CHAPTER XV
It was October. The bolls had opened beautifully. The cotton wasready to pick. As Bob and Noah walked down the rows the stalks came upto their shoulders. It was the finest crop of cotton either of themhad ever seen.
"As dad used to say," remarked Noah Ezekiel, "the fields are white forthe harvest, but where are the reapers?" There was no one in thefields at work.
Bob shook his head gloomily. "I have no money for the pickers. I oweyou, Noah, for the last two months."
"Yes, I remember it," said the hill billy, plucking an extra large bollof lint. "I've tried to forget it, but somehow those things sort ofstick in a fellow's mind."
In August the great war had broke in Europe.
Ships were rushing with war supplies, blockades declared, factoriesshut down. The American stock exchanges had closed to save a panic.Buying and selling almost ceased. Money scuttled to the cover ofsafety vaults, and the price of cotton had dropped and dropped untilfinally it ceased to sell at all.
"It is going to bankrupt almost every grower in the valley," remarkedBob. "I'm certainly sorry for the Chandlers. They're up against ithard."
"As the poet says," Noah Ezekiel drew down the corners of his mouth,pulling a long face, "ain't life real?"
Bob laughed in spite of troubles. "Noah, I believe you'd joke at yourown funeral."
"Why shouldn't I?" said Noah. "You joked with your undertaker'sreceipt." He grinned at the recollection of that event. "You surebroke that yellow dog Jenkins from suckin' eggs--temporarily."
"But ain't he stuck with his leases though. If I had as much money ashe owes, I could fix these gamblers at the Red Owl so they wouldn'thave to work any for the rest of their natural lives."
"Noah," Bob turned to his faithful foreman, "I want you to stick untilwe put this thing through. I'll see you don't lose a dollar."
"Don't you worry about me sticking," said Noah Ezekiel. "I never quita man as long as he owes me anything."
The loyalty of the hill billy touched Rogeen, but as is the way of men,he covered it up with a brusque tone.
"You get the sacks ready. I'm going in to town and raise the moneysomehow to pick this cotton. I'll pick it if I never get a dollar outof it--can't bear to see a crop like that go to waste."
The cotton-gin people were in a desperate panic, but Bob went afterthem hard:
"Now see here, that war in Europe is not going to end the world; and aslong as the world stands there will be a demand for cotton. Thisflurry will pass, and there's sure to be a big jump in the market forcotton seed. The war will increase the demand for oils of all kinds.
"That cotton has got to be picked, and you'll have to furnish themoney. When it is ginned you can certainly borrow five cents a poundon it. That will pay for the water and the lease, the picking and theginning--and the duty, too.
"Now you get the money for me to pick my field and Chandler's field.They owe only $600 on the crop; so you'll be even safer there than withme. We'll leave the cotton with you as security. And then after youhave borrowed all you can on it, I'll give you my personal note for allthe balance I owe, and see you get every dollar of it, if I have towork it out during the next three years at twenty dollars a week."
It was that promise that turned the scales. No man of discernmentcould look at Rogeen and doubt either his pluck or his honesty.
Two days later forty Chinamen, more eager for jobs now than ever, werepicking cotton at the Chandler and Rogeen ranches--twenty at each place.
Tom Barton went up the outside stairway thumping each iron stepviciously. Six months of gloomy forebodings had terminated even moredisastrously than he had feared. He found Reedy Jenkins rumpled andunshaven, laboriously figuring at his desk.
Reedy looked up with a sly-dog sort of smile. There were little rimsof red round his eyes, but it was plain he had something new to springon his creditor.
"I'm not figuring debts"--Jenkins reached in the drawer and got out acigar and lighted it--"but profits."
"Yes," said Barton, murderously, "that is what you are always figuringon. Debts don't mean anything to you, because you aren't worth a damn.But debts count with me. You owe me $40,000 on this bright idea ofyours, and your leases aren't worth a tadpole in Tahoe."
"Easy, easy!" Reedy waved his hand as though getting ready to make aspeech. "Perhaps I have temporarily lost my credit; but with arequisite amount of cash, a man can always get it back--or do withoutit.
"I admit this damn war has swamped me. I admit on the face of thereturns I am snowed under--bankrupt to the tune of over $200,000. Butnevertheless and notwithstanding I am going to get away with some coin."
"Well, I hope you don't get away with mine," growled Barton.
A laundry driver entered the door with a bill in his hand. Reedy grewa little redder and waved at the man angrily.
"Don't bother me with that now; don't you see I'm busy?"
"So am I," said the driver, aggressively, "and this is the third call."
"Leave it," said Jenkins, angrily, "and I'll have my secretary send youa check for it."
The driver threw it on Reedy's desk and left sullenly. Barton caughtthe figures on the unpaid bill--seventy-eight cents.
"I admit," Barton spoke sarcastically as he started for the door, "thatyour credit is gone. But if you don't dig up that forty thousand,you'll be as sorry you ever borrowed it as I am that I lent it."
The last of November Bob went down to the Chandler ranch to give anaccount of the cotton picking.
"You have 150 bales at the compress. I put up the compress receiptsfor the debts," said Bob to Imogene. "There is $3,123 against yourcotton. I could not borrow another dollar on it."
"You have done so much for us already," the girl said, feelingly. "Andwe'll get along some way. If cotton would only begin to sell, we wouldhave a little fortune."
"I have 180 bales," said Bob, "but I owe something over $4,000 on it.I am going up to Calexico and get a job until spring." He hesitated amoment, looking at the girl thoughtfully. The summer and hard work andconstant worry had left her thin and with a look of anxiety in her eyes.
"Hadn't you also better move to town?"
She laughed at that. "Why, dear sir, what do you suppose we shouldlive on in town? Out here we have no rent and can at least raise somevegetables. No, we'll stick it out until we see whether this war ismerely a flurry or a deluge."
For a week Bob hunted a job in Calexico. His need for funds was acute.He had managed to get enough on his cotton to pay all his labour billsbut had not kept a dollar for himself.
Tuesday evening he had gone up to his room at the hotel, a court roomwith one window and broken plaster and a chipped water pitcher. Therewas no job in sight. Everything was at a standstill, and the cottonmarket looked absolutely hopeless. His note for the $4,000 fell dueJanuary first. If he could not sell the cotton by that time, hiscreditors would take it over; and besides, he was held for any amountof the debt above what the cotton would bring at a forced sale.
He was bluer than he had been since he lost that first good job nineyears ago. He went to the battered old trunk, opened the lid, andlifted the fiddle; stood with it in his hands a moment, put it againsthis shoulder and raised the bow. He was thinking of her, the girl leftalone down there on the ranch--still fighting it out with the desert,the Mexicans, and the trailing calamities of this World War. Hedropped the bow, he could not play. And just as he was returning thefiddle to his trunk there was a knock followed by the opening of thedoor. A chambermaid's head pushed in.
"There's a man down in the office wants to see you," announced the girl.
"Who is it?" asked Bob.
"Dunno--old fellow with eyebrows like a hair brush--and a long linenduster."
"I'll be right down," said Bob.
Jim Crill was sitting in a corner of the hotel office when Rogeen camedown; and he motioned to Bob to take the chair beside him.
"Notice a cotton gin being b
uilt across the line?" the old gentlemanasked, crossing his legs and thrusting his hands into his trouserspockets.
"Yes," Bob nodded. "I wondered if you had."
"Reckon I have," remarked Crill, dryly. "I'm puttin' up the money forit."
"You are?" Bob was surprised. This upset his suspicions in regard tothat gin.
"Yes; don't you think it's a good investment?" The old gentleman'skeen blue eyes looked searchingly from under the shaggy brows at Rogeen.
"Lots of cotton raised over there," Bob answered, noncommittally. "Andthe Mexicans really ought to have a gin on their side of the line."
The old gentleman cleared his throat as though about to say somethingelse; and then changed his mind and sat frowning in silence so long Bobwondered why he had sent for him.
"Lots of cotton raisers 'll go broke this fall." Crill broke thesilence abruptly.
"Already are," replied Bob.
"Know what it means." The old gentleman jerked his head up and down."Hauled my last bale of five-cent cotton to the store many a time, andbegged 'em to let the rest of my bill run another year. That wasbefore I ran the store myself; and then struck oil on a patch of Texasland. Haven't got as much money as folks think but too much to let liearound idle. Think this valley is a good place to invest, don't you?"Again the searching blue eyes peered at the young man.
"I certainly do," answered Bob with conviction. "The soil isbottomless; it will grow anything and grow it all the year."
"If it gets water," added the old gentleman.
"Of course--but we had plenty of water this year. And," went on Bob,"this war is not going to smash the cotton market forever. It's goingto smash most of us who have no money to hold on with. But next springor next summer or a year after, sooner or later, prices will begin toclimb. The war will decrease production more than it will consumption.The war demands will send the price of wool up, and when wool goes upit pulls cotton along with it. Cotton will go to twenty cents, maybemore."
"That sounds like sense." The old gentleman nodded slowly. "And it isthe fellow that is a year ahead that gets rich on the rise; and thefellow a year behind that gets busted on the drop in prices."
"There are going to be some fortunes made in raising cotton overthere," Bob nodded toward the Mexican line, "in the next four yearsthat will sound like an Arabian Nights' tale of farming.
"I figured it out this summer. That land is all for lease; it islevel, it is rich. They get water cheaper than we do on this side; andI can get Chinese help, which is the best field labour in the world,for sixty-five cents to a dollar a day. I was planning before thissmash came to plant six hundred acres of cotton next year."
"That's what I wanted to see you about," said Crill. "Want to lendsome money over there, and you are the fellow to do it. Want to lendit to fellows you can trust on their honour without any mortgages.Guess mortgages over there aren't much account anyway.
"Want to keep the cotton industry up here in the valley. May want tostart a cotton mill myself. Anyway," he added, belligerently, "a lotof 'em are about to lose their cotton crops; and this is a good time tostick 'em for a stiff rate of interest. Charge 'em 10 per cent--andhalf the cotton seed. I'm no philanthropist."
Bob smiled discreetly at the fierceness. That was the usual rate forloans on the Mexican side. And it was very reasonable considering therisk.
"Want to hire you," said the old man, "to lend money on cotton--andcollect it. What you want a month?"
"I'll do it for $150 a month," answered Bob, "if it does not interferewith my own cotton growing next spring."
"We can fix that," agreed the old man.
"I think," replied Bob, "the best loans and the greatest help would bejust now on the cotton already baled and at the compress. Most of thegrowers have debts for leases and water and supplies and borrowed moneyagainst their cotton, and cannot sell it at any price. Unless they dosell or can borrow on it by January first, these debts will take thecotton. If you would lend them six cents a pound on their compressreceipts that would put most of them in the clear, and enable them tohold on a few months for a possible rise in price."
"That's your business." The old gentleman got up briskly. "I'll put$25,000 to your credit in the morning at the International Bank. It'syour job to lend it. When it's gone, let me know."
"Oh, by the way," Bob's heart had been beating excitedly through allthis arrangement, but he had hesitated to ask what was on his mind."Do you mind if--if I lend myself five cents a pound on 180 bales?"
The old man turned and glared at him fiercely.
"Do you reckon I'd trust you to lend to others if I didn't trust youmyself? Make the loans, then explain the paper afterward."
Next morning Bob bought a second-hand automobile for two hundred andfifty dollars and gave his note for it. It was not much of anautomobile, but it was of the sort that always comes home.
Rogeen headed straight south, and in less than an hour stopped at theChandler ranch.
Imogene was under the shade of the arrow-weed roof, reading a magazine.Rogeen felt a quick thrill as he saw her flush slightly as she came outto meet him.
"What means the gasolene chariot?" she asked. "Prosperity or mererecklessness?"
"Merely hopefulness," he answered. "I brought a paper for you. Signon the dotted line." He handed her a promissory note, due in sixmonths, for $4,500.
"What is this?" She had been living so long on a few dollars at a timethat the figures sounded startling.
"I've got a loan on your cotton," replied Bob with huge satisfaction."And you can have it as soon as you and your father have signed thenote."
"Good heavens!" The blood had left her face. "You are not joking, areyou? Why, man alive, that means that we live! It will give us $1,400above the debts."
Bob felt a choking in his throat. The pluckiness of the girl! Andthat he could bring her relief! "Yes, and I'm going to take you backto town, where you can pay off the debts and get your money."
The exuberant gayety that broke over the girl's spirits as theyreturned to town moved Bob deeply. What a long, hard pull she and herfather had had; no wonder the unexpected relief sent her spirits on therebound.
"Thank the Lord," he said, fervently, to himself, "for that sharp oldman with bushy eyebrows!"
As they drove up to the International Bank where Bob had asked thecompress company to send all the bills against the Chandler cotton,another machine was just driving away and a woman was entering the bank.
"By the great horn spoon," Bob exclaimed aloud, "that is Mrs. Barnett."
"Who is Mrs. Barnett?" Imogene Chandler asked archly. "Some specialfriend of yours?"
"Hardly," Bob replied, remembering that Miss Chandler knew neither JimCrill nor his niece.
"And the man who was driving away," said Imogene, "was Reedy Jenkins."
"It was?" Bob turned quickly. "Are you sure? I was watching the womanand did not notice the machine."
A mutual discovery--they both cared.]
As they entered the bank Mrs. Barnett, dressed in a very girlishtravelling suit, was standing by the check counter as though waiting.At sight of Bob she nodded and smiled reservedly.
"Oh, Mr. Rogeen," she arched her brows and called to him as he startedto the cashier's window with Imogene Chandler.
Bob excused himself and approached her, a little uneasy and decidedlyannoyed. Her mouth was simpering, but her eyes had that sharp,predatory look he had seen before.
"Mr. Rogeen," she began in a cool, ladylike voice, "my uncle told me ofthe arrangement he had made with you and asked me to O. K. all theloans before you make them."
"Is that so?" Bob felt a mingling of wrath and despair. "He did notsay anything to me about it."
"N-o?"--questioningly--"we talked it over last night, and he felt surethis would be the better plan."
Bob hesitated for a moment. Imogene had gone to the other notecounter, and was trying idly not to be aware of the conversation. Itw
ould be utterly too cruel to disappoint her now. It went against thegrain, but Rogeen swallowed his resentment and distaste.
"All right," he nodded brightly. "I've got one loan already for you."He drew the papers from his pocket. "It is six cents on 150 bales ofcotton now in the yards. Here are the compress receipts."
"Whom is this for?" Her eyes looked at him challengingly; her lipsshaped the words accusingly.
"To Miss Chandler and her father." Bob felt himself idioticallyblushing.
Mrs. Barnett's face took on the frozen look of a thousand generationsof damning disapprobation.
"No! Not one cent to that woman. Uncle and I don't care to encouragethat sort."
For a moment Bob stood looking straight into the frigid face of Mrs.Barnett. It was the first time in his life he would have willinglysacrificed his personal pride for money. He would have done almostanything to get that money for Imogene Chandler. But it was useless totry to persuade the widow that she was wrong. Back of her ownnarrowness was Reedy Jenkins. This was Reedy's move; he was using thewidow's vanity and personal greed for his own ends; and his ends werethe destruction of Rogeen and the capitulation of Miss Chandler.
Mrs. Barnett's eyes met his defiantly, but her mouth quivered a littlenervously. A doubt flashed through his mind. Was she authorized to dothis? Surely she would not dare take such authority without heruncle's consent. He might telephone, anyway, then a more directresolution followed swiftly. He turned away from Mrs. Barnett and wentto the cashier's window.
"Did Jim Crill deposit $25,000 here subject to my check?" he asked.
"He did," replied the cashier.
"Are there any strings to it?"
"None," responded the cashier promptly.
Without so much as glancing toward the widow, who had watched this movewith a venomous suspicion, Bob went to Miss Chandler by the desk andtook the papers from his pocket, and laid them before her.
"Indorse the compress receipts over to Mr. Crill."
Then he wrote two checks--one to the bank for $3,123 to pay off all theclaims against the Chandler cotton and one to Imogene for $1,377.
"You don't know, Mr. Rogeen," she started to say in a low, tense voiceas she took the check, "how much----"
"I don't need to," he smilingly interrupted her gratitude, "for itisn't my money. I'll see you at lunch; and then take you back home inmy car." He lifted his hat and turned back to the counter where Mrs.Barnett stood loftily, disdainfully, yet furiously angry.
"Well," said Bob, casually, "I've made one loan, anyway."
"It will be your last." Mrs. Barnett clutched her hands vindictively."You'll be discharged as quick as I get to Uncle Jim."
Bob really expected he would, but not for three jobs would he haverecalled that loan and the light of relief in Imogene Chandler's eyes.
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