XIV
JIM'S PUP
Jim Misterton was a quiet, reserved fellow, who had come straight toParadise from a desk in some dingy London counting-house. He told usthat something was wrong with his lungs, and that the simple life hadbeen prescribed. He was very green, very sanguine, and engaged to bemarried--a secret confided to us later, when acquaintance had ripenedinto friendship. Every Sunday Jim would ride down to our ranch, supwith us, and smoke three pipes upon the verandah, describing at greatlength the process of transmuting the wilderness into a garden. Hebuilt a small board-and-batten house, planted a vineyard and orchard,bought a couple of cows and an incubator. Reserved about matterspersonal to himself, he never grew tired of describing hispossessions, nor of speculating in regard to their possibilities. Ifever a man counted his chickens before the eggs had been placed in theincubator, Jim Misterton was he.
Ajax and I listened in silence to these outpourings. Ajax contended--perhaps rightly--that Misterton's optimism was part of the "cure." Hebade me remark the young fellow's sparkling eyes and ruddy cheeks.
"He calls that forsaken claim of his Eden," said my brother. "Shall wetell him what sort of a Hades it really is?"
One day, some months after this, we rode up to Eden. It presented theusual heart-breaking appearance so familiar to men who have lived in awild country and witnessed, year after year, the furious strugglebetween Man and Nature. Misterton had cleared and planted about fortyacres, enclosed with a barb-wire fence. Riding along this, we saw thatmany of his fruit trees had been barked and ruined by jack-rabbits.The month was September. A rainless summer had dried up a spring nearhis house, which, against our advice, he had attempted to develop bytunnelling. The new chicken-yards held no chickens.
Nevertheless, Jim welcomed us with a cheery smile. He had mademistakes, of course--who didn't? But he intended to come out on top,you bet your life! Western slang flowed freely from his lips. Theblazing sun, which already had cracked the unpainted shingles on hisroof, had bleached the crude blue of his jumper and overalls. Hissombrero might have belonged to a veteran cowboy. Jim wore it with arakish list to port, and round his neck fluttered a small, white silkhandkerchief. He looked askance at our English breeches and saddles.Then he said pleasantly, "I've taken out my naturalisation papers."
After lunch, he told us about his Angela, and displayed herphotograph.
"She's coming out," he added shyly, "as soon as I've got thingsfixed."
"Coming out?" we repeated in amazement.
"It's all settled," said Jim. "I'm to meet her in 'Frisco; we shall bemarried, and then I'm going to bring her here for the honeymoon. Won'tit be larks?"
Ajax answered, without any enthusiasm, "Won't it?" and stared at theyoung, pretty face smiling up at him.
"Angela is as keen about this place as I am," continued the fond andbeaming Jim. "It's going to be Eden for her too, God bless her!"
Ajax said thoughtfully, "Misterton, you're a lucky devil!"
We gleaned a few more details. Angela was the daughter of a doctor atSurbiton, and apparently a damsel of accomplishments. She could punt,play tennis, dance, sing, and make her own blouses; in a word, a"ripper," "top-hole," and no mistake! Ajax slightly raised his browswhen we learned that the course of true love had run smooth; but thedoctor's blessing was adequately accounted for--Angela had fivesisters.
"But when your lungs went wrong----?"
Misterton laughed.
"Being a doctor, you see--and a devilish clever chap--he knew that I'dbe as right as rain out here. 'If you want Angela,' he said, 'you mustgo full steam for fresh air and sunshine.'"
Riding home through the cactus and manzanita Ajax said irritably, "Isthere any Paradise on earth without a fool in it?"
* * * * *
The following spring, Angela came out. We attended the wedding, Ajaxassisting as best man. Afterwards, somewhat reluctantly, we agreedthat Angela's photograph had aroused expectations not quite satisfied.She was very pretty, but her manners were neither of the town nor ofthe country. Ajax said, "There must be hundreds like her in UpperTooting; that's where she ought to live."
Because I was more than half assured of this, I made a point ofdisputing it.
"She's plastic, anyway; a nice little thing."
"Is a nice little thing the right sort of a wife for a squatter?"
"If she loves him--"
"Of course she loves him--now."
"Look at her pluck in coming out!"
"Pluck? She has five sisters in Upper Tooting."
"Surbiton."
"I'm sure it's Upper Tooting."
"And she can make her own blouses."
"Can she cook, can she milk a cow, can she keep a house clean?"
"Give her time!"
"Time? I'd like to give her father six months. What's the use ofjawing? We've been aiding and abetting a crime. We might haveprevented this slaughter of the innocents. What will that skin be likein one year from now?"
"If she were sallow, you would be less excited."
We spent a few days in San Francisco; and then we returned to theranch to give a luncheon in the bride's honour. The table was setunder some splendid live-oaks in the home-pasture, which, in May,presents the appearance of a fine English park. A creek tinkled at ourfeet, and beyond, out of the soft, lavender-coloured haze, rose theblue peaks of the Santa Lucia mountains.
"Reminds one a little of the Old Country," I remarked to Angela, whowas all smiles and quite conscious of being the most interestingobject in the landscape.
"Oh, please, don't speak of England!"
Her pretty forehead puckered, and her mouth drooped piteously. Thenshe laughed, as she launched into a vivid description of her firstattempt to bake bread. Whenever she spoke, I saw Jim's large, slightlyprominent eyes fix themselves upon her face. His beaming satisfactionin everything she did or said would have been delightful had I beenable to wean my thoughts from the place which he still believed to be--Eden. At intervals I heard him murmur, "This is rippin'!"
After luncheon, Angela asked to see the ranch-house, and almost assoon as we were out of hearing, she said with disconcertingabruptness--
"Does your ranch pay?" She added half-apologetically, "I do so want toknow."
"It doesn't pay," I answered grimly.
"You are not going--behind?" she faltered, using the familiar phraseof the country in which she had spent as yet but three weeks.
"We are going behind," I answered, angry with her curiosity: not oldenough or experienced enough to see beneath it fear and misery. Angelasaid nothing more till we passed into the house. Then, with lack-lustre eyes, she surveyed our belongings, murmuring endlesscommonplace phrases. Presently she stopped opposite a photograph of agirl in Court dress.
"What a lovely frock!" she exclaimed, with real interest. "I do wishI'd been presented at Court. Who is she? Oh, a cousin. I wonder youcan bear to look at her."
Without another word she burst into tears, heart-breaking sobs, themore vehement because obviously she was trying to suppress them. Istared at her, helpless with dismay, confronted for the first timewith an emergency which seemed to paralyse rather than stimulateaction. Had I sympathised, had I presented any aspect other than thatof the confounded idiot, she might have become hysterical. Withoutdoubt, my impassivity pulled her together. The sobs ceased, and shesaid with a certain calmness--
"I couldn't help it. You and your brother have this splendid ranch;you have experience, capital, everything looks so prosperous, and yetyou are going--_behind_. And if that is the case, what is tobecome of us?"
"I dare say things will brighten up a bit."
"Brighten up?" She laughed derisively.
"That's the worst of it. The brightness is appalling. These hard, blueskies without a cloud in them, this everlasting sunshine--how I loatheit!"
Again I became tongue-tied.
"Jim thinks it _is_ Eden. When he showed me that ugly hut, andhis sickly fruit trees, and that terrible lit
tle garden where everyflower seemed to be protesting against its existence, I had to make-believe that it was Eden to me. Each day he goes off to his work, andhe always asks the same question: 'You won't be lonesome, littlewoman, will you?' and I answer, 'No.' But I am lonesome, so lonesomethat I should have gone mad if I hadn't found someone--you--to whom Icould speak out."
"I'm frightfully sorry," I stammered.
"Thanks. I know you are. And your brother is sorry, and everybodyelse, too. The women, my neighbours in the brush-hills, look at mewith the same question in their eyes: 'What are you doing here?' theysay.
"How impertinent!"
"Pertinent, I call it."
From that moment I regarded her with different eyes. If she had brainsto measure obstacles, she might surmount them, for brains in a newcountry are the one possession which adversity increases.
"Mrs. Misterton," I said slowly, "you are in a tight place, and Iwon't insult your intelligence by calling it by a prettier name; butyou can pull yourself and Jim out of it, and I believe you will."
"Thanks," she said soberly.
For some weeks after this we saw little of the Mistertons. Then Jimrode down to the ranch with an exciting piece of news.
"I've got a pup coming out."
A "pup" in California means a young English gentleman, generally thefool of the family, who pays a premium to some fellow-countryman inreturn for board and lodging and the privilege of learning not so muchhow to do things as how not to do them--the latter being the morecommon object-lesson afforded him. Ajax and I had gleaned experiencewith pups, and we had long ago determined that no premium was adequatecompensation for the task and responsibility of breaking them in. Jimwent into details.
"It's Tomlinson-Thorpe. You fellows have heard of him, of course?"
"Never," said Ajax.
"The International! You ought to see him go through a scrum with halfa dozen fellows on his back."
"A footballer," said my brother thoughtfully.
"One of the best. Naturally he puts on a little side. He has money,and I told him he could double it in a year or two."
"_You_ told him that? Have you doubled your capital, Jim?"
"Well--er--no. But I'm rather a Juggins. Thorpe is as 'cute as theymake 'em."
"A man of mind and muscle," murmured Ajax.
"And my greatest pal," added the enthusiastic James.
* * * * *
Both Ajax and I took a profound dislike to Tomlinson-Thorpe the momentwe set eyes upon him. He presented what is worst in the Briton abroad--a complacent aggressiveness tempered by a condescension which nothingbut a bullet can lay low. But undeniably he was specially designed togo through scrums or Kitchen Lancers, the admired of all beholders.
"A schoolgirl's darling," growled the injudicious Ajax.
"Nothing of the sort," retorted Jim. "I mean," he added, "that Thorpeappeals to--er--mature women. I know for a fact that the wife of abaronet is head over ears in love with him."
"I hope he didn't tell you so," said Ajax.
"I should think not. First and last he's a gentleman."
During the next few weeks we had abundant opportunity of testing thisassertion, for Thorpe was kind enough to consume much of our time andprovisions. He bought himself a smart pony, and, very accuratelyturned out, would canter down to the ranch-house three or four times aweek.
"There's nothing to learn up there," he explained.
It is fair to add that he helped us on the range, and exhibitedaptitude in the handling of cattle and horses.
Meanwhile, his advent had made an enormous difference to theMistertons. Jim fetched a hired girl from town, and Angela wasrelieved, during a scorching summer, of a housewife's most intolerableduties. Also, when Jim was hard at work clearing his brush-hills,wrestling with refractory roots of chaparral and manzanita, hisgreatest pal was kind enough to undertake the entertainment of Angela.The pair rode about together, and Jim told us that it did his heartgood to see how the little woman had brightened up. Thorpe, for hispart, admitted with becoming modesty that he was most awfully sorryfor his friend's wife.
"My heart bleeds for her," he told Ajax.
"The bounder with the bleeding heart," said Ajax to me that sameevening.
"We don't know that he is a bounder," I objected.
"He bounds, and he is as unconscious of his bounds as a kangaroo. Asfor Jim, he is the apex of the world's pyramid of fools."
"Angela can take care of herself."
"Can she?"
At our fall round-up, Ajax's question was answered. ConspicuouslyAngela attached herself to Tomlinson-Thorpe, regardless of the gapingeyes and mouths of neighbours, Puritan to the backbone in everythingexcept the stealing of unbranded calves.
Most unfortunately, Thorpe--I think more kindly of him when I don'tgive him his double-barrelled name--was daily exhibiting thosequalities which had carried him through scrums. In a bar-room brawlwith two pot-valiant cowboys, he had come out supremely "on top." Theyhad jeered at his riding-breeches, at his bob-tailed cob, at hisEnglish accent, and Thorpe had suffered them gladly. Then, quitesuddenly, Angela's name fell upon a silence. As suddenly Thorpe seizedboth men, one in each hand, and brought their heads together with acrash which the barkeeper described afterwards as "splendiferous."With an amazing display of physical violence, he flung them apart,each falling in a crumpled heap of profanity upon the floor.
"Don't fool with that feller," was the verdict in the foothills.
The affair would have been of no consequence had not Jim been presentwhen the row took place. Jim might have played the _beau role_had he carried a pistol. Admittedly he would have been licked in afight with either cowboy singly. Thorpe, so I was told, entreated Jimto keep the story from his wife. Angela had it, with slightexaggeration, from the hero-worshipper's lips within an hour. "Itbrought her heart into her mouth, I tell you," the simple fellow toldAjax, and later Ajax murmured to me: "I wonder whether it struckAngela that Jim would have tackled both of 'em, if Thorpe had notinterfered."
A dozen trifles hardly worth recording emphasised the differencebetween Jim and his greatest pal. Thorpe mastered the colt which hadthrown Jim; Thorpe, when fresh meat was wanted, killed handsomely thefat buck missed by the over-eager James; Thorpe made a pretty profitover a hog deal at the psychological moment when poor Mistertonallowed three Poland-China sows to escape through an improperlyconstructed fence!
Thorpe was a man. Did Angela think of Jim as a mouse?
* * * * *
After the fall round-up, Ajax and I spent a month fishing in BritishColumbia. When we got back to the ranch, one of the first to greet ushappened to be Jim Misterton. He looked so pale and thin that Ithought for a moment his old enemy had attacked him. However, heassured us that he was perfectly well, but unable to sleep properly.We asked him to stay to supper, rather as a matter of form, for he hadalways refused our invitations unless Angela were included. To oursurprise he accepted.
"He'll uncork himself after the second pipe," said the sage Ajax.
He did. And, oddly enough, our cousin's photograph in Court dressmoved him as it had moved his wife.
"Boys," he said, "I'm the biggest fool that ever came to this burnt-upwilderness; and I'm a knave because I persuaded the sweetest girl inEngland to join me."
Oil may calm troubled waters, but it feeds flames. We said something,nothing worth repeating; then Jim stood up, trembling with agitation,waving his briar pipe (which had gone out), cursing himself and thebrazen skies, and the sterile soil, and the jack-rabbits, and barb-wire, and his spring, now a pool of stagnant mud. When he hadfinished--and how his tongue must have ached!--Ajax said quietly--
"Were you any good as a clerk?"
Jim nodded sullenly.
"I knew my business, of course. Heavens! what a soft job that wascompared to what I've tackled out here!"
"It might be possible to find another such job in California. Younever thought of that?"
Jim's face brightened.
"Never," he declared. "Fresh air and exercise was the prescription--and I'm fed up on both. If I could get a billet as clerk in SanLorenzo, if----" He clenched his fists, unable to articulate anotherword, then, very slowly, he went on: "Boys, I'd give my life to getAngela away from Paradise."
"We'll help you," said Ajax.
"Mrs. Misterton would be much happier in San Lorenzo," I added.
Jim flushed scarlet.
"Angela married the wrong man," he said deliberately.
Ajax interrupted.
"Jim, fill your pipe!"
He held out his pouch, which Jim waved aside.
"She married the wrong man," he repeated, "and that is what is keepingme awake nights. She'd have been happy with Thorpe. He could havegiven her all the little things women value."
"And how about the great things?"
"The little things are great things--to her. Good-night, boys." Weshook hands and he went to the door. On the threshold he turned atired face towards us. "I hope I haven't given you fellows the ideathat Angela isn't the best little woman on earth. She never complains.And Thorpe has been a pal in ten thousand. His heart simply bleeds forAngela. So long!"
Ajax mixed a stiff tumbler. Before he put it to his lips he looked atme. "If that bounder's heart would bleed and bleed and bleed to death,I should not cross the road to fetch a doctor."
* * * * *
About a fortnight later the annual County Fair was held outside SanLorenzo. We drove to the Buena Vista Hotel, and, to our surprise, uponthe broad verandah we discovered Angela, in the last of her prettydresses, and Thorpe. Angela explained matters. Jim and she wereThorpe's guests for the week. They were going to the races, to theball, to all the shows. She finished breathlessly--
"And there's a captive balloon!"
Thorpe added, "Jim is rather blue, you know." As soon as we werealone, Ajax said savagely--
"Do you think Jim understands?"
"Understands what?"
"Oh, don't pretend! We know our Thorpe by this time. He's a cutlet-for-a-cutlet fellow. What do I say? A cutlet-for-a-baron-of-beefgentleman. Hang him!"
"But Angela----"
"Angela is a reckless little idiot. She's been starving for a lark,and she's swallowed it without counting the cost."
"But I trust her," said I; "and Jim is here."
Ajax shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
Next day, at the races, Jim attached himself to us, while aloft in thegrand-stand Angela sat with Thorpe: the handsomest couple at the Fair.For the moment, at any rate, Angela was enjoying herself; Jim, on theother hand, looked miserable. Contrast had discoloured the good time.He couldn't snatch pleasure out of the present because he saw soplainly the future.
"I'm a wet blanket," he said dolefully. "Every time Angela laughs Iwant to cry, and yet I ought to be thankful that old Thorpe can giveher what I can't."
"He's doing the thing well," said Ajax meaningly.
"He has been left a bit more money. Didn't he tell you? No? And he'sgoing to buy that big tract to the north-west of us. Mum's the word,but--between ourselves--the agreement is signed."
"Oh!" said Ajax.
The big tract in question belonged to a bank, whose president, a verygood fellow, was our particular friend. Early next morning I paid hima visit. Almost immediately he asked me questions about Thorpe, whichI was able to answer satisfactorily from a business point of view.
"Mr. Thorpe struck me as a very shrewd young man. He'll get there."
"He played football for England."
"Ah! Well, indirectly, I suppose, we can thank you for this deal."
"You can thank Jim Misterton and his wife."
"I have not the pleasure of knowing them. They had something to dowith this, eh?"
"Everything."
The president frowned; his voice was not quite so pleasant as hesaid--
"Are they likely to claim a commission?"
"Certainly not. All the same, something is due. Without the Mistertonsyou would never have sold this ranch to Thorpe. One moment. It is inyour power to do these people a service, and it will cost you nothing.Jim Misterton was a clerk in London, and a capable one, but his healthbroke down. He came out here to the brush-hills. He got back hishealth, but he's lost everything else. Give him a place in this bank.He's straight as a string, and he knows his work."
Before I left the bank it was understood that Jim was to call upon thepresident and submit his credentials. Humanly speaking, the billet wassecured. Nothing remained but to find Jim. To my surprise, however,Ajax urged me to wait a few hours.
"I want to see Jim's honest grin again as much as you do, but we musttell him before Thorpe When I upset an apple-cart, I like to see theapple rolling about, don't you?"
"We'll tell 'em after dinner to-night."
That afternoon we forgathered in the Fair Grounds. The racing wasuninteresting, and presently Angela suggested that we should go up inthe captive balloon. We had watched it ascending and descending withinterest. Some of our friends bored us by describing at too greatlength the panoramic splendour of the view. Angela and Ajax wanted tosoar, Thorpe and I preferred Mother Earth; to Jim was offered thecasting vote. He spun a dollar to decide, and within a few minutes thefive of us were seated in the wicker-car. I remember that our aeronautinspired confidence in Angela because he wore the Grand Army medal. Awindlass and a donkey-engine controlled the big rope which held uscaptive. We went aloft in a series of disagreeable and upsettingjerks. This may be an unusual experience, but it was ours. I am a badsailor, and so is Ajax. Neither of us smiled when Thorpe addressed theveteran as--"Steward!"
Suddenly there came a still sharper jerk, and the cable split. Theballoon seemed to leap upwards, swerved like a frightened bird, andthen, caught by the wind, sailed upward and seaward, swooping on witha paradoxically smooth yet uneven flight.
"Jeeroosalem!" ejaculated our aeronaut. Then he added coolly enough:"Sit tight; you'll none of you be the worse for this little trip."
His confidence diffused itself agreeably. Angela laughed, Thorpe'sface relaxed, Jim peered over the edge of the car.
"Gad!" said he, "we seem to be going a tremendous pace."
The veteran took a squint alow and aloft as he fingered the rope thatopened the valve. Next time he spoke the confidence had leaked fromhis voice, leaving behind a nervous squeak.
"This yere valve won't work!"
"Oh!" said Angela.
She looked at Thorpe as if seeking from him some word, some sign, ofcomfort and encouragement. At the same moment she made an instinctivemovement towards him. Jim was staring at her, very pale. I saw himhalf-open his lips and then close them. Frightened as I was, I canswear that Jim was thinking only of his wife and what he could readupon her face. Thorpe was quite impassive, but his fingers weretwitching. Then I heard Jim's voice curiously distinct--
"What are you going to do?"
"The valve may work loose. Anyways, she leaks a bit. Guess we're allright."
Once more his confidence diffused itself subtly, and again a phraseshattered it.
"How far is San Lorenzy from the ocean?"
"Eleven miles," said Ajax.
"We're sailin' plumb into the fog."
In late October the sea fog generally begins to roll up about fouro'clock. If the breeze is from the land, the fog is kept at bay for anhour or two. As a rule, the breeze fails, and then the fog asserts itsdominion over all things on land and sea. Without knowing much ofaerial navigation, I grasped the fact that we were being swept intothe fog, and that if we intended to descend on land there was not aminute to be lost. Thorpe, I fancy, had arrived at the sameconclusion. He said in a queer, high-pitched tone--
"Can't you stick a knife into the balloon?"
"It ain't easy, and it's mighty risky."
Jerking at the two ropes in his hands, he spoke collectedly, in anindifferent tone--the tone of a man who has confronted death often,who real
ises his impotence, who submits apathetically to impendingfate, whether good or ill.
"It's very cold," said Angela. Jim began to unbutton his jacket."Don't," she said sharply; "all the coats in the world wouldn't warmme."
"Stick a knife into the confounded thing," repeated Thorpe.
"S'pose you do it," said the veteran snappishly.
Thorpe stood up at once, staggered, and fell upon the floor of thecar. He could master a broncho, but he had never attempted to boss aballoon. The old man smiled.
"A man," said he, "may be mighty smart on land and behave like a babyin a balloon. You sit tight, mister."
The balloon was now careening like a racing-yacht in a squall. We hadmet opposing currents of air in the debatable area where wind and fogstruggled for the mastery. The fog had the mighty trade wind behindit, forcing it landward. Already we were approaching the sand-dunes,the very spot for an easy descent if we could descend.
"Gosh, I've done it!"
Above I could hear the soft, sibilant sound of the escaping gas, notunlike the hiss of a snake. I was also sensible that my heart, not tomention other important organs, was trying to get into my throat.
"Valve must ha' bust," said the old man. "Stand by to throw outballast."
The bottom of the car was covered with sacks of sand. Ordinarily oneunties the sacks and the sand is allowed to trickle out in a harmlessstream. I peered over the side. The balloon was now, so to speak, onan even keel, falling almost perpendicularly. I saw, far down, a flashof blue.
"Chuck 'em out, boys!"
Several sacks went overboard, and at once my solar plexus felt easier.Again I peered down and saw nothing. The fog had engulfed us, but Icould hear the crash of the big combers as they broke upon the rocksto the north of Avila.
What followed took place within a few seconds. We were encompassed bythick dank fog. The balloon was perfectly steady, descending lessquickly, but with inexorable certainty, into the ocean. Around, anuncanny silence encompassed us; above, we could hear the hiss of theserpent; below, the menacing roar of the breakers. Then the old mansaid curtly--
"Hurry up, boys. If we can get her up again, we may just strike thedunes. What wind there is blows from the west."
We threw out the rest of the sacks. The balloon rose and slowly sankagain. The old man took off his coat.
"I can't swim worth a cent," he muttered grimly, "but I'm a-going totry. If she tumbles quietly into the water, the wind may blow usashore."
A few more seconds passed. I heard a queer noise and discovered thatmy teeth were chattering. Thorpe was taking off his boots.
The next moment the balloon gave a tremendous bound. I know that Inearly fell upon my face, and Angela was thrown violently into thebottom of the car. For an appreciable interval not one of us realisedthat Jim had slipped overboard.
"The trade's got us," said the old man. "We shall just make themdunes."
"Oh, thank God!" exclaimed Angela.
By the tone of her voice, by the smile parting her lips, I could seethat she did not know what had happened. Terror had dulled allfaculties save the one overmastering instinct of self-preservation.Thorpe was about to speak, but Ajax caught his eye and with a gesturesilenced him. Once more the balloon began to fall----
* * * * *
We were thrown out upon the dunes. Some of us were badly bruised. Whenwe staggered to our feet, Angela said quickly--
"Why, where's Jim?"
Thorpe told her; let us give him credit for that. When he hadfinished, he put out his hand, but she turned from him to Ajax.
"Come," she said.
She ran past us towards the beach, instinctively taking the rightdirection. As she ran she called shrilly: "Jim--Jim!"
Ajax followed. For an instant Thorpe and I were alone, face to face.
"Why did he do it?" he asked.
"Because he thought that Angela had married the wrong man; but she--didn't."
When I caught Ajax up, Angela was still ahead, running like a madcreature.
"Jim never took off his boots," said Ajax.
"Nor his coat."
"All the same, the love of life is strong."
"We don't know how far he was from the water; the fall may have killedhim."
"I feel in my bones that he is not dead, and that Angela will findhim."
We pressed on, unwilling to be outstripped by a woman, but sensiblethat we were running ourselves to a standstill. The fog was thickernear the water's edge, and Angela's figure loomed through the mistlike that of a wraith, but we still heard her piteous cry: "Jim--Jim!"
We were nearly spent when we overtook her. She had stopped where thefoam from the breakers lay thick upon the sand.
"Listen!" she said.
We heard nothing but our thumping hearts and the raucous note of somesea-bird.
"He answered me!" she asserted with conviction. "There!"
Certainly my ears caught a faint cry to the left. We ran on,forgetting our bruises. Again Angela called, and out of the mistbeyond the breakers came an answering voice. We shouted back andplunged into the surf. Angela knelt down upon the sand.
Afterwards we admitted that Angela had saved his life, although Jimcould not have fought his way through the breakers without our help.Indeed, when we got him ashore, I made certain that he was dead. HadAngela's instinct or intuition failed, had she hesitated for a fewminutes, Jim would have drowned within a few hundred yards of the spotwhere the balloon struck. Since, Jim has maintained that he wassinking when he heard her voice; her faint, attenuated tones infusedstrength into his limbs and hope into his heart.
We dined together, and I delivered the president's message in Thorpe'spresence. He shook hands with Jim, and said quietly--
"I am happier to-night than I ever expected to be again."
Bounder or not, he meant it.
Only the other day I received a letter from Angela. She wrote atlength concerning her eldest child, my godson, and she mentionedincidentally that Jim was now cashier of the San Lorenzo Bank.
Bunch Grass: A Chronicle of Life on a Cattle Ranch Page 16