 CHAPTER 17 A TEST Dusang had the sidewise gate of a wolf, and crossed the street with the choppy walk of the man out of a long saddle. Being both uncertain and quick, he was a man to slip a trail easily. He traveled around the block and disappeared among the many open doors that blazed along Hill Street. Less alert trailers than the two behind him would have been at fault. But when he entered the place he was looking for, Kennedy was so close that Dusang could have spoken to him had he turned around. Kennedy passed directly ahead. A moment later Whispering Smith put his head inside the door of the joint Dusang had withdrew it and, rejoining his companion, spoke in an undertone. A negro dive, he's lying low, now will keep our regular order. It's a half-basement. With a bar on the left, crap tables at the table behind the screen on the right. Kennedy, will you take the rear end of the bar? It covers the whole room and the back door. George, pass in ahead of me and step just to the left of the slot machine. You've got the front door there and everything behind the screen and I can get close to Dusang. Look for a thinnish yellow-faced man with a brown hat and a brown shirt and pink eyes shooting craps under this window. I'll shoot craps with him. Is your heart pumping, George? Never mind. This is easy. Farrell, you're first. The dive, badly lighted and ventilated, was counted tough among tough places. White men and colored, mixed before the bar and about the tables. When Smith stepped around the screen and into the flare of the hanging lamps, Dusang stood in the small corner below the screened street window. McLeod, though vitally interested in looking at the man that had come to town to kill him, felt his attention continually wandering back to whispering Smith. The clatter of the rolling dice, the guttural jargon of the negro gamblers, the drift of men to and from the bar, and the clouds of tobacco smoke, made a hazy background for the stoop-shouldered man with his gray hat and shabby coat. Dus covered and travel-stained, industriously licking the broken wrapper of a cheap cigar and rolling it fondly under his forefinger. He was making his way un-austentatiously toward Dusang. Thirty odd men were in the saloon, but only two knew what the storm-center moving slowly across the room might develop. Kennedy, seeing everything and talking pleasantly with one of the bar-keepers, his close-set teeth gleaming twenty feet away, stood at the end of the bar sliding an empty glass between his hands. Dusang Smith pushed past the onlookers to get to the end of the table where Dusang was shooting. He made no effort to attract Dusang's attention, and when the latter looked up he could have pulled a gray hat from the head of the man whose brown eyes were mildly fixed on Dusang's dice. They were lying just in front of Smith, looking indifferently at the intruder, Dusang reached for the dice. Just ahead of his right hand was Spring Smith's right hand, the fingertips extended on the table, rested in front of them. It might have been through accident, or it might have been through design. In his left hand Smith held the broken cigar, and without looking at Dusang he passed the wrapper again over the tip of his tongue and slowly across his lips. Dusang now looked sharply at him, and Smith looked at his cigar. Others were playing around the semi-circular table. It might mean nothing. Dusang waited. Smith lifted his right hand from the table and felt in his waistcoat for a match. Dusang, however, made no effort to take up the dice. He watched Whispering Smith scratch a match on the table, and, either because it failed to light or through design, it was scratched the second time on the table, marking a cross between the two dice. The meanest negro in the joint would not have stood that, yet Dusang hesitated. Whispering Smith, mildly surprised, looked up. Hello, Paraline! You shooting here? He pushed the dice back toward the outlaw. Shoot again! Dusang, scowling, snapped the dice and threw badly. Upjump the devil, is it? Shoot again! And pushing back the dice, Smith moved closer to Dusang. The two men touched arms. Dusang, threatened in a way wholly new to him, waited like a snake, braved by a mysterious enemy. His eyes blinked like a badger's. He caught up the dice and threw. Is that the best you can do? Asked Smith. See here! He took up the dice. Shoot with me! Smith threw the dice up the table toward Dusang. Once he threw craps, but reaching directly in front of Dusang, he picked the dice up and threw eleven. Shoot with me, Dusang! What's your game? Snapped Dusang with an oath. What do you care if I've got the coin? I'll throw you for twenty dollar gold pieces. Dusang's eyes glittered. To understand the reason for the affront, he stood like a cat waiting to spring. This is my game, he snarled. Then play it. Look here. What do you want? He demanded angrily. Smith stepped closer. Any game you've got? I'll throw you left-handed, Dusang. With his right hand he snapped the dice under Dusang's nose and looked squarely into his eyes. Got any sugar-buttes money? Dusang, for an instant, looked keenly back. His eyes contracted in that time to a mere narrow slit. Then, sudden, as thought, he sprang back into the corner. He knew now. This was the man who held the aces at the barbecue, the railroad man. Whispering Smith, Kennedy, directly across the table, watched the lightning-like move. For the first time, the crap-dealer looked impatiently up. It was a showdown. No one watching the two men under the window breathe for a moment. Whispering Smith, motionless, only watched the half-closed eyes. "'You can't shoot, craps,' he said coldly. "'What can you shoot, perlain? You can't stop a man on horseback!' Dusang knew he must try for a quick kill or make a retreat. He took in the field at a glance. Kennedy's teeth gleamed only ten feet away, and with his right hand half under his coat lapel, he toyed with his watch-chain. McLeod had moved in from the slot machine and stood at the point of the table, looking at Dusang and laughing at him. Whispering Smith threw off all pretense. "'Take your hand away from your gun, you albino. I'll blow your head off, left-handed, if you pull. You get out of this town tonight? If you can't drop a man in the saddle at two hundred and fifty yards, what do you think you'd look like after a break with me? Go back to the whelp that hired you, and tell him when he wants a friend of mine to send a man that can shoot. If you're within twenty miles of medicine-bin at daylight, I'll rope you like a fat cow and drag you down front street. Dusang, with burning eyes, shrank narrower and smaller into his corner, ready to shoot if he had to, but not liking the chances. No man in Williams' cash could pull or shoot with Dusang, but no man in the mountains had ever drawn successfully against the man that faced him. Whispering Smith saw that he would not draw. He taunted him again in low tones and backing away spoke laughingly to McLeod. While Kennedy covered the corner, Smith backed to the door and waited for the two to join him. They halted a moment at the door. Then they backed slowly up the steps and out into the street. There was no talk till they reached the wiki-up office. Now, will some of you tell me who Dusang is, asked McLeod, after Kennedy and Whispering Smith, with banter and laughing, had gone over the scene. Kennedy picked up the ruler. The wickedest, cruelest man in the bunch, and the best shot. Where's your hat, George, the one he put the bullet through? Asked Whispering Smith, limp in the big chair. Burn it up! He thinks he missed you. Burn it up now! Never let him find out what a close call you had. Dusang, yes, he is cold-blooded as a wildcat and cruel as a soft bullet. Dusang would shoot a dying man, George, just to keep him squirming in the dirt. Did you ever see such eyes in a human being, set like that and blinking so in the light? It's bad enough to watch a man when you can see his eyes. There's hoping we're done with him. From sorry to add, he concluded, speaking to McLeod, that you're now out of a job. The two men were facing each other across the table in McLeod's office. Personally, I'm not sorry to say it, either, added Callahan, slowly filling the bowl of his pipe. McLeod said nothing to the point, as there seemed to be nothing to say until he had heard more. I never knew before that you were left-handed, he returned evasively. It's a lucky thing, because it won't do for a freight traffic man nowadays to let his right hand know what his left hand does, observed Callahan feeling for a match. I'm the only left-handed man in the traffic department, but the man that handles the rebates, Jimmy Black, is cross-eyed. Buck's offered to send him to Chicago to have Bryson straighten his eyes, but Jimmy thinks it's better to have them as they are for the present, so he can look at things in two different ways, one for the Interstate Commerce Commission and one for himself. You haven't heard, then, continued Callahan, returning to his riddle about McLeod's job. While Ant's dunning has gone into the United States court and got an injunction against us on the crawling stone line, tied us up tighter than zero. No more construction there for a year, at least. Dunning comes in for himself and for a cousin who is his ward, and three or four little ranchers have filed bills, so it's up to the lawyers for 80% of the gate receipts and peace. Personally, I'm glad of it. It gives you a chance to look after this operating for a year yourself. We're going to be swamped with freight traffic this year, and I want it moved through the mountains like checkers for the next six months. You know what I mean, George? To McLeod the news came in spite of himself as a blow. The results he had attained in building through the lower valley had given him a name among the engineers of the whole line. The splendid showing of the winter construction, on which he had depended to enable him to finish the whole work within the year, was by this news brought to naught. Those of the railroad men who said he could not deliver a completed line within the year could never be answered now. And there was some slight bitterness in the reflection that the very stumbling block to hold him back, to rob him of his chance for a reputation with men like Glover and Bucks, should be in the hands of Dixie Dunning. He made no complaint. On the division he took hold with new energy and bent his facilities on the operating problems. At Marion's he saw Dixie at intervals, and only to fall more hopelessly under her spell each time. She could be serious and she could be volatile, and she could be something between which she could never quite make out. She could be serious with him when he was serious, and totally irresponsible the next minute with Marion. On the other hand, when McLeod attempted to be flippant, Dixie could be confusingly grave. Once when he was bantering with her at Marion's she tried to say something about her regret that complications over the right of way should have arisen. But McLeod made light of it and waved the matter aside as if he were a cavalier. Dixie did not like it, but it was only that he was afraid she would realize he was a mere railroad superintendent with hopes of a record of promotion quite blasted. And as if this obstacle to a greater reputation were not enough, a wilyer enemy threatened in the spring to leave only shreds and patches of what he had already earned. The Crawling Stone River is said to embody, historically, all of the deceits known to mountain streams. Below the box canyon it plows through a great bed of yielding silt, its own deposit between the two imposing lines of bluffs that resist its wanderings from side to side of the wide valley. This fertile soil makes up the rich lands that are the envy of less fortunate regions in the Great Basin. But the Crawling Stone is not a river to give a quiet title to one acre of its own making. The toil of its centuries spreads beautifully green unto the dune skies and the unsuspecting settler lulled into security by many years of the river's repose, settles on its level-bench lands and lays out his long lines of possession. But the Sioux will tell you in their own talk that this man is but a tenet at will, that in another time and at another place the stranger will inherit his fields, and that the Crawling Stone always comes back for its own. This was the peril that Glover and MacLeod essayed when they run a three-tenths grade and laid an eighty-pound rail of two hundred and fifty miles of the valley. It was in local and exclusive territory a rich prize, and they brought to their undertaking not, perhaps, greater abilities than other men, but incomparably greater material resources than early American engineers had possessed. Success such as theirs is cumulative. When the work is done, one man stands for it, but it represents the work of a thousand men in every walk of American industry. Where the credit must lie with the engineer who achieves is in the application of these enormous resources of industrial triumphs to the particular conditions he faces in the problem before him. In the application lies the genius called success, and this is always new. Moreover, men like Glover and MacLeod were fitted for a fight with a mountain river because trained in the Western school, where poverty or resource had sharpened the wits. The building of the Crawling Stone line came with the dawn of a new day in American capital. And figures that had slept in fairies' dreams woke into everyday use. And when enlarged calculation among men controlling hitherto unheard of sums of money demanded the best and most permanent methods of construction to ensure enduring economies in operating. Thus the constructing of the Crawling Stone line opened in itself new chapters in Rocky Mountain Railroad building. An equipment of machinery, much of which had never before been applied to such building, had been assembled by the engineers, steamed shovels had been sent in battalions, grading machines and dump wagons had gone forward in train loads, and an army of men were operating in the valley. A huge steel bridge, three thousand feet long, was now being thrown across the river below the Dunning Ranch. The winter had been an unusual one, even in a land of winters. The seasons' fall of snow had not been above an average, but it had fallen in the spring and had been followed by excessively low temperatures throughout the mountains. June came again, but a strange June. The first rise of the Crawling Stone had not moved out the winter frost, and the stream lay bound from bank to bank, and for hundreds of miles under three feet of ice. When June opened, backward and cold, there had been no spring. Heavy frosts, lasting until the middle of the month, gave sudden way to summer heat, and the Indians on the Upper Valley Reservation began moving back into the hills. Then came the rise. Week after creek in the higher mountains, ice-bound for six months, burst without warning into flood. Soft winds struck with the sun and stripped the mountain walls of their snow. Rain set in on the desert, and far in the high northwest, the Crawling Stone lifting its four-foot cap of ice like a bed of feathers began rolling it end over end, down the valley. In the box, forty feet of water struck the canyon walls, and ice flows were hurled like torpedoes against the granite spurs. The Crawling Stone was starting after its own. When the river rose, the earlier talk of Dunning's men had been that the Crawling Stone would put an end to the railroad pretensions by washing the two hundred and fifty miles of track back to the Peace River where it had started. This much in the beginning was easy to predict, but the railroad men had turned out in force to fight for their holdings, and while the ranchers were laughing, the river was flowing over the benchlands in the Upper Valley. At the Dunning Ranch, the confidence of the men in their own security gave way to confusion as the river, spreading behind the ice-jams into broad lakes, and bursting in torrents through its barriers, continued to rise, treacherous in its broad and yellow quiet, lifting its muddy head in the stillness of the night, moving unheard over broad sandy bottoms, backing noiselessly into forgotten channels, stealing through heavy alfalfa pastures, eating a channel down a slender furrow. Then, with the soil melting from the root, the plant has toppled at the head. The rivulet has grown a stream. Night falls, and in the morning where yesterday smiling miles of green fields looked up to the sun rolls a mad flood of waters. This is the Crawling Stone. CHAPTER XIX So sudden was the onset of the river that the trained riders of the big ranch were taken completely aback, and hundreds of head of Dunning cattle were swept away before they could be removed to points of safety. Fresh alarms came with every hour of the day and night, and the telephones up and down the valley rang incessantly with appeals from neighbor to neighbor. Lance Dunning, calling out the reserves of his vocabulary, swore tremendously and directed the operations against the river. These seemed indeed to consist mainly of hard riding and hard language on the part of everybody. Murray Sinclair, although he had sold his ranch on the Crawling Stone and was concentrating his holdings on the Frenchman, was everywhere in evidence. He was the first at a point of danger, and the last to ride away from the slipping acres where the muddy flood undercut. But no defiance seemed to disturb the Crawling Stone, which kept alarmingly at work. Above the alfalfa lands on the long bench north of the house, the river, in changing its course many years earlier, had left a depression known as Mud Lake. It had become separated from the main channel of the Crawling Stone by a high, narrow barrier in the form of a bench, deposited by the receding waters of some earlier flood, and added to by sandstorms sweeping among the willows that overspread it. Without an effective head or definite system of work, the efforts of the men at the Stone Ranch were of no more consequence than if they had spent their time in waving blankets at the river. Twenty men riding in together to tell Lance Dunning that the river was washing out the tree-claims above Mud Lake made no perceptible difference in the event. Dixie, though an inexperienced girl, saw with helpless clearness the futility of it all. The alarms and the continual failures of the army of able-bodied men, directed by Sinclair and her cousin, wore on her spirit. The river rose until each succeeding inch became a menace to the life and property of the ranch, and in the midst of it came the word that the river was cutting into the willows and heading for Mud Lake. All knew what that meant. If the Crawling Stone should take its old channel, not alone were the two square miles of alfalfa doomed. It would sweep away every vestige of the long stacks below the corrals, take the barns, and lap the slope in front of the ranch house itself. Tara seized Dixie. She telephoned in her distress for Marion, begging her to come up before they should all be swept away, and Marion, turning the shop over to Katie Dancing, got into the ranch wagon that Dixie had sent and started for the Crawling Stone. The confusion along the river road as the wagon approached the ranch showed Marion the seriousness of the situation. Settlers driven from their homes in the Upper Valley formed almost a procession of misery-stricken people, making their way on horseback, on foot, and in wagons toward Medicine Bend. With them they were bringing all they had saved from the flood. The little bunch of cows, the wagon-load of hogs, the household effects, the ponies, as if war or pestilence had struck the valley. At noon Marion arrived. The ranch house was deserted and the men were all at the river. Puss stuck her head out of the kitchen window, and Dixie ran out and threw herself into Marion's arms. Late news from the front had been the worst. The cutting above Mud Lake had weakened the last barrier that held off the river, and every available man was fighting the current at that point. Marion hurt it all while eating a luncheon. Dixie beset with anxiety could not stay in the house. The man that had driven Marion over, saddled horses in the afternoon, and the two women rode up above Mud Lake, now become through rainfall and seepage from the river along shallow Lagoon. For an hour they watched the shoveling and carrying of sandbags, and rode toward the river to the very edge of the disappearing willows, where the bank was melting away before the undercut of the resistless current. They rode away with a common feeling, a conviction that the fight was a losing one, and that another day would see the ruin complete. Dixie exclaimed Marion. They were riding to the house as she spoke. I'll tell you what we can do. She hesitated a moment. I will tell you what we can do. Are you plucky? Dixie looked at Marion pathetically. If you are plucky enough to do it, we can keep the river off yet. I have an idea. I will go, but you must come along. Marion, what do you mean? Don't you think I would go anywhere to save the ranch? I should like to know where you dare go in this country that I dare not. Then ride with me over to the railroad camp by the new bridge. We will ask Mr. McLeod to bring some of his men over. He can stop the river. He knows how, Dixie called her breath. Oh, Marion, that would do no good, even if I could do it. While the railroad has been all swept away in the lower valley. How do you know? So everyone says. Who is everyone? Cousin Lance, Mr. Sinclair, all the men I heard that a week ago. Dixie, don't believe it. You don't know these railroad men. They understand this kind of thing. Cattlemen, you know, don't. If you will go with me, we can get help. I feel just as sure that those men can control the river as I do that I'm looking at you. That is, if anybody can. The question is, do you want to make the effort? They talked until they left the horses and entered the house. When they sat down, Dixie put her hands to her face. Oh, I wish you had said nothing about it. How can I go to him and ask for help now? After Cousin Lance has gone into court about the line and everything. And of course my name is in it all. Dixie, don't raise specters that have nothing to do with the case. If we go to him and ask him for help, he will give it to us if he can. If he can't, what harm is done? He's been up and down the river for three weeks and he has an army of men camped over by the bridge. I know that because Mr. Smith rode in from there a few days ago. What? Whispering Smith? Oh, if he is there, I would not go for worlds. Pray why not? Why, he's such an awful man. That is absurd, Dixie. Dixie looked grave. Marion, no man in this part of the country has a good word to say for Whispering Smith. Perhaps you have forgotten, Dixie, that you live in a very rough part of the country. Returned Marion coolly. No man that he has ever hunted down would have anything pleasant to say about him, nor would the friends of such a man be likely to say a good word of him. There are many on the range, Dixie, that have no respect for life or law or anything else. And they naturally hate a man like Whispering Smith. But Marion, he killed, I know. He killed a man named Williams a few years ago while you were at school, one of the worst men that ever infested this country. Williams Cash is named after that man. He made the most beautiful spot in all these mountains a nest of thieves and murderers. But do you know that Williams shot down Gordon Smith's only brother, a train master, in cold blood in front of the wiki up at Medicine Bend? No, you never heard that in this part of the country, did you? They had a cow thief for sheriff then, and no officer in Medicine Bend would go after the murderer. He rode in and out of town as if he owned it, and no one dared say a word. And, mind you, Gordon Smith's brother had never seen the man in his life until he walked up and shot him dead. Oh, this was a peaceful country a few years ago. Gordon Smith was right-of-way man in the mountains then. He buried his brother and asked the officers what they were going to do about getting the murderer. They laughed at him. He made no protest except to ask for a Deputy United States Marshals Commission. When he got it, he started for Williams Cash after Williams in a buckboard. Think of it, Dixie. And didn't they laugh at him? He did not even know the trails. And imagined riding 200 miles in a buckboard to arrest a man in the mountains. He was gone six weeks and came back with Williams' body strapped to the buckboard behind him. He never told the story. All he said when he handed in his commission and went back to his work was that the man was killed in a fair fight. Hate him? No wonder they hate him. The Williams Cash gang and all their friends on the range. Your cousin thinks it policy to placate that element, hoping that they won't steal your cattle if you're friendly with them. I know nothing about that, but I do know something about Whispering Smith. It would be a bad day for Williams Cash when they start him up again. But what is that to do with your trouble? He will not eat you up if you go to the camp, Dixie. You are just raising boogies. They had moved to the front porch and Marion was sitting in the rocking chair. Dixie stood with her back against one of the pillars and looked at her. As Marion finished, Dixie turned and with her hand on her forehead, looked in wretchedness of mind out on the valley. As far in many directions as the eye could reach the waters spread yellow in the flood of sunshine across the lowlands, there was a moment of silence. Dixie turned her back on the alarming sight. Marion, I can't do it. Oh yes you can, if you want to, Dixie. Dixie looked at her with tearless eyes. It's only a question of being plucky enough, insisted Marion. Pluck has nothing to do with it, exclaimed Dixie in fiery tones. I should like to know why you're always talking about my not having courage. This isn't a question of courage. How can I go to a man that I talk to as I talk to him in your house and ask for help? How can I go to him after my cousin has threatened to kill him and gone into court to prevent his coming on our land? Shouldn't I look beautiful asking help from him? Marion rocked with perfect composure. No dear, you would not look beautiful asking help, but you would look sensible. It is so easy to be beautiful and so hard to be sensible. You are just as horrid as you can be, Marion Sinclair. I know that too, dear. All I wanted to say is that you would look very sensible just now in asking help from Mr. McLeod. I don't care, I won't do it. I will never do it, not if every foot of the ranch tumbles into the river. I hope it will. Nobody cares anything about me. I have no friends but thieves and outlaws. Dixie Marion Rose. That's what you said? I did not. I'm your friend. How dare you call me names, demanded Marion, taking the petulant girl in her arms. Don't you think I care anything about you? There are people in this country that you have never seen who know you and love you almost as much as I do. Don't let any silly pride prevent her being sensible, dear. Dixie burst into tears. Marion drew her over to the setee and she had her cry out. When it was over, they changed the subject. Dixie went to her room. It was a long time before she came down again, but Marion rocked in patience. She was resolved to let Dixie fight it out herself. When Dixie came down, Marion stood at the foot of the stairs. The young mistress of Crawling Stone Ranch descended step by step, very slowly. Marion, she said simply, I will go with you. End of chapter 19. Chapter 20 of Whispering Smith by Frank Spearman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 20 At the Dyke. Marion called her closely to her heart. I knew you would go if I got you angry, dear, but you're so slow to anger. Mr. McLeod is just the same way. Mr. Smith says when he does get angry, he can do anything. He's very like you in so many ways. Dixie was wiping her eyes. Is he Marion? Well, what shall I wear? Just your riding clothes, dear, and a smile. He won't know what you have on. It is you he will want to see. But I've been thinking of something else. What will your cousin, Lance, say? Suppose he should object. Object? I should like to see him object after losing the fight himself. Marion laughed. Well, do you think you can find the way down there for us? I can find any way anywhere within 100 miles of here. On the 20th of June, McLeod did have something of an army of men in the Crawling Stone Valley. Of these, 250 were in the vicinity of the bridge, the abutments and piers of which were just being put in just below the Dunning Ranch. Near at hand, Bill Dancing, with a big gang, had been for some time watching the ice and dynamiting the jams. McLeod brought in more men as the river continued to rise. The danger line on the gauges was at lengths submerged, and for three days the mainline construction camps had been robbed of men to guard the soft grades above and below the bridge. The new track up and down the valley had become a highway of escape from the flood, and the track patrols were met at every curve by cattle, horses, deer, wolves, and coyotes fleeing from the waste of waters that spread over the bottoms. Through the Dunning Ranch, the Crawling Stone River makes a far bend across the valley to the north and east. The extraordinary volume of water now pouring through the Box Canyon exposed 10,000 acres of the ranch to the Caprice of the river. And if at the point of its tremendous sweep to the north, it should cut back into its old channel, the change would wipe the entire body of ranch alfalfa lands off the face of the valley. With the heat of the lengthening June days, a vast steam rose from the chill waters of the river, marking in ominous windings the channel of the mainstream through a yellow sea which, ignoring the usual landmarks of trees and dunes, flanked the current broadly on either side. Late in the afternoon of the day that Dixie with Marion sought MacLeod, a storm drifted down the topotopa hills and heavy showers broke across the valley. At nightfall the rain had passed and the mist lifted from the river. Above the bluffs rolling patches of cloud obscured the face of the moon, but the distant thunder had ceased and at midnight the valley near the bridge lay in a stillness broken only by the horse calls of the patrols and far-off megaphones. From the bridge camp, which lay on high ground near the grade, the distant lamps of the trackwalkers could be seen moving dimly. Before the campfire in front of MacLeod's tent, a group of men, smoking and talking, said or lay sprawled on tarpaulins, drying themselves after the long day. Among them were the weather-beaten remnants of the old guard of the Mountain River workers, who had ridden in the caboose the night that Haley went to his death and had fought the spider-water with Glover. Bill dancing, huge, lumbering, awkward as a bear and as shifty was talking, because with no apparent effort he could talk all night and was a valuable man in keeping the camp awake. Bill dancing talked and after Sinclair's name had been dropped from the roll, ate and drank more than any two men on the division. A little apart, MacLeod lay on a leather caboose cushion trying to get a nap. It was the day George MacLeod came, continued dancing, spinning a continuous story. Nobody was drinking, Murray Sinclair started that yarn. I was getting fixed up a little for to meet George MacLeod, so I asked the barber for some tonic and he understood me to say die for my whiskers and he gets out to die and begins to die my whiskers. My cigar went out whilst he was shampooing me and my whiskers was wet up with the dye. He turned around and put down a bottle and I started for to light my cigar with a parlor match and by gum away went my whiskers on fire, burnt just like a tumbleweed. There was the barbers all running around it once trying for to choke me with towels and running for water and me sitting there blazing like a tar barrel. That's all there was to that story. I went over to Doc Torpes and got bandaged up and he wanted me for to go to the hospital but I was going for to meet George MacLeod. Bill raised his voice a little and threw his tones carelessly over toward the caboose cushion. And I was the only man on the platform when his train pulled in. His car was on the high and dead. I walked back and waited for someone to come out. It was about seven o'clock in the evening and they was eating dinner inside. So I set up on the fence for a minute and who do you think got out of the car? That boy laying right over there. Where's your dad? Says I. That's exactly what I said. Dead. Says he. Dead. Says I. Surprise to like. Dead. Says he. For many years. Where's the new superintendent? Says I. I'm the new superintendent. Says he. Well sir, you could have blowed me over with an air hose. Go away. I says. What's the matter with your face, Bill? He says while I was looking at him. Now that's straight. That was George MacLeod right over there. The first time I ever said I was on him were him on me. The assertion was met with silence such as might be termed marked. Bucks told him, continued Bill dancing in corroborative detail, that when he got to Medicine Bend, one man would be waiting for to meet him. He met me, says Bucks. He's met every superintendent since my time. He'll meet you. Go right up and speak to him, Bucks says. He'll be all right. Oh hell, Bill, protested and indignant chorus. Well, what's the matter with you fellas? Didn't you ask me to tell the story? Demanded dancing angrily. If you know it better than I do, tell it. Give me some tobacco, Chris, said Bill, honoring with the request the only man in the circle who had shown no skepticism because he spoke English with difficulty. And say, Chris, go down and read the bridge gauge, will you? It's close on 12 o'clock and he's to be called when it reaches 28 feet. I said the boy could never run the division without help from every man on it and that's what I'm giving him. And I don't care who knows it, said Bill dancing, raising his voice, not too much. Bucks says that any man that can run this division can run any railroad on earth. Shoo, now who's this coming year on horseback? Clown up again, too, by gum. The man sent to the bridge had turned back and behind his lantern dancing heard the tread of horses. He stood at one side of the campfire while two visitors rode up. They were women. Dancing stood dumb as they advanced into the firelight. The one ahead spoke, Mr. Dancing, don't you know me? As she stopped her horse, the light of the fire struck her face. Why, Miss Sinclair? Yes, and Miss Dunning is with me, returned Marion. Bill staggered. This is an awful place to get to. We've been nearly drowned and we want to see Mr. MacLeod. MacLeod, roused by Marion's voice, came forward. You were asleep, said she, as he greeted her. I'm so sorry we've disturbed you. She looked care-worn and a little forlorn. Yet but a little, considering the struggle she and Dixie had made to reach the camp, light blazed from the campfire where Dixie stood talking with Dancing about horses. They're in desperate straits up at the ranch, Marion went on, when MacLeod had assured her of her welcome. I don't see how they can save it. The river is starting to flow into the old channel and there's a big pond right in the alfalfa fields. It will play the deuce with things if it gets through there, mused MacLeod. I wonder how the river is. I've been asleep. Oh, Bill, he called to Dancing. What water have you got? Twenty-eight-six just now, sir. She's arising very, very slow, Mr. MacLeod. So I'm responsible for this invasion, continued Marion calmly. I've been up with Dixie at the ranch. She sent for me. Just think of it, no woman but old puss within 10 miles of the poor child. And they've been trying everywhere to get bags. When you have all the bags, and the men have been buzzing around over there for a week like bumble-bees and doing just about as much good. She and I talked it over this afternoon and I told her I was coming over here to see you and we started out together. And merciful goodness, such a time we've had. But you started out together. Where did you leave her? There she stands on the other side of the fire. Oh, Dixie! Why did you not tell me she was here? exclaimed MacLeod. Dixie came into the light as he hastened over. If she was uncertain in manner, he was not. He met her, laughing just enough to relieve the tension of which both for an instant were conscious. She gave him her hand when he put his out, though he felt that it trembled a little. Such a ride as you have had! Why did you not send me word? I would have come to you, he exclaimed, throwing reproach into the words. Dixie raised her eyes. I wanted to ask you whether you would sell us some grain sacks, Mr. MacLeod, to use at the river, if you could spare them. Sacks? Well, of course, all you want. But how did you ever get here, and all this water and two lone women? You've been in danger tonight. Indeed you have, don't tell me. And you're both wet, I know it. Your feet must be wet. Come to the fire. Oh, Bill, he called to dance me. What's the matter with your wood? Let us have a fire, won't you? One worthwhile, and build another in front of my tent. I can't believe you've ridden here all the way from the ranch, two of you alone, exclaimed, MacLeod, hastening boxes up to the fire for seats. Marion laughed, Dixie can go anywhere. I couldn't have ridden from the house to the barns alone. Then tell me how you could do it, demanded MacLeod, devouring Dixie with his eyes. Dixie looked at the fire. I know all the roads pretty well. We did get lost once, she confessed in a low voice, but we got out again. The roads are all under water, though. What time is it, please? MacLeod looked at his watch. Two minutes past twelve, Dixie started. Past twelve? Oh, this is dreadful. We must start right back, Marion. I had no idea we'd been five hours coming five miles. MacLeod looked at her as if still unable to comprehend what she had accomplished in crossing the flooded bottoms. Her eyes fell back to the fire. What a blaze, she murmured, as the driftwood snapped and roared. It's fine for tonight, isn't it? I know you both must have been in the water, he insisted leaning forward in front of Dixie to feel Marion's skirt. I'm not wet, declared Marion, drawing back. Nonsense, you are wet as a rat! Tell me, he asked, looking at Dixie. About your trouble up at the bin. I know something about it. Are the men there tonight? You haven't up, have they? Too bad. Do open your jackets and try to dry yourselves, both of you, and I'll take a look at the river. Suppose, I only say, suppose, you first take a look at me. The voice came from behind the group at the fire, and the three turned together. By Heaven Gordon Smith, exclaimed MacLeod, where did you come from? Whispering Smith stood in the gloom in patience. Where do I look as if I'd come from? Why don't you ask me whether I'm wet, and won't you introduce me? But this is Miss Dixie Dunning, I'm sure. Marion with laughter hastened the introduction. And you are wet, of course, said MacLeod, feeling Smith's shoulder. No, only soaked. I've fallen into the river two or three times, and the last time a big rhinoceros of yours down the grade, a section foreman named Klein, was obliging enough to pull me out. Oh, no, I was not looking for you, he ran on, answering MacLeod's question. Not when he pulled me out, I was just looking for a farm or a ladder or something. Klein for a man named Small is the biggest Dutchman I ever saw. Tell me, Klein, I ask, after he'd quit dragging me out, he's a Hanovian. Where'd you get your pull? And how about your height? Did your grandfather serve as a grenadier under old Frederick William, and was he kidnapped? Bill don't feed my horse for a while. When Klein tried to light a cigar, I had just taken from my pocket and given him, fancy. The Germans are remarkable people, and sat down to tell me his history when some friend down the line began bawling through a megaphone, and all that poor Klein had time to say was that he had had no supper, nor dinner, nor yet breakfast, and would be obliged for some by the boat he had forwarded me in. And in closing, Whispering Smith looked cheerfully around at Marion, at McLeod, and last and longest of all, at Dixie Dunning. Did you just come from across the river?" asked Dixie, adjusting her wet skirt meekly over her knees. "'You're soaking wet,' observed Whispering Smith. "'Across the river?' he echoed. "'Well, hardly, my dear Miss Dunning. Every bridge is out down the valley except the railroad bridge, and there are a few things I don't tackle. One is the crawling stone on a tear. No, this was across a little break in this man-McLeod's track. I came, to be frank, from the Dunning Ranch to look up two women who rode away from there at seven o'clock to-night. And I want to say that they gave me the ride of my life!' And Whispering Smith looked all around the circle and back again, and smiled. Dixie spoke in amazement. "'How did you know we rode away? You were not at the ranch when we left?' "'Oh, don't ask him,' cried Marion. "'He knows everything,' exclaimed McLeod. Whispering Smith turned to Dixie. I was interested in knowing that they got safely to their destination, whatever it might be, which was none of my business, I happened to see a man that had seen them start, that was all. "'You don't understand? Well, if you want it in plain English, I made it my business to see a man who made it his business to see them. It's all very simple, but these people like to make a mystery of it. Good women are scarcer than riches, and more to be prized than fine gold, in my judgment. So I rode after them.' Marion put her hand for a moment on his coat's sleeve. He looked at Dixie with another laugh, and spoke to her because he dared not look toward Marion. "'Going back to-night, do you say?' "'You never are,' Dixie answered, quite in earnest. "'Oh, but we are. We must.' "'Why did you come, then? It's taken half the night to get here, and it'll take a night and a half at least to get back.' We came to ask Mr. McLeod for some grain sacks. "'No, they have nothing to work with at the ranch,' said Marion. "'And he said we might have some, and we're to send for them in the morning.' "'I see. But we may as well talk plainly,' Smith looked at Dixie. "'You are as brave and as game as a girl can be. I know, or you couldn't have done this. Sacks full of sand with the boys at the ranch to handle them will do no more good to-morrow at the bend than bladders. The river is flowing into Squall Lake above there now. A hundred men that know the game might check things yet if they're there by daylight. Nobody else, and nothing else on God's earth can.' There was silence before the fire. McLeod broke it. "'I can put the hundred men there by daylight, Gordon, if Miss Dunning and her cousin want them,' said McLeod. Marion sprang to her feet. "'Oh, will you do that, Mr. McLeod?' McLeod looked at Dixie. "'If they are wanted,' Dixie tried to look at the fire. "'We have hardly deserved help from Mr. McLeod at the ranch,' she said at last. He put out his hand. I must object. The first wreck I ever had on this division, Miss Dunning rode twenty miles to offer help. Isn't that true? Why, I would walk a hundred miles to return the offer to her.' Perhaps your cousin would object, he suggested, turning to Dixie. But no, I think we can manage that. Now what are we going to do? You two can't go back to night. That's certain. We must. Then you will have to go and boats,' said Whispering Smith. "'But the hill rode. There's five feet of water across it in half a dozen places. I swam my horse through, so I ought to know. It's all back water, of course, Miss Dunning,' explained McLeod. Not dangerous. "'But moist,' suggested Whispering Smith, especially in the dark,' McLeod looked at Marion. "'Then let's be sensible,' he said. "'You and Miss Dunning can have my tent as soon as we have supper.' "'Suppers serve to all on duty at twelve o'clock, and we're on duty, aren't we? They're about ready to serve now.' "'We eat in the tent,' he added, holding out his hand as he heard the patter of raindrops. "'Rain again. No matter, we shall be dry under canvas.' Dixie had never seen an engineer's fueled headquarters. Lanterns lighted the interior, and the folding table in the middle was strewn with papers which McLeod swept off into a camp-chest. Two double-cuts with a nile between them stood at the head of the tent, and spread with bright Hudson Bay blankets looked fresh and undisturbed. A box-table near the head-pole held an alarm clock, a telegraph key, and a telephone, and the wires ran up the pole behind it. Leather jackets and sweaters lay on boxes under the tent walls, and heavy boots stood in disorderly array along the foot of the cots. These McLeod, with apologies, kicked into the corners. "'Is this where you stay?' asked Dixie. "'Four of us sleep in the cots when we can, and an indefinite number lie on the ground when it rains.' Marian looked around her. "'What do you do when it thunders?' The two men were pulling boxes out for seats. McLeod did not stop to look up. "'I crawl under the bed, and others don't seem to mind it. "'Which is your bed?' "'Whichever I can crawl under quickest. "'I usually sleep there,' he pointed to the one on the right. "'I thought so. It has the blanket folded back so neatly, "'just as if there were sheets under it. "'I'll bet there aren't any. "'You think this is a summer resort?' "'Kinesley, my assistant, sleeps there, "'but, of course, we're never both in bed at the same time. "'He's down the river tonight.' "'It's a sort of continuous performance, you know,' McLeod looked at Dixie. "'Take off your coat, won't you, please?' Whispering Smith was trying to drag a chest from the foot of the cot, and Marian stood watching. "'What are you trying to do? "'Get this over to the table for a seat!' "'Silly man, why don't you move the table?' Dixie was taking off her coat. "'How inviting it all is,' she smiled. "'And this is where you stay?' "'When it rains,' answered McLeod, "'let me have your hat, too.' "'My hair is a sight, I know. "'We rode over rocks and up gullies into the brush "'and through lakes, oh, I know. "'I can't conceive how you ever got here at all. "'Your hair's all right. "'This is camp, anyway. "'But if you want a glass, you can have one. "'Niesley's a great swell. "'He's just from school and has no end of things. "'I'll rob his bag. "'Don't disturb Mr. Kniezle's bag for the world. "'But if you're not taking off your hat, "'you seem to have something on your mind. "'Help me to get it off my mind, will you, please? "'If you let me. "'Tell me how to thank you for your generosity. "'I came all the way over here tonight "'to ask you for just the help you have offered. "'And I could not.' It stuck in my throat. "'But that wasn't what was on my mind. "'Tell me what you thought when I acted so dreadfully at Marion's. "'I didn't deserve anything better after placing myself "'in such a fool position. "'Why don't you ask me what I thought the day you acted so beautifully "'at Crawling Stone Ranch? "'I thought that the finest thing I ever saw. "'You were not to blame at Marion's? "'I seem to be, which is just as bad. "'I'm going to start the phones going. "'It's up to me to make good, you know, "'in about four hours with a lot of men and materials. "'Aren't you going to take off your hat? "'And your gloves are soaking wet.'" MacLeod took down the receiver, and Dixie put her hand slowly to her head to unpin her hat. It was a broad hat of scarlet felt, rolled high above her forehead, and an eagle's quill caught in the black rosette swept across the front. As she stood in her clinging writing skirt and her severely plain scarlet waist with only a black ascot falling over it, Whispering Smith looked at her. His eyes did not rest on the picture too long, but his glance was searching. He spoke in an aside to Marion. Marion laughed as she turned her head from where Dixie was talking again with MacLeod. "'The best of it is,' murmured Marion. "'She hasn't a suspicion of how lovely she really is.'" End of chapter 20. Chapter 21 of Whispering Smith by Frank Spearman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 21, Summer in Camp. "'Will you never be done with your telephoning?' asked Marion. MacLeod was still planning the assembling of the men and teams for the morning. Breakfast and transportation were to be arranged for, and the men and teams and material were to be selected from where they could best be spared. Dixie, with the fingers of one hand moving softly over the telegraph key, sat on a box listening to MacLeod's conferences and orders. "'Cherry says everything is served, isn't it, Cherry?' Marion called to the Japanese boy. Cherry laughed with a guttural joy. "'We're ready for it,' announced MacLeod, rising. "'How are we to sit?' "'You are to sit at the head of your own table,' said Marion. "'I serve the coffee, so I sit at the foot. "'And Mr. Smith may pass the beans over there, "'and, Dixie, you are to pour the condensed milk into the cups. "'Or into the river, just as you like,' suggested Whispering Smith. MacLeod looked at Marion Sinclair. "'Really?' he exclaimed. "'Wherever you are, it's fair weather. "'When I see you, no matter how tangled up things are, "'I feel right away they're coming out. "'And this man is another. "'Another what?' demanded Whispering Smith. "'Another care-killer,' MacLeod speaking to Dixie, "'knotted toward his companion. "'Troubles slip from your shoulders when he staggers in, "'though he's not of the slightest use in the world. "'Have only one thing against him. "'It's a physical peculiarity, but an indefensible one. "'You may not have noticed it, but he is bow-legged. "'From riding your scrub railroad horses, "'I feel like a sailor ashore when I get off one. "'Are you going to eat all the bacon, Mr. MacLeod, "'or do we draw a portion of it? "'I didn't start out with supper tonight. "'Take it all. "'I suppose it would be useless to ask "'where you've been today. "'Not in the least, but it would be useless to tell. "'I'm violating no confidence, though, in saying I'm hungry. "'I certainly shouldn't eat this stuff if I weren't. "'Should you, Miss Dunning? "'And I don't believe you're eating, by the way. "'Where's your appetite? "'Your ride ought to have sharpened it. "'I'm afraid you're a downcast. "'Oh, don't deny it, it's very plain, "'but your worry is unnecessary.' "'If the rain would only stop,' said Marion, "'everybody would cheer up. "'They haven't seen the sun at the ranch for ten days.' "'This rain doesn't count so far as the higher water "'is concerned,' said MacLeod. "'It is the weather two hundred and fifty miles above here "'that is of more consequence to us. "'And there it is clear tonight. "'As long as the tent doesn't leak, I'd rather like it. "'Sing your song about fair weather, Gordon. "'But can the men work in such a downpour?' "'Vincher Dixie.' "'The two men looked serious and Marion laughed. "'In the morning you'll see a hundred "'of them marching forward with umbrellas, "'as to MacLeod leading. "'The Japs carry fans, of course. "'I wish I could forget we're in trouble at home,' said Dixie, taking the bandinage gracefully. "'Worrying people are such a nuisance. "'Don't protest, for everyone knows they are.' "'But we're all in trouble,' insisted Whispering Smith. "'Trouble. "'Why, bless you, it really is a blessing. "'Pretty successfully disguised, I admit, "'sometimes, but still a blessing. "'I'm in trouble all the time, right now, "'up to my neck in trouble. "'And the water rising this minute. "'Look at this man,' he nodded toward MacLeod. "'He's in trouble, and the five hundred under him, "'very in all kinds of trouble. "'I shouldn't know how to sleep without trouble,' continued Whispering Smith, warming to the contention. "'Without trouble I lose my appetite. "'MacLeod, don't be tight, pass the bread. "'Never heard him do so well,' declared MacLeod, looking at Marion. "'Seriously, now,' Whispering Smith went on, "'don't you know people who, if they were thoroughly prosperous, "'would be intolerable, simply intolerable? "'I know several such. "'All thoroughly prosperous people are a nuisance. "'That's a general proposition, and I stand by it. "'Go over your list of acquaintances, "'and you will admit it's true. "'Here's to trouble. "'May it always chasten and never overwhelm us. "'Our greatest bugbear and our best friend. "'It sifts our friends and unmasks our enemies. "'Like a lovely woman, it woos us.' "'Oh, never,' exclaimed Marion. "'A lovely woman doesn't woo. "'She is wooed. "'What are you looking for, perfection and rhetorical figure? "'This is extemporaneous.' "'But it won't do.' "'And ask to be conquered,' suggested Whispering Smith. "'Asked? "'Oh, scandalous, Mr. Smith. "'It's easy to see why he never could get anyone to marry him,' declared MacLeod over the bacon. "'Hold on, then. "'Like a lovely woman, it does not seek us. "'We seek it,' persisted the orator. "'That at least is so, isn't it?' "'It is better,' assented Marion. "'And it waits to be conquered. "'How's that?' "'Marion turned to Dixie. "'You're not helping a bit. "'What do you think?' "'I don't think woman and trouble ought to be associated "'even in figure, and I think waits is horrid. "'And Dixie looked gravely at Whispering Smith. "'MacLeod, too, looked at him. "'You're in trouble now, yourself. "'And I brought it on myself. "'So we do seek it, don't we? "'And trouble, I must hold, is like a woman. "'Baits, I strike out as unpleasantly suggestive. "'Let it go.' "'So then trouble is like a lovely woman. "'Lovely as twin conquered. "'Now, Miss Dunning, if you have a spark of human kindness, "'you won't turn me down on that proposition. "'By the way, I have something put down about trouble. "'He was laughing, Dixie asked herself if this could be "'the man about whom floated so many accusations "'of coldness and cruelty and death. "'He drew a notebook from a waistcoat pocket. "'Oh, it's in the notebook. "'There comes the black notebook,' exclaimed MacLeod. "'Don't make fun of my notebook. "'I shouldn't dare.' MacLeod pointed to it as he spoke to Dixie. "'You should see what's in that notebook, "'the record, I suppose, of every man in the mountains "'and of a great many outside. "'And countless other things,' added Marion. "'Such as what?' asked Dixie. "'Such as you, for example,' said Marion. "'Am I a thing? "'A sweet thing, of course,' said Marion, ironically. "'Yes, you, with color of eyes, hair, "'length of index finger on the right hand, "'curvature of thumb, disposition, "'whether peaceable or otherwise, "'and prison record, if any, "'and number of your watch,' added MacLeod. "'How dreadful!' "'Whisping Smith, I, Dixie, benignly. "'They're talking this nonsense to distract us, of course, "'but I'm bound to read you what I have here. "'If you will graciously submit, submit. "'I wait to hear it,' laughed Dixie. "'My training and posity is the slightest, "'as will appear,' he continued, "'and synec-dochie and synec-tity "'were always on the verge of getting mixed "'when I went to school. "'My sentiment may be termed obvious, "'but I want to offer a slight apology "'on behalf of trouble. "'It is abused too much. "'I submit this. "'Song to trouble!' "'Use to the measure of every man's worth, "'though when men are wanting, it greaves us. "'Hearts that are hollow, we're better without. "'Hearts that are loyal, it leaves us. "'Troubles the dowry of every man's worth. "'A nettle adversity flings us. "'It yields to the grip of the masterful hand "'when we play coward, it stings us. "'Chorus?' "'Don't say chorus, that's common. "'I have to say chorus. "'My verses don't speak for themselves, "'and no one would know it was a chorus "'if I didn't explain. "'Besides, I'm sure to line in the chorus, "'and that's what I'm waiting for to finish the song. "'Chorus, and here's to the bumper "'that proves every friend. "'And though in the drinking it rings us, "'here's to the cup that we drain to the end. "'And here's to... "'There I stick, I can't work out the last line. "'And here's to the hearts that it brings us,' exclaimed Dixie. "'Fine,' cried MacLeod. "'Here's to the hearts that it brings us,' Dixie threw back her head and laughed with the others. Then Whispering Smith looked grave. "'There is a difficulty,' said he, knitting his brows. "'You have spoiled my song. "'Oh, Mr. Smith, I hope not. "'Have I?' "'Your line is so much better than what I have "'that it makes my stuff sound cheap. "'Oh, no, Gordon,' interposed MacLeod. "'You don't see that one reason why Ms. Dunning's line "'sounds better than yours is owing to the differences "'in your voices. "'If she will repeat the chorus, finishing with her line, "'you will see the difference.' "'Ms. Dunning, take the notebook,' begged Whispering Smith, "'and rise, of course,' suggested MacLeod. "'Oh, the notebook, I shall be afraid to hold it. "'Where the verse is, Mr. Smith, is this fine handwriting yours? "'Then here's to the bumper that proves every friend. "'Isn't that true? "'And though when we drink it, it rings us, "'and it does sometimes. "'Here's to the cup, we drain to the inn. "'Even women have to be plucky, don't they, Marion? "'And here's to the hearts that it brings us,' Whispering Smith rose before the applause subsided. "'I ask you to drink this standing in condensed milk. "'Have we enough to stand in?' interposed Dixie. "'If we stand together in trouble, that ought to be enough,' observed MacLeod. "'We're doing that without rising, aren't we?' asked Marion. "'If we hadn't been in trouble, "'we shouldn't have ventured to this camp tonight. "'And if you had not put me to the trouble of following you, "'and it was a lot of trouble, "'I shouldn't have been in camp tonight,' said Whispering Smith. "'And if I had not been in trouble, "'this camp wouldn't have been here tonight,' declared MacLeod. "'What have we to thank for it all but trouble?' A voice called the superintendent's name through the tent door. "'Mr. MacLeod?' "'And there's more trouble,' added MacLeod. "'What is it, Bill?' "'28 and 9 tenths on the gate, sir,' MacLeod looked at his companions. "'I told you so, up three tenths. "'Thank you, Bill. "'I'll be with you in a minute. "'Tell Cherry to come and take away the supper things, will you? "'That's about all the water we shall get tonight, I think. "'It's all we want,' added MacLeod, glancing at his watch. "'I'm going to take a look at the river. "'We shall be quiet now around here until half past three. "'And if you, Marion, and Miss Dunning will take the tent, "'we can have two hours' rest before we start. "'Bill Dancing will guard you against intrusion, "'and if you want ice water, ring twice.'" End of Chapter 21. Chapter 22 of Whispering Smith by Frank Spearman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 22. A Talk with Whispering Smith. When Whispering Smith had followed MacLeod from the tent, Dixie turned to Marion and caught her hand. "'Is this the terrible man I've heard about?' she murmured. "'And I thought him ferocious. "'But is he as pitiless as they say, Marion?' Marion laughed, a troubled little laugh of surprise and sadness. "'Dear, he isn't pitiless at all. "'He has unpleasant things to do and does them. "'He is the man on whom the railroad relies "'to repress the lawlessness that breaks out in the mountains "'at times and interferes with the operating of the road. "'It frightens people away and prevents others "'from coming in to settle. "'Railroads want law and order. "'Robbery and murders don't make business for railroads. "'They depend on settlers for developing a country, "'don't you know? "'Otherwise they would have no traffic, "'not to speak of wanting their trains and men, let alone.' "'When Mr. Bucks undertook to open up this country to settlers, "'he needed a man of patience and endurance "'and with courage and skill in dealing with lawless men. "'And no man has ever succeeded so well "'as this terrible man you've heard about. "'He's terrible, my dear, to lawless men, not to anyone else. "'He's terrible in resource and in daring, "'but not in anything else I know of. "'And I knew him when he was a boy "'and wore a big pink worsted scarf when he went skating. "'I should like to have seen that scarf,' said Dixie, reflectively. "'She rose and looked around the tent, "'and a few minutes she made Mary and lie down "'on one of the cots. "'Then she walked to the front of the tent, "'open the flap, and looked out. "'Wispring Smith was sitting before the fire. "'Rain was falling, but Dixie put on a close-fitting black coat, "'raised the door flap, and walked noiselessly from the tent "'and up behind him. "'Alone in the rain,' she asked. "'She had expected to see him start at her voice, "'but he did not, though he rose and turned around. "'Not now,' he answered as he offered her his box with a smile. "'Are you taking her hat off for me in the rain? "'Put it on again,' she insisted with a little tone of command, "'and she was conscious of gratification when he obeyed amably. "'I won't take your box unless you can find another,' she said. "'Oh, you have another. "'I came out to tell you what a dreadful man I thought you were. "'And to apologize.' "'Never mind apologizing. "'Lots of people think worse than that of me and don't apologize. "'I'm sorry I have no shelter to offer you, except to sit on this side "'and take the rain. "'Why should you take the rain for me? "'You are a woman, but a stranger to you, only in a way.' Dixie gazed for a moment at the fire. "'You won't think me abrupt, will you?' she said, turning to him. "'But as truly as I live I cannot account for you, Mr. Smith. "'I guess at the ranch we don't know what goes on in the world. "'Everything I see of you contradicts everything I've heard of you. "'You haven't seen much of me yet, you know. "'And you may have heard much better accounts of me than I deserve. "'Still it isn't surprising you can't account for me. "'In fact, it would be surprising if you could. "'Nobody pretends to do that. "'You must not be shocked if I can't even account for myself. "'Do you know what a derelict is? "'A ship that has been abandoned but never wholly sinks. "'Please don't make fun of me. "'How did you happen to come into the mountains? "'I do want to understand things better. "'Why you are in real earnest, aren't you? "'But I'm not making fun of you. "'Do you know President Bucks? "'No, too bad. "'He's a very handsome old bachelor, "'and he's one of those men who gets all sorts of men "'to do all sorts of things for them. "'You know, building and operating railroads "'in this part of the country is no joke. "'The mountains are filled with men "'that don't care for God, man, or the devil. "'Sometimes they furnish their own ammunition to fight with "'and don't bother the railroads for years. "'At such times the railroad leaves them alone. "'For my part I never quarrel with a man "'that doesn't quarrel with the road. "'Then comes a time when they get after us, "'shooting our men or robbing our agents "'or stopping our trains. "'Of course we have to get busy then. "'A few years ago they were at Bucks "'til they nearly turned his hair gray. "'At that unfortunate time I happened into his office "'with a letter of introduction "'from his closest Chicago friend, Willis Howard, "'Prince of Good Men, the man that made "'the Palmer House famous, yes. "'Now I had come out here, Miss Dunning.' "'Almost said, Miss Dixie, because I hear it so much. "'I should be greatly set up to hear you call me Dixie. "'And I've wondered a thousand times about your name. "'Dare I ask, why do they call you Whispering Smith? "'You don't whisper?' "'He laughed with abundance of good humor. "'That is a ridiculous accident, "'and it all came about when I lived in Chicago. "'Do you know anything about the infernal climate there? "'Well, in Chicago I used to lose my voice "'whenever I caught a cold, sometimes for weeks together. "'So they begin calling me Whispering Smith, "'and I've never been able to shake the name. "'Ah, it isn't it. "'But I came out to go into the real estate business. "'I was looking for some gold-bearing farmlands "'where I could raise quarts, don't you know? "'And such things, yes. "'I don't mind telling you this, "'though I wouldn't tell it to everybody. "'Certainly not,' assented Dixie, "'drawing her skirt around to sit in closer confidence. "'I wanted to get rich quick,' murmured Whispering Smith, "'confidentially. "'Almost criminal, wasn't it? "'I wanted to have evening clothes, yes, "'and for once in my life two pairs of suspenders. "'A modest ambition, but a knowing one. "'Would you believe it? "'Before I left Buck's office, "'he had hired me for a railroad man. "'When he asked me what I could do, "'and I admitted a little experience "'in handling real estate, "'he brought his fist down on the table "'and swore I should be his right-of-way man. "'How about the mining?' "'Whispering Smith waved his hand "'in something of the proud manner "'in which Buck's could wave his presidential hand. "'My business, Buck said, need not interfere with that, "'not in the least. "'You said that I could do all the mining I wanted to, "'and I have done all the mining I wanted to. "'But here's the singular thing that happened. "'I opened up my office and had nothing to do. "'They didn't seem to want any right-of-way just then. "'I kept getting my check every month "'and wasn't doing a hand's turn "'but riding over the country and shooting jackrabbits. "'But Lord, I love this country. "'Did you know I used to be a cowboy "'in the mountains years ago? "'Indeed I did. "'I know it almost as well as you do. "'I mined more or less in the meantime. "'Occasionally I would go to Buck's. "'You say you don't know him? Too bad. "'And tell him candidly I wasn't doing a thing "'to earn my salary. "'At such times he would only ask me how I liked the job. "'And Whispering Smith's heavy eyebrows rose "'and mild surprise at the recollection. "'One day when I was talking with him "'he handed me a telegram from the desert "'saying that a night operator at a lonely station "'had been shot, and a switch misplaced "'and a train nearly wrecked. "'He asked me what I thought of it. "'I discovered that the poor fellow had shot himself "'and in the end we had to put him in the insane asylum "'to save him from the penitentiary. "'But that was where my trouble began. "'It ended in my having to organize the special service "'on the whole road to look after a thousand "'and one things that nobody else had. "'You'll let us say time or inclination to look after. "'Fraud and theft and violence "'and all that sort of disagreeable thing. "'Then one day the cat crawled out of the bag. "'What do you think? "'That man who is now president of this road "'had somewhere seen a highly colored story "'about me in a magazine, a ten-cent magazine, you know. "'He had spotted me the first time I walked into his office "'and told me a long time afterward it was just like "'seeing a man walk out of a book, "'and that he had hard work to keep from falling on my neck. "'He knew what he wanted me for. "'It was just this thing. "'I left Chicago to get away from it, and this is the result. "'It's not all that kind of thing, no, no. "'When they want to cross a reservation, "'I have a winter in Washington with our attorneys "'and dine with old friends in the White House. "'The next winter I may be on snowshoes "'chasing a band of wrestlers. "'I swore long ago I would do no more of it "'that I couldn't and wouldn't, but it is bucks. "'I can't go back on him. "'He's amiable and I am soft. "'He says he's going to have a crown and harp "'for me someday, but I fancy, that is, "'I have an intimation that there will be "'a red-hot protest at the Bar of Heaven. "'He lowered his tone from a certain "'unmentionable quarter when I undertake "'to put the vestments on. "'By the way, I hear you're interested in chickens. "'Oh, yes, I've heard a lot about you. "'Bob Johnson, over at Oroville, "'has some pretty bantoms I'm going to tell you about. "'Whether he talked railroads or chickens, it was all one. "'Dixie said spellbound, and when he announced "'it was half-past three o'clock "'in time to rouse Marion, she was amazed. "'Don, showed in the east, the men eating breakfast "'intents were to be sent on a work-train "'up a piece of wire-track that led as near "'as they could be taken to where they were needed. "'The train had pulled out when Dixie, Marion, "'McLeod and Whispering Smith took the horses "'to get across to the hills "'and through to the ranch-outs. "'They had ridden slowly for some distance "'when McLeod was called back. "'The party returned and rode together "'into the mists that hung below the bridge. "'They came out upon a little party of men "'standing with lanterns on a piece of track "'where the river had taken the entire grade "'and raced furiously through the gap. "'Fog shrouded the light of the lanterns "'and lent gloom to the silence. "'But the women could see the group "'that McLeod had joined. "'Standing above his companions on a pile of ties, "'a tall young man holding a megaphone waited. "'Out of the darkness there came presently a loud calling. "'The tall young man at intervals "'balled vigorously into the fog and answered. "'Far away could be heard in the intervals of silence, "'the faint clang of the work-train engine-bell. "'Again the voice came out of the fog. "'McLeod took the megaphone and called repeatedly. "'Two men rode a boat out of the backwater behind the grade, "'and when McLeod stepped into it, "'it was released on a line while the oarsmen "'guided it across the flood until it disappeared. "'The two megaphone voices could still be heard. "'After a time the boat was pulled back again "'and McLeod stepped out of it. "'He spoke a moment with the men, rejoined his party, "'and climbed into the saddle. "'Now we are off,' said he. "'What was it all about?' asked Whispering Smith. "'Your friend Klein is over there. "'Nobody could understand what he said except that he wanted me. "'When I got here I couldn't make out what he was talking about, "'so they let us out in the boat on a line. "'Halfway across the break I made out what was troubling him. "'He said he was going to lose 300 feet of track "'and wanted to know what to do. "'And you told him, of course. "'Yes. "'What did you tell him? "'I told him to lose it. "'I could have done that myself. "'Why, didn't you?' End of Chapter 22. Chapter 23 of Whispering Smith by Frank Spearman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 23 At the River They found the ranch house as Marion and Dixie had left it, deserted. Puss told them everyone was at the river. McLeod did not approve Dixie's plan of going down to see her cousin first. "'Why not let me ride down and manage it without bringing you into it at all?' he suggested. "'It can be done.' And after further discussion it was so arranged. McLeod and Smith had been joined by a dancing on horseback, and they made their way around Squall Lake and across the fields. The fog was rolling up from the willows at the bend. Men were chopping in the brush, and McLeod and his companions soon met Lance Dunning, riding up the narrow strip of sand that held the river off the ranch. McLeod greeted Dunning, regardless of his amazement, as if he had parted from him the day before. "'How are you making it over here?' he asked. "'We're in pretty good shape at the moment down below, and I thought I'd ride over to see if we could do anything for you. This is what you call pretty fair water for this part of the valley, isn't it?' Lance swallowed his astonishment. "'This isn't water, McLeod. This is hell.' He took off his hat and wiped his forehead. "'Well, I call this white anyway, and no mistake. I do indeed, sir. This is Whispering Smith, isn't it? Glad to see you at Crawling Stone, sir, which served not only to surprise, but to please Whispering Smith. "'Some of my men were free,' continued McLeod. I switched some mattresses and sacks around the Y, thinking they might come and play here for you at the bend. They are at your service, if you think you need them.' "'Need them?' Lance swore fiercely and from the bottom of his heart. He was glad to get help from any quarter and made no bones about it. Moreover, McLeod lessened the embarrassment by explaining that he had a personal interest in holing the channel where it ran, lest a change above might threaten the approaches already built to the bridge. And Whispering Smith, who would have been on terms with the catfish if he had been flung into the middle of the Crawling Stone, contributed at once, like a reinforced spring, to the ease of the situation. Lance again took off his hat and wiped the sweat of anxiety from his dripping forehead. "'Whatever differences of opinion I may have with your damned company, I have no lack of esteem personally, McLeod, for you, sir, by heaven. How many men did you bring? And whatever wheels you Crawling Stone ranchers may have in your heads on the subject of irrigation returned to McLeod evenly. I have no lack of esteem personally, Mr. Dunning, for you. I brought a hundred. Do you want to take a charge here? I'm frank, sir, you understand this game and I don't. Suppose we look the situation over. Meantime, all our supplies have to be brought across from the Y. What should you think, Mr. Dunning, of putting all the teams you can at that end of the work? Every man that can be spared from the river shall go at it. Come over here and look at our work, and judge for yourself. They rode to where the forces assembled by Lance were throwing up embankments and riprapping. There was hurried running to and fro, a violent dragging about of willows, and a good deal of shouting. Dunning, with some excitement, watched McLeod's face to note the effect of the activity on him. But McLeod's expression, naturally reserved, reflected nothing of his views on the subject. Dunning waved his hand at the lively scene. They've been at it all night. How many would you take away, sir? You might take them all away, as far as the river's concerned, said McLeod, after a moment. What? Hell, all! They're not doing anything, are they, but running around in a circle, and those fellows over there might as well be making mud pies as riprapping at that point. What we need there is a mattress and sandbags and plenty of them. Still? Directed McLeod in an even tone of business as he turned to Dunning. See how quick you can get your gang over here with what sacks they can carry and walk fast. If you put your men on horses, Mr. Dunning, they can help like everything. That bank won't last a great while the way the river's getting under it now. Dunning wheeled like an elephant on his bronco and clattered away through the mud. Lance Dunning, recovering from his surprise, started his men back for the wagons. When McLeod dismounting walked with him to the water's edge to plan the fight for what was left of the strip in front of the alfalfa fields. When Whispering Smith got back to the house he was in good humor. He joined at Dixie and Marion in the dining room where they were drinking coffee. Afterward Dixie ordered horses saddled and the three rode to the river. Up and down the bank, as far as they could see in the misty rain, men were moving slowly about. More men it seemed to Dixie than she had ever seen together in her life. The confusion in the noise had disappeared. No one appeared to hurry, but everyone had something to do, and from the gangs who with sledges were sinking dead men among the trees to hold the cables of the mattress that was about to be sunk, and the japs who were diligently preparing to float and load it, to the men that were filling and wheeling the sandbags, no one appeared excited. The cloud joined the visitors for a few moments, and then went back to where dancing and his men on lifelines were guiding the mattress to its resting place. In spite of the gloom of the rain which Whispering Smith said was breaking, Dixie rode back to the house in much better spirits with her two guests, and when they came from luncheon the sun, as Smith had predicted, was shining. "'Oh, come out!' cried Dixie at the door. Marion had a letter to write and went upstairs, but Whispering Smith followed Dixie. "'Does everything you say come true?' she demanded as she stood in the sunshine. She was demure with light-heartedness, and he looked at her approvingly. "'I hope nothing I may ever say will come true, unless it makes you happy,' he answered lightly. It would be a shame if it did anything else.' She pointed two accusing fingers at him. "'Do you know what you promised last night? You had forgotten already. You said you would tell me why my leg-horns are eating their feathers off. Let me talk with them. Just what I should like. Come on,' said Dixie, leading the way to the chicken-yard. "'I want you to see my bantams, too. I have three of the dearest little things. One is setting. They're over the way. Come see them first. And oh, you must see my new game-chickens. Truly you never saw anything as handsome as Caesar. He's the rooster. And I have six bullets. Caesar is perfectly superb." When the two reached the chicken-houses, Dixie examined the nest where she was setting the bantam hen. "'This miserable hen will not set,' she exclaimed in despair. See here, Mr. Smith, she's left her nest again, and is scratching around on the ground. Isn't it a shame? I've tried a cord around her leg so she couldn't run away, and she's hobbling around like a scrub pony. Perhaps the eggs are too warm,' suggested her companion. "'I've had great success in cases like this with powdered ice. Not using too much, of course. Just shave the ice gently and rub it over the eggs one at a time. It will often result in refreshing the attention of the hen.' Dixie looked grave. "'Aren't you ashamed to make fun of me?' Whispering Smith seemed taken aback. Is it really serious business? Of course. Very good. Let me watch this hen for a few minutes and diagnose her. You go on to your other chickens. I'll stay here and think." Dixie went down through the yards. When she came back, Whispering Smith was sitting on a cracker box, watching the bantam. The chicken was making desperate efforts to get off Dixie's cord and join its companions in the runway. Smith was eyeing the bantam critically when Dixie rejoined him. "'Do you usually?' he asked, looking suddenly up. "'Have success in setting roosters? Now you are having fun with me again. No by heavens, I am not. Have you diagnosed the case?' "'I have, and I've diagnosed it as a case of mistaken identity.' "'Identity?' "'And misapplied energy, Miss Dixie. You've tied up the wrong bird. This is not a bantam hen at all. This is a bantam rooster. Now that's my judgment. Compare him with the others. Notice how much darker his plumage is. It's the rooster,' declared Whispering Smith, wiping the perplexity from his brow. "'Don't feel bad, not at all. Cut him loose, Miss Dixie. Don't hesitate. Do it on my responsibility. Now let's look at the cannibal leg horns and great Caesar.' End of Chapter 23 Chapter 24 of Whispering Smith by Frank Spearman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 24 Between Girlhood and Womanhood About nine o'clock that night, Puss ushered MacLeod in from the river. Dixie came running downstairs to meet him. "'You're a cousin insisted I should come up to the house for some supper,' said MacLeod dryly. "'I could have taken camp fare with the men. Gordon stayed there with him.' Dixie held his hat in her hand, and her eyes were bright in the fire-light. Puss must have thought the two made a handsome couple, for she lingered as she started for the kitchen to look back. "'Puss!' exclaimed her mistress. "'Fry a chicken right away, a big one, Puss. Mr. MacLeod is very hungry, I know. And be quick-do.' "'Oh, how is the river, Mr. MacLeod?' "'Behaving like a lamb. It hasn't fallen much, but the pressure seems to be off the bank, if you know what that means. You must be a magician. Things changed the minute you came.' "'The last, doctor, usually gets credit for the cure, you know. Oh, I know all about that. Don't you want to freshen up? Should you mind coming right to my room?' "'Marion is in hers,' exclaimed Dixie. And I'm never sure of cousin Lance's. He has so many boots.' When she had disposed of MacLeod she flew to the kitchen. Puss was starting after a chicken. "'Make a lantern, Puss,' whispered Dixie vehemently. "'No, indeed, this nigger don't need no lantern for chickens, Miss Dixie. But get a good one, Puss, and make haste, too. Mr. MacLeod must be starved. Where's the baking powder? I'll get the biscuits started.' Puss turned fiercely. "'Now, look, Ahia, you can't make biscuits. You'll just go sit down with that young gentleman. Just let me loan, if you please. This ain't for the first time I killed chickens, Miss Dixie, and made biscuits. Just clear out and sit down. Place for young ladies is into parlor. Oh, Puss can cook supper for one man yet, if she has to. Oh, yes, Puss, certainly. I know, of course, only. Get a nice chicken.' And with the parting admonition Dixie, smoothing her hair wildly, hastened back to the living room. But the harm was done. Puss, more excited than her mistress, lost her head when she got to the chicken-yard, and with sufficiently bad results. When Dixie ran out a few moments afterward for a glass of water from MacLeod, Puss was calmly wiping her hands, and in the sink played the quivering form of young Caesar. Dixie caught her favorite up by the legs and suppressed a cry. There could be no mistake. She cast a burning look at Puss. It would do no good to storm now. Dixie only rung her hands and returned to MacLeod. He rose in the happiest mood. He could not see what a torment Dixie was in, and took the water without asking himself why it trembled in her hand. Her restrained manner did not worry him, for he felt that his fight at the river was won, and the prospect of fried chicken composed him. Even the long hours before Puss, calming and inviting and a white cap and apron, appeared to announce supper past like a dream. When Dixie rose to lead the way to the dining-room, MacLeod walked on air. The high color about her eyes intoxicated him. Not till half the fried chicken, with many compliments from MacLeod, had disappeared, and the plate had gone out for the second dozen biscuits. Did he notice Dixie's abstraction? I'm sure you need worry no longer about the water. He observed reassuringly. I think the worst of the danger is past. Dixie looked at the tablecloth with wide open eyes. I feel sure that it is. I'm no longer worrying about that. It's nothing I can do, or leave undone, is it? Ask MacLeod, laughing a little as he implied in his tone that she must be worrying about something. Dixie made a gesture of alarm. Oh no! No! Nothing! It's a pretty good plan not to worry about anything. Do you think so? Why we all thought so last night? Heavens! MacLeod drew back in his chair. I never offered you a piece of chicken. What have I been thinking of? Oh, I wouldn't eat it anyway, cried Dixie. You wouldn't? It's delicious. Do you have a plate, and a wing, at least? Really, I could not bear to think of it, she said pathetically. He spoke lower. Something is troubling you. I have no right to a confidence, I know, he added, taking a biscuit. Her eyes fell to the floor. It's nothing. Pray don't mind me. May I fill your cup, she asked, licking up. I'm afraid I worry too much over what has happened, and can't be helped. Do you never do that? MacLeod, laughing wretchedly, tore Caesar's last leg from his body. No indeed! I never worry over what can't be helped. They left the dining-room, Marion came down, but they had hardly seated themselves before the living-room fire when a messenger arrived with word that MacLeod was wanted at the river. His chagrin at being dragged away was so apparent that Marion and Dixie sympathized with him and laughed at him. I never worry about what can't be helped, Dixie murmured. He looked at Marion. That's a shot at me. You don't want to go down, do you? He asked, ironically, looking from one to the other. Why, of course, I'll go down, responded Dixie promptly. Marion caught cold last night, I guess, so you will excuse her, I know. I will be back in an hour, Marion, and you can toast your cold while I'm gone. But you mustn't go alone, protested MacLeod. Dixie lifted her chin the least bit. I shall be going with you, shall I not, and if the messenger has gone back I shall have to guide you. You never could find your way alone. But I can go, interposed Marion, rising. Not at all! You cannot go, announced Dixie. I can protect both Mr. MacLeod and myself. If he should arrive down there under the wing of two women he would never hear the last of it. I am Mr. Sheer still, I think, and I shall be leaving home, you know, to make the trip. MacLeod looked at Marion. I never worry over what can't be helped, though it is dollars to cents that those fellows don't need me down there any more than a cat needs two tails. And how will you get back, he asked, turning to Dixie. I will ride back, returned Dixie loftily. But you may, if you like, help me get my horse up. Are you sure you can find your way back? Persisted MacLeod. Dixie looked at him in surprise. Find my way back, she echoed softly. I could not lose it. I can ride over any part of this country at noon or at midnight, asleep or awake, with a saddle or without, with a bridle or without, with a trail or without, I have ridden every horse that has ever come on the Crawling Stone Ranch. I could ride when I was three years old. Find my way back. The messenger had gone when the two rode from the house. The sky was heavily overcast and the wind blew such a gale from the south and west that one could hardly hear what the other said. MacLeod could not have ridden from the house to the barn in the utter darkness, but his horse followed Dixie's. She halted frequently on the trail for him to come up with her, and after they had crossed the alfalfa fields MacLeod did not care whether they ever found the path again or not. It's great, isn't it? He exclaimed, coming up to her after opening a gate in the dark. Where are you? This way, laughed Dixie. Look out for the trail here. Give me your hand and let your horse have his head. If he slips, drop off quickly on this side. MacLeod caught her hand. They rode for a moment in silence, the horses stepping cautiously. All right now, said Dixie. You may let go. MacLeod kept his horse up close and clung to the warm hand. The camp is just around the hill, murmured Dixie, trying to pull away. But of course, if you would like to ride in holding my hand, you may. No, said MacLeod, of course not, not for worlds. But Miss Dixie, couldn't we ride back to the house and ride around the other way into camp? I think the other way into the camp, say, around by the railroad bridge, would be prettier, don't you? For answer she touched Jim lightly with her lines, and his spring released her hand very effectively. As she did so, the trail turned, and the campfire, whipped in the high wind, blazed before them. Whispering Smith and Lance Dunning were sitting together as the two galloped up. Smith helped Dixie to alight. She was conscious of her color and that her eyes were now unduly bright. Moreover, whispering Smith's glance, rested so calmly on both MacLeod's face and her own that Dixie felt as if he saw quite through her and knew everything that had happened since they left the house. Lance was talking to MacLeod. Don't abuse the wind, MacLeod was saying. It's our best friend tonight, Mr. Dunning, it's blowing the water offshore. Where's the trouble? For answer Dunning led MacLeod off toward the bend, and Dixie was left alone with whispering Smith. He made a seat for her on the windward side of the big fire. When she had seated herself, she looked up in great contentment to ask if he was not going to sit down beside her. The brown coat, the high black hat, and the big eyes of whispering Smith had already become a part of her mental store. She saw that he seemed preoccupied, and sought to draw him out of his abstraction. I'm so glad you and Mr. MacLeod are getting acquainted with Cousin Lance, she said, and do you mind my giving you confidence, Mr. Smith? Lance has been so unreasonable about this matter of the railroads coming up the valley and pow-ow-ing so much with lawyers and ranchers that he has been forgetting about everything at home. He is so much older than I am that he ought to be the sensible one of the family, don't you think so? It frightens me to have him losing at cards and drinking. I'm afraid he will get into some shooting affair. I don't understand what has come over him, and I worry about it. I believe you could influence him, if you knew him. What makes you think that, asked whispering Smith, but his eyes were on the fire. Because these men he spends his time with in town, the men who fight and shoot so much, are afraid of you. Don't laugh at me. I know it's quite true in spite of their talk. I was afraid of you myself until—until we made verse together, until you made verse, and I spoiled it. But I think it is because I don't understand things that I'm so afraid. I'm not naturally a coward. I'm sure I could not be afraid of you if I understood things better. And there's Marion. She puzzles me. She will never speak of her husband. I don't know why. And I don't know why Mr. MacLeod is so hard on Mr. Sinclair. Mr. Sinclair seems so kind and good-natured. Whispering Smith looked from the fire into Dixie's eyes. What should you say if I gave you a confidence? She opened her heart to his searching gaze. Would you trust me with a confidence? He answered without hesitation. You shall see. Now I have many things I can't talk about, you understand? But if I had to give you a secret this instant that carried my life, I shouldn't fear to do it—so much for trusting you. Only this, too, as to what I say, don't ever quote me or let it appear that you any more than know me. Can you manage that? Really? Very good. You will understand why in a minute. The man that is stirring up all this trouble with your cousin Lance and in this whole country is your kind and good-natured neighbor, Mr. Sinclair. I'm prejudiced against him, let us admit that on the start and remember it in estimating what I say. But Sinclair is the man who has turned your cousin's head as well as made things in other ways unpleasant for several of us. Sinclair, I tell you so you will understand everything. More than your cousin, Mr. MacLeod, or Mary and Sinclair, understand. Sinclair is a train wrecker and a murderer. That makes you breathe hard, doesn't it? But it is so. Sinclair is fairly educated and highly intelligent, capable in every way, daring to the limit, and in a way fascinating. It is no wonder he has a following. But his following is divided into two classes—the men that know all the secrets and the men that don't, men like Revstock and Toussaint, and men like your cousin and a hundred or so sports in medicine-ben who see only the glamour of Sinclair's pace. Your cousin sympathizes with Sinclair when he doesn't actually side with him. All this has helped to turn Sinclair's head, and this is exactly the situation you and MacLeod and I and a lot of others are up against. They don't know all this, but I know it, and now you know it. Let me tell you something that comes close to home. You have a cowboy on the ranch named Carg—he's called Flatnose. Carg was a railroad man. He's a cattle thief, a train robber, a murderer, and a spy. I shouldn't tell you this if you were not game to the last drop of your blood. But I think I know you better than you know yourself, though you never saw me until last night. Carg is Sinclair's spy at your ranch, and you must never feel it or know it, but he's there to keep your cousin's sympathy with Sinclair and to lure your cousin his way. And Carg will try to kill George MacLeod every time he sets foot on this ranch. Remember that. Then Mr. MacLeod ought not to be here. I don't want him to stay if he's in danger, exclaimed it, but I do want him to come here as if it mattered nothing, and I shall try to take care of him. I have a man among your own men, a cowboy named Wickwire, who will be watching Carg, and who is just as quick, and Carg, not knowing he was watched, would be taken unawares. If Wickwire goes elsewhere to work, someone else will take his place here. Carg is not on the ranch now, he's up north, hunting up some of your steers that were run off last month by his own cronies. Now do you think I'm giving you confidence? She looked at him steadily. If I can only deserve it all. In the distance she heard the calling of the men at the river, born on the wind. The shock of what had been told her, the strangeness of the night and of the scene, left her calm. Fear had given way to responsibility, and Dixie seemed to know herself. You have nothing whatever to do, to deserve it, but keep your own counsel. But listen a moment longer, for this is what I have been leading up to, he said. Marion will get a message tomorrow, a message from Sinclair, asking her to come to see him at his ranch house before she goes back. I don't know what he wants, but she is his wife. He has treated her infamously, that is why she will not live with him and does not speak of him. But you know how strange a woman is, or perhaps you don't. She doesn't always cease to care for a man when she ceases to trust him. I'm not in Marion's confidence, Miss Dixie. She's another man's wife. I cannot tell how she feels toward him. I know she's often tried to reclaim him from his devil-tree. She may try again. That is, she may, for one reason or another, go to him as he asks. I could not interfere if I would. I have no right to, if I could, and I will not. This is what I'm trying to get up to courage to ask you. Should you dare to go with her to Sinclair's ranch if she decides to go to him? Certainly I should dare. After all you know? After all I know, why not? And in case she does go and you go with her, you will know nothing whatever about anything, of course, unless you get the story from her. What I fear is that which may possibly come of her interview. He may try to kill her. Don't be frightened. You will not succeed if you can only make sure he doesn't lead her away on horseback from the ranch house or get her alone in her womb. She has few friends. I respect and honor her because she and I grew up as children together in the same little town in Wisconsin. I know her folks, all of them, and I've promised them, you know, to have a kind of care of her. I think I know. He looked self-conscious, even at her tone of understanding. I need not try to deceive you. Your instinct would be poor if it did not tell you more than I ought to. He came along and turned her head. You need fear nothing of yourself in going with her, and nothing for her if you can cover just those two points, can you remember? Not to let her go away with him on horseback, and not to leave her where she will be alone with him in the house. I can and will. I think as much of Marion as you do. I'm proud to be able to do something for her. How little I have known you. I thought you were everything I didn't want to know. It's nothing, he returned easily, except that Sinclair has stirred up your cousin and the ranchers, as well as the Williams-Cash gang, and that makes talk about me. I have to do what I can to make this a peaceable country to live in. The railroad wants decent people here and doesn't want the other kind, and it falls on me, unfortunately, to keep the other kind moving. I don't like it, but we can none of us do quite what we please in making a living. Let me tell you this, he turned to fix his eyes seriously on hers. Believe anything you hear of me except that I have ever taken human life willingly or save in discharge of my duty. But this kind of work makes my own life an uncertainty, as you can see. I do almost literally carry my life in my hand, for if my hand is not quicker every time than a man's eye I'm done for then and there. It's dreadful to think of. Not exactly that, but it's something I can't afford to forget. What would become of the lives of the friends you protect if you were killed? You say you care for Mary and Sinclair? I should like to think if anything should happen to me you wouldn't forget her. I never will. He smiled. Then I put her in charge of the man closest to me, George MacLeod, and the woman she thinks the most of in the world, except her mother. What's this? Are they back? Yanda, they come. We found nothing serious, MacLeod said, answering their questions as he approached with Lance Dunning. The current is really swinging away but the bank is caving in where it was undermined last night. He stopped before Dixie. I'm trying to get your cousin to go to the house and go to bed. I'm trying to stay all night, but there's no necessity for his staying. Dammit, MacLeod, it's not right, protested Lance, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead. You need to sleep more than I do. I say he's the one to go to bed tonight, continued Lance, putting it up to Whispering Smith, and I insist, by the Almighty, that you two take him back to the house with you now. Whispering Smith raised his hand. If this is merely a family quarrel about who shall go to bed, let us compromise. You two stay up all night and let me go to bed. Lance, however, was obdurate. It seems to be a family characteristic of the Dunnings to have their own way, ventured MacLeod, after some further dispute. If you will have it so, Mr. Dunning, you may stand watch tonight and I will go to the house. Going back with MacLeod, Dixie and Whispering Smith discussed the flood. MacLeod disclaimed credit for the improvement in the situation. If the current had held against us as it did yesterday, nothing I could have done would have turned it, he said. Honest is the best policy, of course, observed Whispering Smith. I like to see a modest man, and you want to remind him of all this when he sends his bill, he suggested speaking to Dixie in the dark. But, he added, turning to MacLeod, admitting that you're right, don't take the trouble to advertise your view of it around here. It would be only decent strategy for us in the Valley just now to take a little of the credit due to the wind. End of Chapter 24