CHAPTER XVIII
Clyde lay stretched at length in sweet, odorous hay. There was noreason why she should not have taken the hammock in the shade of theveranda that morning, save that she wanted to be alone. Therefore shehad taken a book and wandered forth. Behind the corrals she had comeupon a haystack, cut halfway down and halfway across, and on impulseshe had climbed up a short ladder and lain down. Her hands claspedbehind her head, her book forgotten, she stared up into the blue sky,and dreamed daydreams. And then she went to sleep.
She was aroused by the sound of hammering. Peeping over the edge of thestack, she recognized Tom McHale. McHale was putting a strand of wirearound the stack, and as she looked he began to sing a ballad of theold frontier. Clyde had never heard "Sam Bass," and she listened toMcHale's damaged tenor.
"Sam was born in Indianner, it was his native home, And at the age of seventeen young Sam began to roam; And first he went to Texas, a cowboy for to be-- He robs the stage at----"
He stopped abruptly, and Clyde saw two mounted men approaching. Theybore down on McHale, who lifted his coat from a rail, and put it on. ToClyde's amazement the action revealed a worn leather holster strappedto the inner side of the garment, and from it protruded the ivory buttof a six-shooter. McHale was apparently unarmed; in reality a weaponlay within instant reach of his hand.
The two horsemen were roughly dressed. Each wore a gun openly at hisbelt. One was large, sandy-haired, gray-eyed. The other was dark,quick, restless, shooting odd, darting glances from a pair of sinisterblack eyes.
"Is your name Dunne?" asked the first roughly.
"Dunne?" queried McHale, as if the name were strange to him. "Did yousay Dunne, or Doane?"
"I said Dunne."
"Oh," McHale responded. "Lemme think. No, I guess not. I never usedthat name that I remember of. No, partner, my name ain't Dunne."
"We want Dunne. Where'll we find him?"
"Why, now," said McHale, "that's a right hard question. You might findhim one place, and then again you mightn't. I reckon I wouldn't bemisleading you none if I was to tell you you'd find him wherever he'sat."
"You workin' for him?" the dark man put in quickly.
"I was, a minute ago. Now I got a job with an inquiry office. Anythingelse I can tell you?"
"No," said the dark man. "But you can tell Dunne that up to a minuteago he had a ---- ---- fool workin' for him!"
Dead silence while a watch could tick off ten seconds. Clyde scarcelybreathed. At different times in her life she had heard noisy quarrelsin city streets, quarrels big with oath and threat. This was different.She experienced a sensation as though, even in the bright sunshinebeneath the blue, unflecked summer sky where all was instinct withgrowth and health and life, she were watching a deathbed.
The two strangers sat motionless, their eyes on McHale, their righthands resting quietly by their waists. McHale stood equally still,facing them, his eyes narrowed down to slits, his left hand holding thelapel of his coat, his right hand, a half-smoked cigarette between thefirst and second fingers, on a level with his chin. He expelled a thinstream of smoke from his lungs, and spoke:
"I reckon you can tell him yourself. Here he come now."
The eyes of the first man never shifted. The other instantly lookedover his shoulder. McHale laughed.
"You're an old-timer," he said to the gray-eyed man; "but him"--hejerked a contemptuous thumb at the second--"it's a wonder to me he evergrowed up. Don't you do it no more, friend. Don't you never take youreyes off a man you've called a ---- ---- fool, or maybe the next thingthey beholds is the Promised Land!"
But his words had not been intended as a ruse. Casey was riding over onhis little gray mare to see who the strangers were, and what theywanted.
"This man tells me you're Dunne," said the gray-eyed man.
"That's correct," Casey admitted.
"My name is Dade; his name is Cross." He indicated his companion by asidewise nod. "We've bought land from this here irrigation outfit. Sohave half a dozen other men, friends of ours. Now we can't get water."
"Well?"
"Well, the company puts it up that some of you fellows is to blame.You've cut the ditches so they won't carry. We've come to tell you thatthis has got to stop."
"That's kind of you, anyway," Casey observed quietly. He and Dade eyedeach other appraisingly.
"What I want to make plumb clear," said the latter, "is that this don'tgo no more. It's no good. You'll leave the ditches alone, or else----"
"Or else?" Casey suggested.
"Or else we'll make you," said Dade grimly. "We want water, and we'llhave it."
"I wonder," said Casey, "if you are trying to hang a nice little bluffon me, Mr. Dade? Suppose, for instance, you have no land, and don'tneed any water."
"I can show you my deed."
"That's quite possible. All right, Mr. Dade. Is there anything more youwant to say?"
"I reckon that's all," said Dade. "If you'll say that the ditches willbe let alone there'll be no trouble; if not, there will be."
"What kind of trouble, Mr. Dade?"
"You'll see when it comes."
"Very well," said Casey. "Now, listen to me, Mr. Dade. You and yourfriend there and your whole outfit can go plumb. Get that? Every ranchhere has water, and we're going to keep it. How we keep it is our ownbusiness. If you've bought land you may look to the company for water,and not to us. If you haven't bought land--if you're hired to come hereto start something--why, let it start!"
He and Dade looked straight into each other's eyes in the silence thatfollowed. Cross made a sudden movement.
"Be careful, partner!" McHale warned him in hard tones.
Once more Clyde, an involuntary listener, felt the presence of acrisis, the chill of fate impending. But, as before, it passed.
"You're barking up the wrong tree," said Dade. "Nothing starts--now.Better remember what I told you. Come on, Sam, we'll get going."
Clyde heard the trample of hoofs dying in the distance, and thenMcHale's voice:
"You run the bluff, but you took an awful chance. That there Cross comemighty close to making a break."
"Nervous kind?"
"Yep. He's apt to be too blamed soon. T'other one, Dade, is cold-drawn.I judge he's bad. Ever hear of him?"
"No."
"Nor me," said McHale; "but he has the earmarks."
Casey's reply was lost as they turned away. Clyde waited until theywere out of sight, and then descended. The morning adventure had givenher food for thought. Until then she had been deceived by the smoothcurrent of life at Chakchak. It had seemed an idyllic, carefreeexistence. Although she had known of the trouble, it had seemed far inthe background; it was a skeleton which had not obtruded itself. Now,by accident, she had surprised it stalking abroad in the glare of day.
That afternoon she and Casey rode together. He was in his usualspirits, laughing, joking, full of whimsical good humour. But back ofit she thought she detected a preoccupation. Occasionally he would besilent and his eyes would narrow as if he were working out someproblem.
Far up beneath the shoulder of a butte a little spring of deliciouswater bubbled from the gravelly soil, trickled a few hundred yards, anddisappeared. It was hidden by willow and cottonwood, draped withgreenery, an oasis. Here they dismounted, drank the sweet spring water,watered the horses, and rested. Clyde sat down, leaning against aconvenient tree. Casey stretched himself against another, his handsclasped behind his head, a long, thin cigar clenched between his teeth.
Through the fragrant smoke he eyed his companion in lazy content,noting how the mottled sunlight, filtering through the leaves, touchedher glorious hair to living, coppery gold.
"Did you ever have your picture painted?" he asked suddenly.
"Why, no," she replied. "Whatever made you think of that?"
"Your hair and the sunlight on it. If I were a painter I should like topaint you now--and keep the picture."
"The first compliment you have ever paid me," s
he laughed, pleasednevertheless. "I shall remember it."
"And that's a compliment to me," he responded. "Funny what we recollectand what we don't. There doesn't seem to be any rule for it. But Ithink I shall always remember just how you look at this moment."
"That's very nice."
"I wonder if I may ask you something without offending you?"
"I don't think you would ask anything that should offend me."
"Thanks! It's this: I want to make things pleasant for you all. I'vebeen wondering in my own mind why you came here. You won'tmisunderstand me. But why?"
"Have you forgotten your invitation?"
"No. But its acceptance was an unexpected piece of luck. There isn'tmuch here to amuse you. What's the real reason?"
She looked full at him, and then dropped her eyes; her fingers pluckedblades of grass and cast them aside.
"I don't think I know the answer," she replied at last. "For one thing,I thought I might help you--if you'd let me."
"Help me! How?"
"With money. You and the others."
"Good Lord!" he ejaculated. "Whatever put that in your head?"
"The only letter you ever wrote me. I could read between the lines.Afterward Mr. Wade told me more. But he wouldn't take what I offered."
"I should say not--if you offered money. He was right."
"Do you mean that you wouldn't let me help you if you needed money?"
"Certainly I wouldn't."
"Because I'm a woman, I suppose."
"Partly. But I wouldn't let any one throw money away on what is apt tobe a losing game."
"You think it that?"
"Size it up for yourself. You talked with Wade. Didn't he tell you so?"
"Practically, yes."
"Then you see! It wouldn't do at all."
"But it's my money. I can afford to lose it. I'll not have a pleasureor a luxury the less. And this is my pleasure. Would you refuse me thisone thing? You lent _me_ money!"
"Ten dollars--pshaw! This is different. I'm more grateful than I cantell you. But there's no necessity--just yet, anyway."
"Then I won't consider it a definite refusal. That was one reason why Icame. And then I wanted to see your country. I wanted something new. Ican't explain it very well. I had to come; something made me."
She flushed, but the eyes that met his inquiring gaze were entirelysteady.
"Something made me. If the Wades had not been coming I should have comealone. I'm frank with you, you see."
"Yes, I understand the feeling," Casey said. "I have had it myself.I've had to get out of old surroundings sometimes. And I've alwaysgone. Sometimes it has turned out well; sometimes not."
"We shall see how this turns out," she said, with a nod and a littlelaugh. "I've a feeling that I shall bring you luck."
"I believe you will," he agreed. "We'll say so, anyway. Just now Iwouldn't trade places with any man on earth."
"JUST NOW I WOULDN'T TRADE PLACES WITH ANY MAN ONEARTH"]
She laughed in pure pleasure, bending toward him. "I appropriate thatto myself. Don't dare to explain it. Do you come here often?"
"Not very often. That maze of coulee and butte you see is a good cattlerange. I come this way looking for strays. The last time I was hereSheila McCrae was with me."
Suddenly, for Clyde, the sunlight lost its golden charm. In an alteredtone she said:
"Indeed!" And she added deliberately: "I don't think I ever met a nicergirl than Miss McCrae."
"No nicer anywhere," he agreed heartily. "Well, perhaps we'd better bemoving. We have a long ride yet."
Their way led by devious cattle trails along the coulees, over ridges,into other coulees. Clyde lost all idea of direction, but her companionwas never at a loss, and finally they emerged upon a broad,well-travelled trail. Then Clyde, after much inward debate, told Caseyof her presence that morning at the interview with Dade and Cross.
"Well, they're quite a pair," said Casey. "They came to run some sortof a bluff, but concluded not to push it to a show-down. They'll maketrouble for us, I suppose. They're simply hired men, and that's theirjob."
"What kind of trouble?"
"I wish I knew," he replied, shaking his head.
"Is it all worth while?" she asked. "I haven't asked a question aboutthe blown-up dam and the cut ditches. I'm not going to. But where willit end? You admit that there may be violence--even bloodshed. Why notavoid it?"
"How?"
"By letting the courts settle it."
"If we could have our water till then, that's what we'd do. As itis--well, I'm afraid we can't afford to."
"I've already offered----"
"I know, I know," he interrupted; "but that's out of the question."
That evening dragged. There were long silences. Nobody seemed inclinedto talk. Wade went to sleep in his chair, his cigar dropping from hisrelaxing fingers. He grumbled when his wife woke him.
"I'm dead sleepy. I'm going to bed. I'm too sleepy to care whether it'spolite or not; I'm all in."
"So am I," said Kitty, yawning frankly. "I shall follow my lord andmaster."
"And I my amiable chaperon," said Clyde.
"I'm afraid all I have to follow is an example," said Casey. He cameclose to her in the moonlight. "Perhaps I seemed ungrateful thisafternoon. I didn't mean to be. I can't tell you how much I appreciatedyour offer, your generosity; none the less because I can't possiblyaccept it."
"It is nothing," she said. "It is not even generosity. Real generositymust cost something in renunciation."
"No," he replied; "the cost has little to do with it. It is the spiritof the offer that counts. Don't belittle it."
"It cost me something to make the offer," she said impulsively. "Themoney would have been the least part of it."
"I don't think I understand."
"I'm glad you don't; and I can't explain now. Some day, perhaps. Andnow--good night."
He took her hand and looked down into her eyes. He could feel the handtremble slightly, but the eyes were steady. Darkened by the moonlightthey seemed unfathomable pools, deep, mysterious, holding somethingwhich he could almost but not quite discern. In the pale light her facelost colour. It was idealized, purified, the face of a dream. Hermarvellous crown of hair shone strand by strand as of twisted gold; itshimmered with halolike glory. Her slightly parted lips, vivid againstthe white of the face, seemed to invite him.
He bent forward, and plucked himself angrily back from the temptation.She released her hand.
"Good night," she said softly.
"Good night," he responded, hesitated, and turned away to his ownquarters.
But as Clyde sought her room she seemed to walk on air. She trembled inevery fibre of her strong, young body, but her blood sang in her veins.The woman within her called aloud triumphantly. It was long before sheslept, and when she did so her slumber was a procession of dreams.
She awoke somewhere in the night, with a strange sound in her ears, adetonation distant but thunderous. She rose, went to the window, andpeered out.
As she stood, she commanded a view of Casey Dunne's quarters. The dooropened, and two men emerged, running for the stables. It seemed not aminute till two horses were led out, ready saddled. The two men went upinstantly. They tore past her window in a flurry of hoofs. Sherecognized Casey Dunne and McHale. Neither was completely dressed. Butaround the waist of each was a holster-weighted belt, and across eachsaddle was slanted a rifle. Because of these warlike manifestationsClyde slept no more that night.
Desert Conquest; or, Precious Waters Page 18