CHAPTER XX
It is a good thing the wind does not blow from the same direction allthe time. Things would never grow straight if it did. And if oneemotion persists too long the human mind becomes even worse twistedthan a tree. For that reason, if we are normal, buoyance anddepression, ecstasy and pain follow each other as regularly as rippleson a stream. It is good they do, but it is hard to believe it when weare down in the trough of the wave.
As Bob started away with the promise of Jim Crill to lend him the moneyfor the Red Butte Ranch, his blood was pumping faster than the runningengine of his car. But directly enthusiasm began to slow down.
Suppose he lost--what an appalling debt for a man working at a hundredand fifty a month! It never figured in Bob's calculation to settle hisdebts in red ink. And there were chances to lose. The lawyer waswaiting for him at the hotel when he returned.
"I saw Jenkins," he reported. "Says they paid $20,000 for the RedButte lease last spring. Half of it for bonus on the lease, and halffor the equipment. He claims the mules and equipment are easily worth$10,000; and he offers to sell lease and all for that, but won'tconsider a dollar less. I heard on the street this evening that aChinaman had offered them $7,500. I have an option on it until eleveno'clock in the morning at $10,000."
"Thanks, T. J." Bob was figuring in his mind the basis of this price."I'll let you know before that time." He went up to his room to thinkit out. He could hardly see any chance for loss, yet of course therewas. If this was such a sure thing, why had not some of the moreexperienced cotton growers in the valley jumped at it? But Bobdismissed that line of reasoning with a positive jerk of his head.That was a weak man's reason--the excuse of failures, sheep philosophy.Every day of the year some new man came into a community and picked upa profitable opportunity that other people had stumbled over for years.
The lease was certainly a bargain; the land was in excellent condition,and there would be no difficulty about labour with plenty of Chineseand Mexicans. The price of cotton could scarcely go lower. Bob had nofear of that. Then what were the dangers? The chance of a watershortage was remote. There had been little trouble about water. Ofcourse bad farming could spoil a crop; but Lou Wing was an expertcotton grower, and you could trust a Chinaman's vigilance. With Lou asa partner he could be sure the crop would receive proper attention.
"It seems good!" Bob walked out of his room on to the balcony that ranthe length of the hotel and stood overlooking the twinkling lights ofthe town. Calexico was getting to be quite a little city, and thestring of lights were flung out for half a mile to the east and north.Across the line the high-arched sign of the Red Owl already winkedalluringly.
He looked at his watch. It was only a quarter past eight. He turnedback to his room, took his violin from the battered trunk, went to thegarage, and in fifteen minutes was chugging south between the rows ofcottonwood and willows that stood dim guardians in the night againstthe desert.
Imogene Chandler heard the machine coming. She put on her new springcoat and came out into the yard. The night was a little cool, and thatnew coat was the first article of wearing apparel she had bought forherself in three years.
"I'm glad you brought your fiddle again," she said as Bob came into theyard. She was bare-headed, and her hair showed loose and wavy in thestarlight. "I've felt rather lilty all day." She snapped her fingersand danced round in a circle. "Just a little hippety-hoppety," shelaughed, dropping down upon the bench. "Sit down and play to us--meand this wonderful night."
"I want to talk first." He laid the fiddle across his knees. In spiteof the spell of the desert, figures were still running through his head.
"How like a man!" she said, mockingly. "And is it about yourself?"
"Of course," he replied, soberly. "You don't think I'd waste gasoleneto come down here to talk about any other man, do you?"
"Before you begin on that absorbing subject," she bantered, "tell me,will our cotton now sell for enough to pay Mr. Crill that note?"
"Yes, but you are not going to sell it. He has extended the noteanother six months. Cotton is going up this fall."
"Isn't that great!" she exclaimed. "Here we have money enough foranother crop, and can speculate on last year's cotton by holding forhigher prices. Why, man, if it should go to ten cents we'd clear$3,000 on that cotton above what we already have."
"Yes, and if it goes to twelve, you'll have $4,500 to the good."
He sat still for a moment, gripping the neck of his fiddle with hisfingers as though choking it into waiting.
"Well?" she prompted.
"I've got a chance for something big." He got up and walked, holdingthe fiddle by the neck, swinging it back and forth. "If I put itthrough, it will be a fortune; but if I fail I'll be in debt worldwithout end--mortgaged all the rest of my life!"
Walking back and forth before her in the starlight he told ImogeneChandler of the big opportunity--of the rare combination ofcircumstances which made it possible for him, without property orbacking, to borrow one hundred thousand dollars for a crop; andmarshalled his reasons for belief in its success. "The water mightfail," she suggested, when he had finished and sat down again with thefiddle across his knee.
"Yes, it might," he admitted.
"The Chinamen might get into trouble among themselves or with theMexicans and leave you at a critical time."
"Possibly."
"The duty might be raised on cotton," she added.
"Yes," he confessed.
"But," she continued, "there is one thing much more likely than any ofthese--a thing fairly certain. Reedy Jenkins will fight you in everyway he can invent. First he'll fight to get your money; and then he'llfight you just for hate."
"I have thought of that," Bob again got up, moved by the agitation ofdoubt. If it were his own money to be risked he would not hesitate amoment--but one hundred thousand dollars of another man's money and hisown reputation!
"For these reasons," continued Imogene Chandler, "I advise you to gointo it--and _you'll_ win.
"Now play to me."
The Desert Fiddler Page 20