The Long Chance

by Peter B. Kyne

  CHAPTER XIII

  The second event in Donna Corblay's life was about to be consummated.For the first time since her arrival in San Pasqual, a babe in arms, shewas about to leave it!

  All of her uneventful colorless mediocre life Donna had felt apassionate longing to go up into the country on the other side of therange. To her, the long strings of passenger coaches came to San Pasqualas the heralds of another world--poignant pulsations of the greater lifebeyond the sky-line, and not as the tools of a whimsical circumstance,bringing to Donna a daily consignment of hats. From earliest childhoodshe had watched the trains disappearing into Tehachapi Pass, tracingtheir progress northward long after they had disappeared by the smokewafted over the crest of the bare volcanic range; until with the passageof many trains and many years the desire to see what lay beyond thatgrim barrier had developed into an obsession. Because of the purpledistances that mocked her, the land of sunshine, fruit and flowers wasdoubly alluring; her desire was as that of a soul that dwells in limboand longs for the smile of God.

  And to-day she was going out into the world, for this was her weddingday. She had received Bob's telegram, asking her to meet him inBakersfield, and she was going to meet him; alternately she laughed andwept, for the transcendent joy of two Events in one short day had filledher heart to overflowing, leaving no room for vague forebodings of thefuture.

  Donna dressed herself that morning with painstaking detail. Too late shehad discovered that she didn't possess a dress fit to wear at any one'swedding, not to mention her own. From time to time she had dreamed of aswagger tailored suit, but the paradox of a swagger tailored suit in SanPasqual had been so apparent always that Donna could not bring herselfto the point of submitting to a measurement in the local dry-goodsemporium, having the suit made in Chicago and sent out by express.Instead she had resolutely stuck to wash-dresses, which were more suitedto the climate and environs of San Pasqual, and added the tailored suitmoney to her sinking fund in the strong box of the eating-house safe.

  No, Donna was not prepared to obey Bob McGraw's summons. She wept alittle as she reflected how provincial and plebeian she must appear,stepping down from the train at Bakersfield, clad in a white duckwalking suit, white shoes and stockings and a white sailor hat. Shewanted Bob to be proud of her, and her heart swelled to bursting at thethought that she must deny him such a simple pleasure. Poor Donna! Onceshe had thought that suit so beautiful. It was a drummer's sample whichshe had purchased from a commercial traveler who, claiming to own hisown samples, had been prevailed upon to accept a price for the suit whenat length he became convinced that under no circumstances would Donnapermit him to make her a present of it. He had informed her at the timethat it was the very latest Parisian creation and she had believed him.

  If Donna had only known how ravishing that simple costume made herappear and what a vision she would be to the hungry eyes of Bob McGraw!Yet, she was ashamed to let even the San Pasqualians see her leavingtown in such a dowdy costume, and as she walked up the tracks from theHat Ranch that momentous morning, bearing aloft a parasol that but theday before had been the joy of her girlish existence, she was fullyconvinced that a more commonplace addendum to a feminine wardrobe hadnever been devised.

  She was certain that all San Pasqual must know her secret--that this washer wedding day. She shuddered lest the telegraph operator had suspectedsomething, despite Bob's commendable caution, and had incited thetownspeople to line up at the depot, there to shower her with riceand hurl antiquated footgear after the train that bore her north. Suchhorrible rites were preserved and enacted with religious exactitude inSan Pasqual.

  Until that morning Donna never had really known how ardently she longedto escape from the sordid commonplace lonely little town. With itsinhabitants she had nothing in common, although she noted a mentalexception to this condition as, from afar, she observed Harley P.Hennage standing in front of the eating-house door, picking his teethwith his gold toothpick. She felt a sudden desire to go to the worst manin San Pasqual and pour out to him the whole wonderful story; thento await his quizzical congratulations and bask for a moment in hisinfrequent honest childish smile, for Donna had a very great longingto-day to permit some human being to bear with her the burden of herjoy.

  She was still a block from the center of the town when the train pulledin from the south, the last car coming to a stop close to where she wasstanding. Donna observed that the male entities of her little world hadassembled to see that the train pulled in and out again safely, and hadtheir attention centered upon the new arrivals who were rushing into theeating-house for a hurried snack. She saw her opportunity. There was nonecessity for her to brave the crowd at the window in order to purchasea ticket. Decidedly luck was with her this morning. She took hersuitcase from Sam Singer, the faithful, climbed aboard the last car,walked through into the next car, which happened to be a sleeper, founda vacant state-room, entered, pulled down the window shade and waiteduntil the train started. As her car rolled past the depot she peered outand saw Harley P. Hennage scratching his head with one hand, while inthe other he held a letter which he was reading. Donna could not helpwondering who had written a letter to the worst man in San Pasqual.

  She was glad of the seclusion of the state-room until the train wasa mile outside San Pasqual, when she went out on the observationcar. Donna knew she ran little risk of meeting a San Pasqualian infirst-class accommodations, and as she sat there, watching the shinyrails unwinding behind her, her luxurious surroundings imparted a senseof charm and comfort which she had never felt before. The scenery in thepass proving uninteresting, she forgot about it and gave herself up toa day-dream which had become a favorite with her of late--a dream whichhad to do with a little Spanish house surrounded by weeping willowsand Lombardy poplars (Donna had once seen a picture of a house sosurrounded); of a piano, which she would learn to play, of a perfectlyappointed table at which she sat with Bob across the way, smiling ather and assuring her (with his eyes) that he loved her, while hisglib tongue informed her that the soup was by far the best he had evertasted.

  As Donna dreamed she smiled--unconsciously--a smile intended forBob McGraw, and a drummer who sold lace goods for a St. Louis houseappropriated that smile to himself. He leered across the aislefamiliarly and with a vacuous smile inquired:

  "Say, sister! Ain't you the little girl that takes cash in the eatin'house at San Pasqual? I thought your face looked kinder familiar."

  Donna suddenly ceased dreaming. She glanced across at her interlocutor,and by reason of long obedience to the unwritten rule of eating-houseswhich requires that one must be pleasant to customers always, she forgotfor a moment that she was on her way to be married. She nodded.

  "Goin' up to Bakersfield?"

  Again Donna nodded.

  "Well, if you ain't got anything on, what's the matter with some lunchand an automobile ride afterward, sister? What're you goin' to do inBakersfield?"

  "I am going to meet a young man at the station" replied Donna sweetly."A tall young man with a forty-four-inch chest and a pair of hands thatwill look as big as picnic hams to you when I tell him that you've beenimpertinent to me."

  The face of the impertinent one crimsoned with embarrassment. He mumbledsomething about not meaning any offense, fussed with his watch-charm fora minute, coughed and finally fled to the day-coach.

  Donna smiled after his retreating figure. How good it was, after threeyears of subjection to the vulgar advances of just such fellows as he,to reflect that at last she was to have a protector! An almost unholydesire possessed her to see Bob climb aboard at the next station, twinehis lean hands around that drummer's trachea and shake some manhood intohim. This thought suggested reflections upon the present state of Bob'shealth, so she took his last letter from her hand-bag and read it forthe forty-second time. But it was unsatisfactory--it dealt entirelywith Donna and his experiences with applicants for lieu land, so sheabstracted, one by one, every letter she had ever received from him andread them all. So absorb
ed was she in their perusal that the other sideof the range, which had always been such a matter of primary importance,was now relegated to oblivion.

  The brakeman came through the car shouting: "Bakersfield! The nextstation is Bakersfield!" but Donna did not hear him. She was dreaming ofBob McGraw.

  The train came to a stop. Donna dreamed on--and presently a familiarvoice spoke at her side.

  "Well--sweetheart! The train pulls out again in two minutes and I'vebeen looking for you in every car--"

  "Bob!"

  It was he, looking perfectly splendid in a marvelous blue suit that musthave cost at least eighteen dollars. He held out his hands, drew her tohim and, in the sight of all mankind, he kissed her, and whispered toher endearing little names. She could not reply to them; she could onlytake his hand, like a little lost child, and follow him through the car,down the steps and into the hotel bus which was to take them up town.And on the way up town neither spoke to the other, for it seemed to eachthat even their most commonplace remarks to-day must be freighted withsomething sacred, in which the inquisitive world at large would be boundto manifest a stupendous interest. And inasmuch as it was plainly noneof the world's business--

  The bus had stopped in front of a tremendous hotel. It was four storieshigh! All along the front of the first story it was _glass_ and Donnacould look right through it and see everything that was going on inside!She paused on the top step of the bus to view the marvels of this townof less than twenty thousand inhabitants, and then a skeezicks of a boy,very gay in brass buttons, and with a darling little round cap on hisperky head, came and took forcible possession of her suit-case. He toreit right out of Bob's hand and ran away with it. Donna was on the pointof crying out at the theft, when Bob reached up and lifted her bodily tothe ground.

  "Reuben! Reuben!" he breathed tenderly in her ear, "don't stare so atthe great round world. You're so beautiful," he added, "and I'm so proudof you! Where _did_ you get that marvelous dress?"

  She glanced up at him, radiant. He was proud of her! He liked her dress!It was sufficient. Bob McGraw, man of the world, had set the stampof his approval on his bride, and nothing else mattered any more. Shefollowed him into the hotel, where he checked her suit-case with theskeezicks who had stolen it, and then led her into the dining-room.

  "Let's have lunch, Donna" he said, "or at least pretend to. I couldn'teat now. I want to talk. The man who can eat on his wedding day is avulgarian, and dead to the finer feelings."

  They found a secluded table and ordered something, and when the waitresshad taken the order and departed, Bob leaned across the table.

  "You're so beautiful!" he repeated. "I love you in that white suit."

  "I hadn't anything but this old thing, dear. I hated to come up lookinglike a frump--"

  "Listen to the girl! Why, you old sweetheart-"

  "Do you love me, Bob?"

  "More than ever. In the matter of love, Donna, absence really makes theheart--"

  "How much?" She lifted her face toward him adoringly.

  "Ten hundred thousand million dollars' worth" he declared, and they bothlaughed.

  "I don't know whether you're a man or just a big boy" Donna told him.She sighed. "But then I don't know anything to-day, except that if I amever happier than I am this minute I shall die. I shall not be able tostand it. But, dearie! You haven't told me a word about Donnaville!"

  So Bob related to her a minute history of himself from the moment hehad left her until he had leaned over her in the observation car. Hedescribed, with inimitable wit and enjoyment, his experience in the landoffice, and together they examined the fifty receipts.

  "I'm sorry you had to lock Mr. Carey in the room and gag him and tie himup" said Donna regretfully. "Maybe he'll have you arrested!"

  "I'm sorry, too, dear. But then it was the only thing I could do and Ihad to keep him quiet. Oh, I don't care" he added defiantly. "I'd mussup an old crook like Carey every hour for your sake. But he won't haveme arrested. That would be too dangerous for him."

  "Then you can get the land right away?" she queried.

  He shook his head. "The cards haven't even been dealt, sweetheart. Myapplications will almost certainly be held up six months in the stateland office before they are approved by the surveyor-general andforwarded to the Commissioner of the General Land Office at Washingtonto be passed to patent by the United States. And I shall be very greatlysurprised if Carey hasn't a friend in Washington who will see that thegranting of the patents is delayed for several years. Then, when thematter cannot be delayed any longer, Carey will induce one of hisdummies to protest the applications, alleging that they are part of agigantic land fraud scheme, and a few more years will go by while thisprotest is being investigated."

  "But you'll win in the long run, will you not?"

  He shrugged expressively. "I may. I anticipate that Carey will give meall the time he can to get my water-right developed and earn thirty-ninethousand dollars to pay for the land for my Pagans."

  "But I thought Mr. Dunstan had promised to loan you that money?"

  "Homer Dunstan is an old man, Donna girl. If he should die in theinterim, my name is in the lion's mouth."

  "But what are we to do, Bobby?" she quavered, suddenly frightened, asthe enormousness of the man's task loomed before her.

  "_Quien sabe_" he said ruefully. "We'll marry first and think of itafterward--that is, if you still think you want to marry a chap whosecash assets represent less than thirty dollars of borrowed money."

  She thought swiftly of the boor who had spoken to her on the train thatmorning; of her dull lonely changeless life in San Pasqual; and thelonging for protection was very great indeed. She wanted some one onwhom she might lean in the hour of stress and woe, and she had selectedhim for that signal honor. Why, then, should they not marry? They wouldnot always be poor. He had his work to do and she had hers, and theirmarriage need not interfere. She wanted to help him, and with herwoman's intuition she realized that his was the nature that yearns forthe accomplishment of great things when spurred to action by the praiseand comfort of a mate in sympathy with his dreams and his ideals. Shealmost shuddered to think of what might happen to him should he marry agirl who did not understand him! It seemed to her that for his sake, iffor no other, she must marry him, and when she raised her brilliant eyesto his he read her answer in their limpid depths.

  "Do you need me?" she queried.

  "Very much" he answered humbly, "but not enough to insist upon yousharing my poverty with me. You're self-supporting and it isn't fair toyou, but rather selfish on my part. And you must realize, Donna dear,that I cannot remain in San Pasqual. I have my work to do; I must makemoney, and I cannot take you to the place where I hope to make it."

  "I expect to be left alone, Bob. But I do not mind that. I've livedalone at the Hat Ranch a long time, dear, and I can stand it a littlelonger. I do not wish to tie you to my apron-strings and hamper you.What are your plans?"

  "Well," he said a little sheepishly, "I thought I'd like to makeone more trip into the desert. I have some claims over by Old Womanmountain, in San Bernardino county, and they're pockety. I might cleanup a stake in there this winter. It's about the only chance I have toraise the wind, but even then it's a gambler's chance."

  He was a Desert Rat! The lure of the waste places was calling to himagain, tormenting him with the promise of rich reward in the countryjust beyond. Donna thought of her own father who had left his bride ona similar errand, and the thought that Bob, too, might not come backstabbed her with sudden anguish. But he was a man, and he knew best; ina desert country some one must do the desert work; he loved it and shewould not say him nay. Yet the big tears trembled on her long lashes asshe thought of what lay before him and her heart ached that it must beso. He watched her keenly, waiting for the protest which he thought mustcome. Presently she spoke.

  "We must figure on an outfit for you."

  His brown eyes lit with admiration, for he realized the grief that laybehind that apparentl
y careless acceptance of his plan, and loved herthe more for her courage.

  "Yes, I'll need two burros, with packs, and some drills, tools, dynamiteand grub--two hundred dollars will outfit me nicely. I'll have to scoutaround and borrow the money somewhere, and to be quite candid, Donna, Ihave designs on our gambler friend, Hennage."

  She smiled. "Dear, good old Harley P.! He'd grubstake you if it brokethe bank."

  "Well, I'm going to figure along that line at any rate. So, if you'requite ready, Donna, we'll go down to the court-house, procure thelicense, hunt up a preacher and take each other for better or forworse."

  "I think it will be for better, dear."

  "Well, it can't be for worse, I'm sure, than it is to-day. NeverthelessI'm a frightened man."

  She ignored this subtle hint of procrastination. "I'm ready, Bob. Butbefore we start, there's one matter that I haven't explained to you. Ido not care to have our marriage known. Those talkative people in SanPasqual would--talk, under the circumstances--that is, dear, I want tokeep right on at the eating-house until you're ready to take me awayfrom San Pasqual forever. Now, I know that's going to hurt you--thatthought of your wife working--but nobody need ever know it, and whenyou're ready we'll leave the horrible old place and never go back anymore. We have so much to do, Bob, and--"

  "You do hurt me, Donna" he protested. "You have exacted from me apromise and you are forcing me to fulfill it under circumstances whichrender it mighty hard. Of course we love each other and I do wantto marry you, but ah, Donna, I don't feel like a man to-day, but amendicant. What can I do, sweetheart? If you marry me to-day you'll haveto work if you want to live." There was misery in his glance."However, all my life I've been doing things differently--or ratherindifferently--so why should I stop now? It will at least comfort me outthere alone in the desert to know that I have a wife waiting at homefor me. I think the joy of that will outweigh the sting of shame that amarried pauper must feel--"

  "No, no, Bob, you mustn't say that. You mustn't feel that way about it.You are not a pauper." She stood up and he helped her into her coat, andafter paying the waitress they departed together for the city hall.

  But Bob was a sad bridegroom. Donna had wired him that she had arrangedfor a two-weeks' vacation, and he had been at pains to acquaint herwith the extreme low ebb of his finances, in the hope that she wouldvoluntarily suggest a delay of their marriage, but to his great distressshe had not seen fit to take his pathetic hint--she who ordinarily wasso quick of comprehension; so, rather than refer to the matter again, hedecided to step into a telegraph station immediately after the ceremonyand send a hurried call for help to Harley P. Hennage--the gamblerbeing the only man of his acquaintance whom he knew to be sufficientlygood-natured and careless with money to respond to his appeal.

  When at length they reached the city hall Donna waited, blushing,outside the door of the marriage bureau while Bob entered and partedwith two dollars and fifty cents for the parchment which gave him alegal right to commit what he called a social and economic crime. Laterhe came out and insisted that Donna should return with him to Cupid'swindow, there to receive the customary congratulations and handshakefrom Bob's acquaintance who had issued him the license, and who,following the practice of such individuals, felt it incumbent upon himto offer his felicitations to every customer.

  Leaving the court-house Bob and Donna wandered about town until theycame to a church. A gentleman of color, engaged in washing the churchwindows, directed them to the pastor's residence in the next block. Theyaccordingly; proceeded to the rectory and Bob rang the front door bell.The pastor answered the bell in person. The bridegroom grinned athim sheepishly while the bride, very much embarrassed, shrunk to thebridegroom's side and gazed timidly at the reverend gentleman rubbinghis hands so expectantly in the doorway.

  "Won't you come in?" he said, in tones most kindly and hospitable. "Juststep right into the parlor and I'll be with you as soon as I can get myspectacles."

  "Thank you" said Bob. They entered. The rector went into his study whileBob wagged a knowing head at his broad retreating back.

  "He knows what we want, you bet" he whispered. "No flies on thatpreacher. I like him. I like any man who can do things without a diagramand directions for using."

  Donna nodded. She was quite impressed at the clergyman's perspicacity.She was quite self-possessed when he returned with his spectacles,a little black book, his wife and the gardener for witnesses, and a"here-is-the-job-I-love" expression on his amiable features. He examinedthe license, satisfied himself, apparently, that it was not a forgery,and after standing Bob and Donna up in a corner close to a terra-cottaumbrella-holder filled with pampas plumes, he proceeded with theceremony.