CHAPTER V
Bob had never known a resolution before. He thought he had, but heknew now that all the rest compared to what he felt as he left ReedyJenkins' office were as dead cornstalks to iron rods.
One night nearly nine years ago, when returning through the hills withhis fiddle under his arm, he had stopped at the door of his cabin andlooked up at the stars. The boisterous fun of an hour ago had allfaded out, leaving him dissatisfied and lonesome. He was shabbilydressed, not a dollar in his pocket--not a thing in the world his ownbut that fiddle--and he knew he was no genius with that. He was notgetting on in the world; he was not making anything of himself. It wasthen that the first big resolution came to him: He would quit thisfooling and go to work; he would win in this game of life. Since thenin the main he had stuck to that resolution. He had not knowinglypassed any opportunity by; certainly he had dodged nothing because itwas hard. He had won a little here, and lost there, always hoping,always tackling the new job with new pluck. Yet these efforts had beensimple; somebody had offered him a job and he tried to make good atit--and usually had. But to win now, and win big as he was determinedto do, he must have a job of his own; and he would have to create thatjob, organize it, equip it.
"What I'll make it with--or just how--I don't know. But by all thegods of the desert I'm going to win right here--in spite of thethermometer, the devil, and Reedy Jenkins."
To raise cotton one must have a lease, tools, teams, provisions--all ofwhich costs money; and he had just $167.35. But if that girl and herSanskrit father could get in a cotton crop, he could. It was not toolate. Cotton might be planted in the Imperial Valley even up to thelast of May. He would get a field already prepared if he could; ifnot, then he would prepare it.
And a man with a good lease and a good reputation could usually borrowsome money on which to raise a crop. Bob's mind again came back to theRed Butte Ranch. It was so big that it almost swamped his imagination,but if he was going to do big things he must think big. If he couldpossibly sublease that ranch from Benson. But it would take $100,000to finance a five-thousand-acre cotton crop. Then he thought of JimCrill, the old man of the Texas oil fields who was looking forinvestments.
It was daring enough to seem almost fantastic, but Bob quickened hisstep and turned toward the depot. He could yet catch the morning trainfor Los Angeles.
But he passed Benson on the way. The same morning Bob called at theLos Angeles office Benson went to Reedy Jenkins in Calexico.
The Red Butte lease had three years to run. Benson began by offeringthe lease and all the equipment for $40,000. He had spent more than$90,000 on it.
Reedy pushed back the long black lock of hair from his forehead, shookhis head lugubriously, and grew pessimistically oratorical. Thingswere very unsettled over the line: there was talk of increased Mexicanduty on cotton, of a raise in water rates; the price of cotton wasdown; ranchers were coming out instead of going in; no sale at all forleases. He himself had not had an offer for a lease in two months.
They dickered for an hour. Reedy watching with a gloating shrewdnessthe impractical fellow who had tried to farm with money. He knewBenson had lost money on the last crop, and besides had been thoroughlyscared by the sly Madrigal.
"I'm tired of the whole thing." Benson spoke with annoyed vexation."I tell you what I'll do: I'll walk off the ranch and leave you thewhole damn thing for $20,000."
"I'll take it." Reedy knew when the limit was reached. "I'll pay you$2,000 now to bind the bargain; and the balance within ten days."
As Benson left the office with the check, Reedy began figuringfeverishly. It was the biggest thing he had ever pulled off. Thelease, even with cotton selling for only eight cents, was worthcertainly $50,000, the equipment at least $10,000 more. And the fivethousand acres was already planted and coming up! In the ImperialValley the planting is by far the most expensive part of the cottoncrop up to picking. It costs from seven to ten dollars an acre to getit planted; after that it is easy. There are so few weeds and solittle grass that one man, with a little extra help once or twiceduring the summer, can tend from forty to eighty acres.
It was such an astounding bargain that Reedy's pink face grew a littlepale, and he moistened his lips as he figured. He was trying toreassure himself that it would be dead easy to borrow the other$18,000. He did not have it. In truth, he had only two hundred leftin the bank. He thought of Tom Barton and two of the banks from whomhe had already borrowed. They did not seem promising. Then he thoughtof Jim Crill, and the pinkness came slowly back to his face. He smileddoggishly as he picked up the phone, called El Centro, and asked forMrs. Evelyn Barnett.
Mrs. Evelyn Barnett sat on the porch shaded by a wistaria vine, herfeet discreetly side by side on the floor, her hands primly folded inher lap; her head righteously erect, as one who could wear her widow'sweeds without reproach, having been faithful to the very last ruffle ofher handsome dress to the memory of her deceased.
She had insisted on taking Uncle Crill from the hotel, which wasruining his digestion, and making a home for him. She had leased anapartment bungalow, opening on a court, and with the aid of threeservants had, at great personal sacrifice, managed to give Uncle Crilla "real home." True, Uncle was not in it very much, but it was therefor him to come back to.
"Uncle," she had said, piously, showing him the homelike wonders thatthree servants had been able to achieve in the six rooms, "in thecrudities of this horrid, uncouth country, we must keep up therefinements to which we were accustomed in the East." The oldgentleman had grunted, remembering what sort of refinements they hadbeen accustomed to, but made no outward protests at being thus frillilydomesticated after ten years in the Texas oil fields.
And as Mrs. Barnett sat on the porch this morning, fully and carefullydressed, awaiting the result of that telephone message from Calexico,she watched with rank disapproval her neighbours to the right and left.It was quite hot already and Mrs. Borden on the right had come out onthe porch, dressed with amazing looseness of wrapper, showing a veryliberal opening at the throat, and stood fanning herself with anewspaper. Mrs. Cramer on the left, having finished her sweeping, hadcome out on the porch also, and in garments that indicated no paddingwhatever dropped into a rocking chair, crossed her legs, made a dab ather loosely piled hair to see it did not topple down, and proceeded toread the morning newspaper. It was positively shocking, thought Mrs.Barnett, how women could so far forget themselves. She never did.
Directly her primly erect head turned slightly, and her eyes whichalways seemed looking for something substantial--no dream stuff forher--widened with satisfaction and she put her hand up to her collar tosee if the breastpin was in place.
It was Reedy Jenkins who got out of the machine which stopped at theentrance. He took off his hat when halfway to the porch--his blackhair was smoothly brushed--his face opened with a flattering smile andhe quickened his step. Mrs. Barnett permitted herself to rise, taketwo short steps forward, and to smile reservedly as she offered herhand.
Reedy Jenkins had not exaggerated when he said he had a way with theladies. He did have. It was rather a broad way, but there are plentyof ladies who are not subtle.
"You have a lovely little place here." Reedy gave a short, approvingglance round as he took the offered chair. "It's wonderful what awoman's touch can do to make a home. No place like home, if there issome dear woman there to preside."
Mrs. Barnett's mouth simpered at the implied flattery; but her eyes,always looking calculatingly for substantial results, were studyingReedy Jenkins. He certainly had handsome black hair, and he was welldressed--and the manner of a gentleman. He reminded her of anevangelist she had known back in Indiana. She had intended to marrythat evangelist if his wife died in time; but she did not.
"It is very hard to do much here," Mrs. Barnett said, deprecatingly."There is so much dust, and the market is so poor, and servants are sountrained and so annoying. But of course I do what little I can tomake dear
Uncle a good home. It was a great sacrifice for me to come,but when duty calls one must not think of self."
"No, I suppose not." Reedy sighed and shook his head until the longblack lock dangled across the corner of his forehead--he did look likethat evangelist. "But I wish sometime that we could forget the otherfellow and think of ourselves. I'd have been a millionaire by now if Ihadn't been so chicken-hearted about giving the other fellow the bestof it."
"We never lose by being generous," said Mrs. Barnett with conviction.
"No, I suppose not," Reedy sighed. "No doubt it pays in the long run.I know I've been put in the way of making many thousands of dollarsfirst and last by fellows I had been good to." Then Reedy looked atMrs. Barnett steadily and with wide admiration in his largeeyes--looked until she blushed very deeply.
"It may be a rough place to live," said Reedy, "but it certainly hasbeen good for your colour. You are pink as a--a flower; you lookpositively swee----" He broke off abruptly. "I beg your pardon; Ialmost forgot myself."
Then Reedy changed the subject to the matter of business on which hehad come.
"Yes," Mrs. Barnett said, giving him her hand as he rose to go, "I'llsee Uncle to-night; and I'm sure Mr. Jenkins"--he still held her handand increased the pressure--"he'll be most glad to do it."
The Desert Fiddler Page 5