The Forbidden Trail - Honoré Willsie (top 10 books of all time .txt) 📗

clothes and noiselessly left the tent. It was nipping cold and he walked as fast as the heavy sand permitted. As he neared the ranch, a second light appeared and moved down to the corral. A few minutes later Roger had reached the bars.

"Dick," he cried softly to the dark figure that was pulling the harness off one of the horses. "It's Roger! Anything the matter? I saw the light." The figure dropped the harness and ran over to the bar. As the "bug" light caught her face, Roger saw that it was Charley.

"Oh, Roger!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad, so glad to see you!"

He vaulted over the bar.

"Hush," she said, "Dick's sick and I've just gotten him to sleep."

"Sick! That accounts for his grouch then! Why couldn't he say so! Shall I go for the doctor, Charley?"

"No! No! He's subject to these attacks. Did—did Ernest mind his being cross?" In the candlelight Charley looked anxiously into Roger's face.

"Not a bit. He just wondered about it because the change came on so suddenly. What is it? His stomach?"

"Yes, his stomach," replied Charley.

"Sure you don't want me to go for the doctor?"

Charley's voice trembled a little. "Very sure! But you can hang up the harness for me while I hold the light." Then, as Roger obeyed with alacrity, she asked: "What made you come up this hour of the night?"

"I couldn't sleep. Then I began to think about your brother's grouch. I got up and took a look in this direction and saw the light. I don't know just why I came. Restless, I guess!"

He tossed the lines over a peg and came back to take the lantern from Charley. As the light flashed on her face he saw that she looked very tired and that her lip was quivering. A wordless surprise swept over Roger. The feeling he had had that Charley was like an interesting boy whom he would wish to keep for a friend was rudely shocked by that quivering lip. Only a girl's lip could tremble so.

"Something is wrong," he said, anxiously. "Let me help you."

"You have helped me, more than you can know. Go home to bed now or you won't be fit for work to-morrow. And that work is just about the most important thing in this valley."

Roger could think of no adequate reply. He lowered the bars for Charley and put them up again. The two stood in silent contemplation of the desert night. The night wind was dying as dawn approached. Above and below was one perfect blending of dusky blue, with only the faint fleck of star silver to mark the sky from the earth. Roger's nerves quickened to the wonder of the night. He turned to Charley.

"I don't feel as if I'd ever lived before," he half whispered.

"I know," replied the girl. "I don't believe a person could be a real agnostic in the desert, do you?"

"No," said Roger, simply.

"You must go to bed," repeated Charley. "And you mustn't worry any more about me." She turned to run quickly up the trail to the adobe.

Roger started campward.

He was wakened later in the morning by the sound of conversation.

"I'm sorry, madam, but I'm no cook, and I dislike olive oil, anyhow. If you'll eat the pancakes as I fry 'em, in bacon fat, you're more than welcome to all you wish. But if you want olive oil used, you must fry them yourself."

"Where's the other young man?" asked Mrs. von Minden.

"Hey! Rog!" roared Ernest. "You're wanted."

Roger sat up on the edge of his cot with a yawn. As he did so, his eye fell on the unopened letters on the trunk.

Without waiting to dress he opened the one postmarked Washington. He read it through twice, then very deliberately rose and pulled on his clothing. His face was pale beneath the tan as he stepped out into the morning sun.

"Ernest, here's some bad news!" he called. "Come over to the tent a moment."

As Ernest hurried up, Roger said slowly, "Austin is dead and the Smithsonian Institute says it doesn't know anything about the deal with me."

Ernest dropped the pancake turner he was holding. "Good God!" He read the letter, then looked up into Roger's somber face. "Dropped dead in New York three weeks ago. Poor chap!"

Roger nodded. "But what was he up to? The writer of that letter says that although the Smithsonian was interested in a general way in our work, Austin had no authority to go ahead. Now, where did he get the money?"

"I suppose he was afraid some one else would get in on it while the Smithsonian was hesitating, so he funded up himself. I suppose they'd have paid him back. You remember his cursing out the delays and the red tape that hampered everything connected with the government. I thought he was hipped on the subject, but now—"

"What makes you think all that?" asked Roger.

"Well, don't you remember in St. Louis, when he was ordering stuff from the Condit Iron Works he said he'd pay the bill himself, to get the stuff started?"

Roger shook his head. "I don't remember. But I guess you're right. Lord, what a good scout he was to have so much faith in me! I wonder how much he spent on us, and whether his wife is provided for?"

"That won't be hard to find out. What we've got to worry about now is the situation with the Smithsonian. They can't realize how far we've gone."

"Yes, they do," replied Roger. "That letter from, what does he sign himself—Hampton?—is in reply to the report I sent Austin from Archer's Springs, two weeks ago. Why, they've got to go on with it!"

"If they won't, we are up against it," groaned Ernest. "I don't want to ask father for money, and you and the Dean have tried every one in the world."

"And who the devil wants you to ask your father for money for me?" Roger shouted. "Haven't we got practically all the material we need, bought and paid for? We don't need anything except food. We'll do the work ourselves."

Ernest's gentle voice interrupted. "But, Rog—"

"Don't but me," roared Roger. "I tell you nothing shall stop me now! If it takes twenty years, I'll go through with this. I'd rather cut my throat than not go on with it. I've waited for five years for this chance. The death of one man won't stop me, nor the indifference of some fool government clerk. This plant is going to be built."

"What I started to say," said Ernest quietly, "when you began your brain-storm, was that if you'd sell your laboratory equipment up home it would guarantee us food for six months. The Dean would attend to it for you."

Roger sat down on his cot, rather suddenly. "That's a good idea, Ern," he said, meekly.

Ernest picked up the pancake turner. "I'm with you to a finish in this, Roger. You don't have to jaw me, you know."

"Sorry, old man," muttered Roger.

"It's all right," replied Ernest. "I'll finish getting breakfast. We've got all day to talk this over. One idea occurs to me. Perhaps this man Hampton who signs this letter would be less cold to the project if he had details. Why don't you give him the whole story, both of the plant and of our relationship to Austin?"

"That's a good hunch," exclaimed Roger, immensely cheered up by the suggestion. "Well," with a sigh, "I might have known I was having too much luck."

"It's the old lady. She's a bird of ill omen. I knew it the minute I saw her, this morning. Come out as soon as you can, Rog. I don't dare to be alone with her."

Roger grinned, but did not hasten his shaving. Ernest could be facetious. After all, the building of the plant was not Ernest's dream. Roger was shocked by the news of Austin's death, but the shock was not due to grief. Austin simply represented opportunity to the young inventor. A sudden fear was clutching at his heart lest now the plant would never be completed. Roger had learned much since his arrival in the desert. He had begun to realize that the desert fights ferociously any attempt to subdue her. He knew now that it was going to take much longer than the outside margin he had allowed to build the plant. If a driven well failed, he must try out the Prebles'. Perhaps Dick's knowledge of irrigation would prove to be sketchy and that water supply too would prove inadequate. He believed still that his plans for the plant itself would not have to be changed.

"I heard every word you two said," Mrs. von Minden's voice rose suddenly. "You needn't worry at all. I'll concentrate for you immediately after breakfast."

"In that case, we are ruined," Roger muttered, smiling in spite of himself, as he dropped the tent flap behind him.

The lady visitor was sitting on a bench beside the table in the cook tent, contemplating a cup of coffee and a plate of crackers.

"Was it your idea, madam," said Ernest, attacking a pile of pancakes some ten inches high, "that your husband would find you in this camp?"

"So the Yogis say," replied Mrs. von Minden.

"Why don't you fry yourself some cakes, Mrs. von Minden?" asked Roger.

"Part of my creed is never to prepare food for myself if it is possible to get some one else to do it. A complete inertia is a vital step toward Nirvana."

Roger grunted. "Then you'll never find Nirvana in this camp, I can tell you."

"Good morning!" cried Felicia, appearing suddenly in the doorway.

"Dicky is sick," she announced, "and Charley sent me down here for the day. She said please for you not to come up because Dicky is so cross, she doesn't want any one around."

Ernest and Roger looked at each other.

"I think I'd better go up," said Roger.

"No, I'll go," insisted Ernest.

"Charley doesn't want you," cried Felicia. "She says so and she always means what she says."

"Oh, you've found that out, have you?" asked Ernest. "Well, have a flapjack; my cook is an artist."

"I've had breakfast, thank you," replied the little girl. "I'm going out and look at the things in the wagon."

"Go to it!" exclaimed Ernest. Then to Roger, "I see you've struck water at last. That news evidently impressed you less than other events, last night."

Roger nodded. "There's not much of it and it's vile to taste. But it'll take care of our camp wants and the engine. Charley suggested that if we didn't strike an adequate supply when we drove the well farther, we'd better set the plant up at their place. They'd be our first customers."

"Better not take her up till you've done a lot of experimenting down here," said Ernest, quickly.

"I don't expect to do much experimenting," replied Roger. "But I've started here and I'll keep on here, especially since this unexpected mix up."

Mrs. von Minden, who seemed to have been lost in thought ever since Felicia's appearance, now spoke suddenly, but with closed eyes.

"No, don't leave this spot. You are destined to great good luck here."

The two men looked at each other. Ernest shrugged his shoulders and Roger sighed and asked:

"Did the pump come?"

"Yes, and the hose and the pipe for the condenser. We brought that and the glass, the cement, more lumber, and the drum of sulphur dioxide. There are two more big loads down there."

Roger nodded. "I'll take my turn at it to-morrow. Did you see Schmidt?"

"Yes, and he suggested that if we'd tie Preble's team to our wagon, he'd drive a load back for us, so only you would need to come in."

"We can't afford to have Schmidt come out here now," sighed Roger.

"Let him come!" murmured the visitor, still with closed eyes. "He will be provided for. It's a great work and must go on."

Roger jerked himself to his feet. "Let's go