaper comment.

  As she glanced at his profile from time to time she became aware of anodd familiarity. He resembled some one she had seen before, but theidentity eluded her. Their conversation gradually took a more personalform. Dunne told a story, and told it well. He spoke casually of theWest, but instituted no comparisons.

  "You are really an exception," Clyde told him. "The average Westerneris such a superior mortal. He looks down on the East, and when he comesamong Easterners he condescends."

  "It's a relief to have some one admit that Chicago is in the East," helaughed. "No, I don't brag about the West. It's a good country, and itwill be better when we have approximated more to Eastern conditions. Weare undeveloped as yet. In twenty years----"

  "Ah, there it is!" she interrupted. "Scratch a Russian, and find aTartar. And I took you for an exception!"

  He laughed. "I plead guilty. The microbe is in the air. We all have it.Can you blame us? Do you know the West?"

  "Only what I have seen from the train. I have told you of every onehere. In return tell me about yourself. Mrs. Wade says that you are arancher."

  "Yes, I have a good little ranch in the dry belt, within sight of themountains."

  "The dry belt?" she queried.

  "Yes. We call that part of the country which has little or no rain the'dry belt.' Formerly, for that reason, it was supposed to be useless.But since irrigation has been discovered--you see, it's really a recentdiscovery with us in America, whatever it is with other peoples--wedry-belt ranchers are in a better position than any others. For we areable to give the land moisture whenever it needs it. Whereas othershave to depend on the uncertainties of rainfall. About once in fiveyears their crops are ruined by drought. But we are able to water ourfields as the city man waters his lawn."

  "So that you are certain of a good crop every year."

  "No, not certain. We have merely eliminated one cause of failure. Weare still at the tender mercies of hot winds, hail, and frosts late andearly."

  These things were but names to her. They called up no concrete visionsof the baking, siroccolike winds that curdled the grain in the milk,the hail that threshed it and beat it flat, of the late frosts thatnipped the tender green shoots in spring, and the early ones in fallthat soured the kernels before the complete ripening. But she saw thatto him they typified enemies, real, deadly, ever threatening,impossible, so far, to guard against.

  Dimly she began to perceive that while certain forces of nature madealways for growth, still others, equally powerful, made fordestruction. Between the warring forces stood the Man of the Soil,puny, insignificant, matching his own hardly won and his forefather'sharder-won knowledge against the elements; bending some to hisadvantage, minimizing the effects of others, openly defying those hecould neither control nor avoid. And she partly realized his triumph inhaving vanquished one of these inimical forces, one of his most dreadedenemies, Drought.

  "You like the life?"

  "Yes, I like it. It's idyllic, compared with some phases of existencethat I have experienced."

  "You have had varied experiences?"

  "'Varied!' Yes, I suppose you may call them that."

  "Won't you tell me about them?"

  "There isn't much to tell, and that little not very entertaining. Yousee, Miss Burnaby, if my youthful mouth was ever acquainted with asilver spoon it was snatched away at a tender age."

  "I beg your pardon," said Clyde quickly. "I'm afraid my request wasimpertinent."

  "Not at all. I went West when I was a kid, and I've seen quite a bit ofcountry. Then, when I had money enough, I put it into land, and went toranching. That's all there is to it."

  She was quite certain, somehow, that there was a great deal more to it.She fell to studying his hands. The fingers were long and slender, butflat, sinewy, and powerful. They seemed to express tenacity of purpose,a grip of whatever they undertook. Once more she looked at his profile,and again s
he was struck by an elusive familiarity.

  "You remind me of somebody--of something," she said. "I can't placeit."

  "Indeed!" he responded. "Now, I hope the unplaced recollection is notunpleasant."

  "It's not definite enough. But it is there. It's not so much when youface me--it's the side view. I've never met you before, of course."

  "Of course not," he agreed, but his eyes laughed at her.

  "Have I?" she exclaimed. "Surely not! I'm not forgetful, as a rule."

  "I was wondering," he said, "if you would remember me. I knew you atonce, but I can't claim the honour of having been presented beforeto-night. Our acquaintance, if I may call it that, was very informal."

  "But when--where?" she demanded. "I don't recall----"

  "Well, it's not surprising," he admitted. "I was dressed differently.Naturally you wouldn't expect to see me in these." He glanced down athis evening clothes. "The fact is, I sat across the aisle from you inthe car when----"

  "Oh!" she cried. "Now I know. When the train was held up. Why, ofcourse it _was_ you. I'm so glad to meet you again. I've always wantedto thank you for relieving me of the attentions of that--that----"

  "That fresh guy," he supplied gravely.

  "Thank you! That 'fresh guy,'" she smiled. "But for you I should havelost my watch. And then you lent me ten dollars."

  "Well, you see, they got all your cash."

  "I don't know whatever made me take it. I have it still. I didn't needit. I had a book of travellers' checks and credits at the coast. Iintended to give it back to you at once. I hope it didn'tinconvenience----"

  She stopped, conscious that her estimate of the finances of the man inthe train had probably been mistaken.

  "Not a bit," he replied. "I had a small roll stowed away."

  "But what became of you?" she asked. "You didn't come back. I asked theconductor and the porters--everybody. What happened?"

  "Why, the explanation is very simple, though I'm not proud of it. WhenI heard the shooting up in front I thought it was up to me to help thetrain boys, and I went out with the best intentions. The holdups werebacking off, burning a lot of powder but doing no harm, and I guessedthat their horses were in a bluff about five hundred yards from thetrack. Of course, once they got in the saddle they would make aget-away, so far as we were concerned, and I thought if I could beatthem to the horses and turn the animals loose we would practically havethem rounded up. That's what I tried to do. But as I was running Itripped, and went headfirst into a stump or a stone. Anyway, it knockedme out, and when I emerged from dreamland the train was moving, and Icouldn't catch it. So I just tramped the ties to the next station. Andthere I had a job explaining that I wasn't a holdup myself. It didn'tstrike those boneheads that no sane holdup would come walking along thetrack a few hours after a robbery."

  Clyde was disappointed at the baldness of his narration. Almost any manwould have made some effort at description. Dunne had made nonewhatever. He had confined himself to the barest of bare facts.

  "You make a poor raconteur, Mr. Dunne."

  "Really, that's all there was to it," he replied. "'We fit and theyfit; and they ran and we ran'--or at least I did till I tripped."

  Mrs. Wade rose.

  "After you have had your cigar we will continue our conversation, ifyou care to," said Clyde.

  "Just what I was going to ask. I hope Wade's cigars are small."

  When the ladies had gone, Harrison Wade drew his chair beside Dunne's.

  "I've been thinking over that matter of yours, Casey, and the more Ithink it over the less I like it. That charter, backed by Airline moneyand influence, will be a hard thing to get over. I hate to discourageyou, but the best advice I can give to you and your neighbours is toput a fair price on your holdings, and offer them to the railway _enbloc_."

  "But we don't want to sell, Wade. Couldn't you get an injunction orsomething, and tie up their operations?"

  "No, I'm afraid not. You can't bring an action until you have somethingto found it on--that is to say, some wrong to complain of--some actualinterference with your rights to water. And you can't get an injunctionunless you can show that your rights are beyond question. It's atoss-up whether that charter takes precedence or not. I'm speakingfrankly to you. With an ordinary client I'd throw a professional frontof profound knowledge, but as it is I own up that it's a complicatedquestion, depending almost entirely on the court. And courts are justas uncertain as other human institutions."

  Casey Dunne frowned through the spreading fog of cigar smoke. "I'mquite aware of it, Wade. But here it is: We don't want to sell. Even ifthey gave us a fair present price, we would be losers, for land outthere is going to double in value in the next couple of years. And whatthey intend to do is simply to freeze us out and force us to sell atdry-land prices. Therefore, we've _got_ to fight. Go ahead and try foran injunction. If that is refused, bring an action as soon as you can.And meanwhile we'll hang on to our water somehow."

  "Don't do anything to prejudice your case in the courts," Wade warned.

  "According to you York will do that, anyway," said Dunne. "No, Wade,that's flat, final, whatever. We won't let go till we have to. We won'tbe skinned out of the profit we are entitled to by foresight and hardwork. Speaking for myself, I've put my whole stack on this bet, andwith a straight deal it's a sure winner. And if the deal's going to becrooked I'll break up the game any way that comes handy."

  "Go to it, my friend," said the lawyer. "It's your affair. I've toldyou what I think, and I'll not add to it. I hope you have water when Icome out this summer to make you that long-promised visitation." Hechanged the subject abruptly. "You and Clyde Burnaby seemed to begetting on swimmingly."

  "Clyde--is that her name?" said Dunne. "Seems like a nice girl."

  "She's all of that. You know who she is, of course?"

  "Not a bit. Just her name."

  "Niece of old Jim Hess, with a fortune of her own."

  "Pretty_ lucky_," Dunne commented.

  "Pretty _and_ lucky," said his host. "Old York hates Hess like poison,a sentiment which Hess returns, according to rumour. I don't supposeyou've told Clyde Burnaby your troubles?"

  Dunne stared at him. "Of course not! What do you take me for?"

  "That's all right, my son; don't swell up so. Why don't you tell her?"

  "Why the deuce should I? Do you think I go yawping my business affairsto every female I meet?"

  "Well, Clyde Burnaby's good stuff," said Wade. "She has a level head.If it comes up that way, Casey, tell her all about it. She'llsympathize with you."

  "I'm not looking for sympathy."

  "And she might give you some good advice."

  "Rats!" Casey Dunne commented, inelegantly but forcibly, and Wade saidno more.

  Dunne was glad when the cigars were ended. He found Clyde Burnaby atthe piano, barely touching the keys. A faint melody seemed to flow fromher finger's tips.

  "Do you sing, Mr. Dunne?"

  "Only very confidentially. When I was riding for a cow outfit I used tosing at night, when the cattle were bedded down. Sort of tradition ofthe business that it kept 'em quiet. They didn't seem to mind my voice.And that's really the most encouragement I ever got."

  Mrs. Wade asked Clyde to play. She complied at once, withouthesitation. They applauded her. Afterward one of the men sang, to heraccompaniment. Then she and Dunne drifted together once more.

  "I liked your playing," he said, "but not what you played. It had notune."

  "It was Beethoven!"

  "All the same, it had no tune. I like the old songs--the ones I canfollow in my mind with the words I know."

  "Why, so do I," she admitted; "but, my Philistine friend, I wasexpected to play the other kind."

  "I understand that. But I like to hear what is low grade enough for meto appreciate. I don't get much music at home."

  "Tell me about your ranch. I'd like to know what you do and how youlive. To begin with, beggin' yer honour's pardon in advance, is there aMrs. Dunne?"r />
  "No such luck," he replied. He sketched the ranch routine briefly. Shewas interested, asking many questions. The evening wore away. Theguests began to depart. But Clyde had arranged to stay the night withthe Wades.

  "By the way," she said, "I still have your ten-dollar bill. I will sendit to you."

  "Don't do that. Keep it."

  "I couldn't."

  "Of course you can. You may pay me interest if you like."

  "At what per cent?"

  "Current rates in my country--eight."

  "Very well," she laughed. "It's a bargain. But where is your security?"

  He considered gravely. "Certainly I should have something. I will besatisfied with that rose you are wearing."

  Clyde coloured slightly, glancing at him swiftly.

  "Kitty," she called to Mrs. Wade, "I want you as a witness. Mr. Dunnehas made me a loan. His security is this rose--and nothing more. Pleasewitness that I give it to him."

  And later that night Kitty Wade said to her lord:

  "For a rancher, Harry, your Casey Dunne has class. I never knew ClydeBurnaby to give a flower to any man before."

  "And you see a case of love at first sight," said Wade, scornfully andsleepily. "Pshaw, Kitty, you're barking at a knot. Casey's a fine chap,but Lord! she's got too much money for him. Suppose she did give him arose! Didn't she call you over to chaperon the transaction? That putsthe sentimental theory out of business."

  "And that's all a lawyer knows!" said his wife. "Why, you old silly,don't you see that she couldn't have given it to him any otherway--with all those people in the room? Clyde Burnaby can think aboutas fast as anybody I know."