 Chapter 10 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice-Parrows This lipovox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. As the weeks passed, the routine of ranch life weighed more and more heavily on Custer Pennington. The dull monotony of it took the zest from the things that he had formerly regarded as pleasures of existence. The buoyant Apache no longer had power to thrill. The long rides were obnoxious duties to be performed. The hills had lost their beauty. Custer attributed his despondency to an unkind face that afforded his ambitions. He thought he hated Ganado, and he thought too, he honestly thought, that freedom to battle for success in the heart of some great city would bring happiness and content. For all that, he performed his duties and bore himself as cheerfully as ever before the other members of his family. Though his mother and sister saw that when he thought he was alone and unobserved, he often sat with dripping shoulders, staring at the ground, in the attitude of dejection in which their love could scarce misinterpret. The frequent letters that came from Grace during her first days in Hollywood had breathed the spirit of hopefulness and enthusiasm that might have proved contagious, but for the fact that he saw in her success a longer and probably a permanent separation. If she should be speedily discouraged, she might return to the foothills and put the idea of a career forever from her mind. But if she received even the slightest encouragement, Custer was confident that nothing could wean her from her ambition. He was the more sure of this because in his own mind, he could picture no inducement sufficiently powerful to attract anyone to return to the humdrum existence of the ranch. Better be a failure in the midst of life, he put it to himself, than a success in the unpeopleed spaces on its outer edge. In some weeks brought fewer letters, and there was less of enthusiasm, though hope was still unquenched. She had not yet met the right people, Grace said, and there was a general depression in the entire pastry industry. Universal had a new manager, and there was no guessing what his policy would be. Goldman had laid off half their force. Robinson Cole had shut down. She was sure, though, that things would brighten up later, and that she would have her chance. Would they please tell her how set in her was, and give him her love, and kiss the Apache for her? There was just a note, perhaps, of homesickness in some of her letters, and gradually they became fewer and shorter. The little gatherings of the neighbors at Canado continued. Other young people of the valley in the foothills came and danced, or swam, or played tennis. Their elders came, too, equally enjoying the hospitality of the Penningtons, and among these was the new owner of the little orchard beyond the Evans Ranch. The Penningtons had found Mrs. Burke a quiet woman of refined tastes, and the possessor of a quiet humor that made her always a welcome addition to the family circle. As she had known more of sorrow than of happiness was evidenced in many ways, but that she had risen above the petty selfishness of grief with striking the apparent in her thoughtfulness for others, her quick sympathy, and the kindness of her humor. Whenever ills faded brought her, they had not left her soured. As she came oftener and came to know the Penningtons better, she depended more and more of the Colonel for advising matters pertaining to her orchard and her finances. Of personal matters, she never spoke. They knew that she had a daughter living in Los Angeles, but of the girl they knew nothing, for deep in the heart of Mrs. George Burke, who had been born Charity Cooper, was a stream of puritanism that could not look with ought but horror upon the stage and its naughty little sister, the screen. Though in her letters to that loved daughter there was no suggestion of the pain that the fond heart held because of the career the girl had chosen. Charity Cooper's youth had been so surrounded by restrictions that at 18 she was as unsophisticated as a child of 12. As a result she had easily succumbed to the replenishments of the unscrupulous young Irish adventurer who had thought that her fine family connections indicated wealth. When he learned the contrary, shortly after their marriage, he promptly deserted her, nor had she seen or heard all of him since. Of him she never spoke, and of course the Penningtons never questioned her. At 39 Mrs. George Burke still retained much of the frail and delicate beauty that had been hers and girlhood. The effort of moving from her old home and settling in the new, by the responsibilities of the unfamiliar and highly technical activities of orange culture had drawn heavily upon her always inadequate vitality. As the Penningtons became better acquainted with her, they began to feel real concern as to her physical condition, as this condition was not lessened by the knowledge that she had been given the matter's serious thought, as was evidenced by her request that the Colonel would permit her to name him as the executor of her estate and the will that she was making. While life upon Canado took its peaceful way, outwardly unruffled, the girl whose image was in the hearts of them all strove valiantly in the face of recurring disappointment toward the high gall upon which her eyes were set. If she could only have a chance, how often that half prayer, half cry of anguish was in the silent voicing of her thoughts? If she could only have a chance? In the weeks of tramping from studio to studio, she had learned much. For one thing, she had come to know the ruthlessness of a certain type of man that must and will someday be driven from the industry. That is, in fact, even now being driven out, though slowly, by the stress of public opinion, by the example of the men of finer character who are gradually making a higher code of ethics for the studios. She had learned even more from the scores of chance acquaintances who, through repeating meetings in the outer offices of casting directors, have become almost friends. Indeed, when she found herself facing the actuality of one of the more repulsive phases of studio procedure, it appeared more than the guise of habitude through the many references to it that she had heard from the lips of her more experienced fellows. She was interviewing for the dozens of time the casting director of the KKS studio, who had come to know her by sight and perhaps to feel a little compassion for her, though there are those who will tell you that casting directors, having no hearts, can never experience so human emotion as compassion. I'm sorry, Miss Evans, he said, but I haven't a thing for you today. As she turned away, he raised his hand. Wait, he said. Mr. Crumb is casting his new picture himself. He's out on the lot now. Go out and see him. He might be able to use you. The girl thanked him and made her away from the office building in search of Crumb. She stepped over light cables and picked her way across stages that were lived with heterogeneous jumble of countless interior sets. She dodged the assistance of a frantic technical director who was attempted to transform an African waterhole into a Roman bath in an hour and 45 minutes. She bumped against a heavy shipping crate through the iron barn end of which a savage lioness growled and struck at her. Finally, she discovered a single individual who seemed to have nothing to do and who might therefore be approached with a query as to where Mr. Crumb might be found. This resplendent idler directed her to an Algerian street set behind the stages. And as he spoke, she recognized him as the leading male star of the organization, the highest salary person on the lot. A few minutes later she found the man she saw. She had never seen Wilson Crumb before and her first impression was a pleasant one for he was courteous and affable. She told him that she had been to the casting director and that he had said that Mr. Crumb might be able to use her. As she spoke, the man watched her intently. His eyes ran quickly over her figure without suggestion of offense. What experience have you had? he asked. Just a few times was an extra she replied. He shook his head. I'm afraid I can't use you, he said. Unless... he hesitated. Unless you would care to work in this semi-nude which would necessitate making a test in the nude. He waited for her reply. Grace Evans gulped. She could feel a scarlet flush mounting rapidly until it suffused her entire face. She could not understand why it was necessary to try her out in any less garbanture than would pass the censors. But then, that is something which no one can understand. Here, possibly, was her opportunity. She had read in the papers that Wilson Crumb was preparing to make the greatest picture of his career. She thought of her constant prayer for a chance. Here was a chance and yet she hesitated. The brutal, useless condition he had imposed outraged every instinct of decency and refinement inherent in her. Just as it had outraged the same characteristics in countless other girls. Just as it is doing in other studios in all parts of the country every day. Is that absolutely essential, she asked? Quite so, he replied. Still she hesitated. Her chance. If she let it pass, she went a little peck up and returned home. What a little thing to do after all when one really considered it. It was purely professional. There would be nothing personal in it and she could only succeed in overcoming her self-consciousness. But could she do it? Again, she thought of home. A hundred times of late she had wished that she was back there but she did not want to go back a failure. It was that which decided her. Very well, she said. But there will not be many there, will there? Only a cameraman and myself, he replied. If it is convenient, I can arrange it immediately. Two hours later, Grace Evans left the KKS lot. She was starting to work on the morrow at $50 a week for the full period of the picture. Wilson Chroma told her that she had a wonderful future and that she was fortunate to have fallen in with the director who could make a great star of her. As she went, she left behind all her self-respect and part of her natural modesty. Wilson Chrom, watching her go, rubbed the ball of his right thumb to and fro across the back of his left hand and smiled. The Apache danced along the wagon trail that led back into the hills. He tugged at the bit and tossed his head impatiently, flexing his rider's shirt with the foam. He lifted his feet high and twisted and wriggled a nail. He wanted to be off and he wondered what had come over his old pal that there was no more swift, gay gallops and that washes were crossed sedately by way of their gravelly bottoms instead of being taken with a flying leap. Personally, he cocked an eye ahead as if in search of something. A moment later, he left suddenly, side-wise, snorting in apparent terror. He rolled full, said Pennington affectionately. The horse had shied at a large white boulder lying beside the wagon trail. For nearly three years, he had shied at it religiously every time he had passed it. Long before they reached it, he always looked ahead to see if it was still there and he would have been terribly disappointed had it been missing. The man always knew that the horse was going to shy. He would have been disappointed that the Apache had not played this little game of make-believe. To carry the game to its conclusion, the rider should gather him and force him snorting and trembling right up to the boulder, talking to him coaxingly and stroking his arched neck. But at the same time, not neglecting to press the spurs against his glossy sides if he hesitated. The Apache loved it. He loved the power that was his justified by the quick, wide leap aside and he loved the power of the man to force his nose to the boulder. The power that gave him such confidence in his rider that he would go wherever he was asked to go. But today, he was disappointed. His pal did not force him to the boulder. Instead, Custer Pennington merely reigned him into the trail again beyond it and rode on up Jackknife Canyon. Custer was looking over the pasture. It was late July. The hills were no longer green except where its sides and summits were covered with chaparral. The lower hills were browning beneath the hot summer sun. But they were still beautiful dotted as they were with walnut and live oak. As Pennington rode, he recalled the last time he had ridden through Jackknife with grace. She had been gone two months now. It seemed as many years. She no longer rode often and when she did ride, her letters were short and unsatisfying. He recalled all the incidents that last ride and they reminded him again of a new made trail and repeated the intention of following it to see where it led. He had never had the time. He did not have the time today. The heifers with their calves were still in his pasture. He counted them, examined the condition of the feed and rode back to the house. It was Friday. From the hills beyond Jackknife, a man had watched through binoculars his every move. Three other men had been waiting below the watcher along the new made trail. It was well for Pennington that he had not chosen the way he turned back toward the ranch. The men with the binoculars descended to the others. It was young Pennington, he said. The speaker was Alan. I was thinking that it would be a full trick to kill him unless we have to. I have a better scheme. Listen, if he ever learns anything that he shouldn't know, this is what you are to do if I am away. Very carefully in a great detail he elaborated his plan. Do you understand he asked? They did and they grinned. The following night after the Penningtons had died, a ranch hand came up from Mrs. Burke to tell them that their new neighbor was quite ill and that the woman who did her house work wanted Mrs. Pennington to come down at once as she was worried about her mistress. We will be right down, said Colonel Pennington. They found Mrs. Burke breathing with difficulty and the Colonel immediately telephoned for a local doctor. After the physician had examined her, he came to them in the living room. He had better sent for Jones of Los Angeles, he said. It is her heart. I could do nothing. I doubt if he can, but he is a specialist. And, he added, if she has any near relatives, I think I should notify them at once. The housekeeper had joined them and was wiping tears from her face with her apron. She is a daughter in Los Angeles, said the Colonel, but we do not know her address. She wrote her today just before the spell, said the housekeeper. The letter hasn't been made yet. Here it is. She picked it up from the center table and handed it to the Colonel. Janine Burke, 1580 Peniso Circle, Hollywood, he read. I will take the responsibility of wiring both Miss Burke and Dr. Jones. Can you get a good nurse locally? The doctor could, and so it was arranged. End of chapter 10. Chapter 11 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. Gaza DeLore was sitting at the piano when Chrome arrived to the bungalow at 1421 in Vista del Paso at a little after six in the evening of the last Saturday in July. The smoke from a half-burned cigarette lying on the Ebony case was rising in a thin, indolent column above the masses of her black hair. Her fingers idle through a dreamy waltz. Chrome gave her a surly nod as he closed the door behind him. He was tired and cross after a hard day at the studio. The girl, knowing that he would be alright presently, really returned his nod and continued playing. He went immediately to his room, and a moment later, she heard him enter the bathroom through another doorway. Half an hour later, he emerged, shaved, spruce, and smiling. A tiny powder had affected the transformation just as she had known it would. He came and leaned across the piano close to her. She was very beautiful. It seemed to the man that she grew more beautiful and more desirable each day. The fact that she had been unattainable had fed the fires of his desire, the love as a man of his type can ever feel. Well, little girl, he cried, dearly, I have good news for you. She smiled a quick little smile and shook her head. The only good news I can think of would be that the government has established a comfortable home for superannuated hopheads where they would be furnished without cost with all the snow they could use. The effects of her last shot were wearing off. He laughed goodnaturedly. Really, he insisted. On the level, I've got the best news you've heard in my life. Well, she asked weirdly. Old Battleaxe has got her divorce, he announced, referring less affectionately to his wife. Well, said the girl, that's good news for her, if it's true. Crumb frowned. It's good news for you, he said. It means that I can marry you now. The girl leaned back in the piano bench and laughed aloud. It was not a pleasant laugh. She laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. That growled the man. It would mean a lot to you. Respectability for one, and success for another. The day you become Mrs. Wilson Crumb I'll star you in the greatest picture that was ever made. Respectability, she sneered. Your name would make me respectable, would it? It would be the insult added to all the injury you have done me. And as for starring, poof, she snapped her fingers. I have put one ambition thanks to you, you dirty hound, and that is snow. She leaned toward him. Her two clenched fists almost shaking in his face. Give me all the snow I need, she cried. And the rest of them may have their fame and their laurels. He thought he saw his chance then. Turning with a shrug, he walked through the fireplace and lighted the cigarette. Oh, very well, he said. If you feel the way about it, all right, but... He turned suddenly upon her. You'll have to get out of here and stay out. Do you understand? From this day on, you can only enter this house as Mrs. Wilson Crumb, and you can rustle and come back. Understand? She looked at him through narrow lids. She reminded him of a Tigress about the spring, and he backed away. Listen to me, she commanded in slow, level tones. In the first place, you're lying to me about your wife getting her divorce. I'd have guessed as much if I hadn't known, for a hop-head can't tell the truth. But I do know. You got a letter from your attorney today telling you that your wife still insists not only that she will never divorce you, but that she will never allow you a divorce. You mean to say that you opened up one of my letters he demanded angrily? Sure, I opened it. I opened them all. I steam them open. What do you expect? She almost screamed from the thing you have made of me. Do you expect honor and self-respect? Or any other virtue? In a hype? You get out of here, he cried. You get out now, this minute. She rose from the bench and came and stood quite close to him. You'll see that I get all the snow I want if I go, he laughed nastily. You don't ever get another bindle, he cried. Wait, she admonished. I wasn't through with what I was starting to say a minute ago. You've been hitting it long enough, Wilson, to know what one of our kind will do to get it. You know, either you or I will sacrifice soul and body if there's no other way. We would lie or steal or murder. Do you get that, Wilson? Murder? There's just one thing that I won't do, but that one thing is not murder, Wilson. She lifted her face close to his and looked him straight in the eyes. If you ever try to take it away from me or keep it from me, Wilson, I shall kill you. Her tone was cold and unemotional, and because of that, perhaps, the threat seemed very real. The man paled. Oh, come, he cried. What's the use of our scrapping? I was only kidding anyway. Run along and take a shot, it'll make you feel better. Yes, she said, I need one. But don't get it into your head that I was kidding. I wasn't. I'd just as like kill you as not. The only trouble is that killing's too damn good for you, Wilson. She walked toward the bathroom door. Oh, by the way, she said, pausing. Alan called up this afternoon. He's in town and will be up after dinner. He wants his money. She entered the bathroom and closed the door. Chrome lighted another cigarette and threw himself into an easy chair, where he sat scowling on a temple dog on a Chinese rug. The Japanese cowboy opened the door and announced dinner, and a moment later, Gaza joined Chrome in the little dining room. They both smoked throughout the meal, which they scarcely tasted. The girl was vivacious and apparently happy. She seems to have forgotten the recent scene in the living room. She asks questions about the new picture. We're going to commence shooting Monday, he told her. Momentarily, he waxed almost enthusiastic. I'm going to have trouble with that boob author, though, he said. If they kick him off the lot and give me a little more money, I'd make him ever screened. Then he relapsed into brooding silence. What's the matter, she asked. Worrying about Alan? Not exactly, he said. I'll stall him off again. He isn't going to be easy to stall this time, she observed, if I gather the correct idea from his line of talk over the phone today. I can't see what you've done with all the coin, Wilson. You got yours, didn't you? Sure, I got mine, she answered, and it's nothing to me what you'd do with Alan's share, but I'm here to tell you that you've pulled across him. I'm not much of a character reader, as proof by my erstwhile belief that you were a high-minded gentleman, but it strikes me the various boob could see that that man Alan is a bad actor. You better look out for him. I ain't afraid of him, blustered crumb. No, of course you're not, she agreed, sarcastically. You're a regular little lion-hearted Reginald Wilson. That's what you are. The doorbell rang. There he is now, said the girl. Crumb paled. What makes you think he's a bad man, he asked. Look at his face. Look at his eyes, she admonished. Hard? He's got a face like a brick back. They rose from the table and entered the living room as the Japanese opened the front door. The caller was slick Alan. Crumb rushed forward and greeted him effusively. Hello, old man, he cried. I'm mighty glad to see you. Mr. Lore told me you had phoned. Can't tell you how delighted I am. Alan nodded to the girl, tossed his cap upon a bench near the door and crossed the center of the room. Won't you sit down, Mr. Alan, she suggested. I ain't got much time, he said, lowering himself into a chair. I came up here, Crumb, to get some money. His cold, fishy eyes looked straight into Crumb's. I come to get all the money there is coming to me. It's a trifle over ten thousand dollars as I figure it. Yes, said Crumb, that's about it. I don't want to stall and this time either concluded Alan. Stalling, exclaimed Crumb in a hurt tone. Who's been stalling? You have. Oh, my dear man, cried Crumb deprecatingly. You know that it matters of this kind what must be circumstance. There were reasons in the past why it would have been unsafe to transfer so large an amount to you. It might easily have been traced. I was being watched. A fellow even shadowed me to the teller's window of my bank one day. You see how it is? Neither of us can take chances. That's alright too, said Alan, but my bank's is right along and I ain't been taking them for my health. I've been taking them for the coin and I want that coin. I want it pronto. You could most certainly have it, said Crumb. Alright, replied Alan, extending a palm, fork it over. My dear fellow, you don't think that I have it here, do you? Demanded Crumb. You don't think I keep such an amount as that in my home, I hope. Where is it? In the bank, of course. Give me a check. You must be crazy. One of the other of us was suspected. That check would link us up fine. It would be as bad for you as for me. Nothing doing. I'll get the cash when the bank opens on Monday. That's the very best I can do. If you'd written it and let me know you were coming, I could have had it for you. Alan eyed him for a long minute. Very well, he said at last. I'll wait till noon Monday. Crumb breathed in an inward sigh of profound relief. If you're at the bank Monday morning and half past 10, I'll wait till noon Monday, he said. How's the other stuff going? Sorry I couldn't handle that, but it's too bulky. The hooch? It's going fine, replied Alan. Got a young high blood at the edge of the valley handling it, filled by the name of Evans. He moves 36 cases a week. The kid's got a good head on him. Worked the whole scheme out himself. Sells the whole batch every week for cash to a guy with a big truck. They cover it with hay, and this guy hauls it right into the city in broad daylight. He calls somebody or other a soap and delivers it at a case at a time to a bunch of drugstores. The second guy used to be a drug salesman and he's personally acquainted with every grafter in the business. As he talked, Alan had been studying the girl's face. She had noticed it before, but she was used to having men stare at her and thought little of it. Finally, he addressed her. Do you know, Mr. Lord, he said, there's something might be familiar about your face. I noticed it the first time I came here and I've been studying over it since. Seems like I know you somewhere else, or someone you look a lot like, but I can't quite get it straight in my head. I can't make out where it was or when or if it was you or someone else. I'll get it someday, though. I don't know if she replied. I'm sure I never saw you before you came here with Mr. Crumb the first time. Well, I don't know either, replied Alan, scratching his head, but it's mighty funny. He rose. I'll be going, he said. See you Monday at the bank. Sure, 1030 sharp, replied Crumb, rising. Oh, say, Alan, will you do me a favor? I promised the fellow I'd bring him in a Bindle of M tonight, and if you'll hand it to him, it'll save me a trip. It's right on your way to the car line. You'll find him in the alley back at the Hollywood drugstore, just the west of Cahanga on the south side of Hollywood Boulevard. Sure, glad to accommodate, said Alan, but how will I know him? He'll be standing there and you walk up and ask him the time. If he tells you you can change your five, you'll know he's the guy all right. Then you hand him these two ones and a 50 cent piece, and he hands you a $5 bill. That's all there is to it. Inside the two ones, I'll wrap a Bindle of M. You can give me the five Monday morning when I see you. Slip me the junk, said Alan. The girl had risen and was putting on her coat and lamp. Where are you going? Home so early, asked Crumb? Yes, she replied. I'm tired and I want to write a letter. I thought you'd live here, said Alan. I'm here nearly all day, but I go home nights, replied the girl. Slick Alan looked puzzled as he left the bungalow. Going my way, he asked the girl as they reached the sidewalk. No, she replied. I go in the opposite direction. Good night. Good night, said Alan, and turned toward Hollywood Boulevard. Inside the bungalow, Crumb was signaling Central for a connection. Give me the police station on Cahanga, near Hollywood, he said. I have time to look up the number. There was a moment's silence and then hello, what is this? Listen, if you want to get a hop-head with the goods on him right in the act of pedaling, send a dick to the back of the Hollywood drug store and have him wait until a guy comes up and asks him what time it is. Then have a dick tell him and say can you change a five? That's the cue for the guy to slip him a bindle of morphine, rolled up in a couple of one-dollar bills. If you don't send a dummy, he'll know what to do next and you better get him in a hurry. What? No. Oh, just a friend. Just a friend. Wilson Crumb hung up the receiver. There was a grin on his face and he turned away from the instrument. It's too bad, Alan, but I'm afraid you won't be at the bank at half-past ten on Monday morning, he said. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This liberal box recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. As Gaza DeLore entered the house in which she roomed, her landlady came hastily from the living room. Is that you, Ms. Perk, she asked? Here's a telegram that came for you just a few minutes ago. I do hope it's not bad news. The girl took the yellow envelope and tore it open. She read the message through very quickly and then again slowly. Her brows puckered into a little frown as if she could not quite understand the meaning of the words she read. Your mother ill, the telegram said. Possibly not serious. Doctor thinks best you come. We'll meet you morning train. It was signed. Custer pending them. I do hope it's not bad news, repeated the landlady. My mother is ill. They have sent for me, said the girl. I wonder if you'll be good enough to call the SP and ask the first train I can get that stops at Ganado while I run upstairs and pack my bag. You poor little deer, explained the landlady. I'm so sorry. I'll call right away. Then it'll come up and help you. A few minutes later she came up to say that the first train left at nine o'clock in the morning. She offered to help pack, but the girl said there was nothing that she could not do herself. I must go out first for a few minutes, Gaza told her. Then I'll come back and finish packing the few things that it'll be necessary to take. When the landlady had left, the girl stood staring duly at the black traveling bag that she had brought from the closet and placed on her bed. But she did not see the bag or the few pieces of lingerie that she had taken from her dresser drawers. She saw only the sweet face of her mother and the dearest smile that I always shown there to soothe each child's trouble. The smile that had lighted the girl's dark days even after she had left home. For a long time she stood there thinking, trying to realize what it would mean to her if the worst should come. It could make no difference she realized except that it might perhaps save her mother from a still greater sorrow. It was the girl who was dead, though her mother did not guess it. She had been dead for many months. This hollow, shaking husk was not Shannon Burke. It was not the thing that her mother had loved. It was almost a sacrilege to take it up there into the clean country and flaunt it in the face of so sacred a thing as mother love. The girl stepped quickly to her writing desk and, drawing a key from her vanity case, unlocked it. She took from it a case containing a hypodermic syringe and a few small files. Then she crossed the hall to the bathroom. When she came back she looked rested and less nervous. She returned the things to the desk, locked it, and ran downstairs. I'll be back in a few minutes as she called to the landlady. I shall have to arrange a few things tonight with her friend. She went directly to the beasted delpasa bungalow. Crumb was surprised and not a little startled as he heard her key in the door. He had a sudden vision of Alan returning and he went white, but when he saw who it was, he was no less surprised for the girl had never before returned after leaving for the night. My gracious, he exclaimed, look who's here. She did not return his smile. I found a telegram at home she said that necessitates my going away for a few days. I came over to tell you and to get a little snow to last me until I come back. He looked at her through narrow, suspicious lids. You're going to quit me, he cried accusingly. That's why you went out with Alan. You can't get away with it. I'll never let you go. Do you hear me? I'll never let you go. Don't be a fool, Wilson, she replied. My mother is ill and I've been sent for her. Your mother? You never told me you had a mother. But I have, but I don't care to talk about her to you. She needs me and I am going. He was still suspicious. Are you telling me the truth? Will you come back? You'd know I'll come back, she said. I shall have to, she added with a weary sigh. Yes, you'll have to. You can't get along without it. Don't come back all right. I'll see to that. What do you mean, she asked? How much snow you got home, he demanded. You know I keep scarcely any there. I forgot my case today, left into my desk. So I have a little there. A couple of shots maybe. Very well, he said. I'll give you enough to last a week. Then you'll have to come home. You say you'll give me enough to last a week? I'll take what I want. It's as much mine as yours. But you don't get any more than I'm going to give you. I won't have you gone more than a week. I can't live without you, don't you understand? I believe you have a wooden heart, or none at all. Oh, she said yawning. You can get some other poor fool to pedal it for you if I don't come back. But I'm coming, never fear. You're as bad as the snow. I hate you both, but I can't live without either of you. I don't feel like quarreling, Wilson. Give me this stuff, enough to last a week, for I'll be home before that. He went to the bathroom and made a little package up for her. Here, he said, returning to the living room. That ought to last you a week. She took it and slipped it into her case. Well, goodbye, she said, turning toward the door. Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye, he asked? Have I ever kissed you since I learned you had a wife, she asked? No, he admitted, but you might kiss me goodbye now, when you're going away for a whole week. Nothing doing, Wilson, she said, with the negative shake of her head. I'd, as life, kiss Gilamonster. He made a rye face. You're sure, Canada, he said. She shrugged her shoulders in the gesture of indifference and moved toward the door. I can't make you out, Gaza, he said. I used to think you loved me, and the Lord knows I certainly love you. You're the only woman I ever really loved. A year ago, I believed you would have married me, but now you won't even let me kiss you. Sometimes I think there is someone else. I thought you loved another man, I'd, I'd... No, you wouldn't. You're going to say that you'd kill me, but you wouldn't. You haven't the nerve of a rabbit. You needn't worry, there isn't any other man, and there never will be. After knowing you, I could never respect any man, much less love one of them. You're all, like, rotten. Let me tell you something, I never did love you. I liked you at first, before I knew the hideous thing that you had done to me. I would have married you, and I would have made you a good wife, too. I wish I could believe that you do love me. I know of nothing, Wilson, that would give me more pleasure to know that you love me madly. But, of course, you're not capable of loving anything madly, except yourself. I do love you, Gaza, he said, seriously. I love you so that I would rather die than live without you. She cocked her head on one side and eyed him quizzically. I hope you do, she told him. For it's the truth, I can repay you some measure of the suffering you have caused me. I can be around where you can never get a chance to forget me, or to forget the fact that you want me, but you can never have me. You'll see me every day, and every day you will suffer vain regrets from the happiness that might have been yours if you had been a decent, honorable man. But you are not decent, you are not honorable, you're not even a man. He tried to laugh derisively, but she saw the slow red creep through his face and knew that she had scored. I hope you'll feel better when you come back from your mother, he said. You haven't been very good company lately. Oh, by the way, where'd you say you were going? I didn't say it, she replied. Won't you give me your address, he demanded? No. But suppose something happens. Suppose I want to get a word to you, crumb insisted. You'll have to wait until I get back, she told him. I don't see why you can't tell me where you're going, he grumbled. Because there is a part of my life that you and your sort have never entered, she replied. I would as life taking a physical leper to my mother as a moral one. I cannot even discuss her with you without a feeling that I have besmirched her. On her face was an expression of unspeakable disgust as she passed her to the doorway of the bungalow and closed the door behind her. Wilson Crumb simulated a shudder. I sure was a damn fool, he mused. Gaza would have made the greatest emotional actress the screen has ever known if I'd given her a chance. I guessed her wrong and played her wrong. She's not like any woman I ever saw before. I should have made her a great success and won her gratitude. That's the way I ought to have played her. Oh well, what's the difference? She'll come back. He rose and went to the bathroom, snuffed half a grain of cocaine and then collected all the narcotics hidden there and every vestige of contributory evidence of their use by the inmates of the bungalow. Dragging a small table into the bathroom closet, he mounted and opened a trap leading into the airspace between the ceiling and the roof. Into this he clambered, carrying the drugs with him. They were wrapped in a long, thin package to which a light, strong cord was attached. With this cord, he lowered the package into the space between the sheathing and the inner wall, fastening the end of the cord to a nail driven into one of the studs at arm's length below the wall plate. There, he thought, as he clambered back into the closet, it'll take some dick to uncover that junk. Hidden between plaster and sheathing of this little bungalow was a fortune in our comics. Only a small fraction of their stock in the two palters kept in the bathroom and Crom had now removed that in case Alan should guess that he had been betrayed by his confederate and directed the police to the bungalow or the police themselves should trace his call and make an investigation of their own account. He realized he was taking a great risk, but a strategy of his saved him from the deadly menace of Alan's vengeance, at least for the present. The fact that there must ultimately be an accounting with the man, he put out of his mind. It would be time enough to meet that contingency when it rose. As a matter of fact, the police came to the bungalow that very evening, but through no clue obtained from Alan, who, while yet suspicions that were attained him out to conviction, chose to awake the time when he might wreak his revenge in his own way. The death sergeant had traced the call to Crom, and after the arrest had been made, a couple of detective sergeants called upon him. They were quiet, pleasant-spoken men, with an ingratiating way they might have deceived the possessor of a less suspicious brain than Crom's. The lieutenant said it's over to thank you for that tip, said the spokesman. We got him all right, with a junk on him. Not for nothing was Wilson Crom a talented actor. None there was who could have better registered polite and uninterested in comprehension. I'm afraid he said that I don't quite get you. What tip? What are you talking about? You called him to the station, Mr. Crom. We had central traced the call. There was no use. Crom interrupted him with a gesture. He didn't want the officer to go so far as it might embarrass him to retract. Ah, he exclaimed, a light of understanding illuminating his face. I believe I have it. What was the message? I think I hadn't explained. We think you can too, agreed the sergeant, seeing you phoned the message. No, but I didn't, said Crom, although I guess it might have come from over my phone all right. I'll tell you what I know about it. A car drove up a little while ago after dinner and a man came to the door. It was a stranger. He asked if I had a phone and if he could use it. He said he wanted to phone an important and confidential message to his wife. He emphasized the confidential and there was nothing for me to do but go to the other room until he was through. It was only a minute or two talking and then he called me. He wanted to pay for the use of the phone. I didn't hear what he said over the phone, but I guess that explains the matter. I'll be careful next time a stranger wants to use my phone. I would, said the sergeant, dryly. Would you know him if you saw him again? I sure would, said Crom. They rose to go. Nice little place you have here remarked one of them, looking around. Yes, said Crom. It is very comfortable. Would you like to look it over? No, replied the officer, not now. Maybe some other time. Crom Grimdifter had closed the door behind them. I wonder he mused if that was a threat or a prophecy. A week later, a slick Allen was sentenced to a year in county jail for having morphine in his possession. End of chapter 12. Chapter 13 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This lip box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Joe DeNoya, Somerset, New Jersey. As Shannon Burke alighted from the Southern Pacific train at Ganado, the following morning, a large middle-aged man in riding clothes approached her. Is this Miss Burke, he asked? I'm Colonel Pennington. She noted that his face was grave and it frightened her. Tell me about my mother, she said. How is she? He put an arm about the girl's shoulders. Come, he said. Mrs. Pennington is waiting over at the car. Her question was answered. Numb with dread and suffering, she crossed the station platform with him, kindly protecting arms still about her. Beside a closed car, a woman was standing. As they approached, she came forward, put her arms about the girl, and kissed her. Seated in the tonneau between the carnal and Mrs. Pennington, the girl sought to steady herself. She had taken no morphine since the night before, for she had wanted to come to her mother clean, as she would have expressed it. She realized now it was a mistake. For she had the sensation of shattered nerves and the verge of collapse. Mastering all her resources, she fought for self-control with an effort that was almost physically noticeable. Tell me about it, she said at length in a low voice. It was very sudden to the Colonel. It was a heart attack. Everything that possibly could be done in so short a time was done. Nothing would have changed the outcome, however. We had Dr. Jones of Los Angeles down. He motored down and arrived here about half an hour before the end. They told us that he could have done nothing. They were silent for a while as the fast car rolled over the smooth road toward the hills ahead. Presently it slowed down, turned in between the orange trees, and stopped before a tiny bungalow a hundred yards from the highway. We thought you would want to come here, first of all, dear, said Mrs. Pennington. Afterward, we're going to take you home with us. They accompanied her to the tiny living room, where they introduced her to the housekeeper and to the nurse, who had remained at Colonel Pennington's request. Then they opened the door of a sunny bedroom, and, closing it after her she entered, left her alone with her dead. Beyond the thin panels they could hear her sobbing, but when she emerged fifteen minutes later, though her eyes were red, she was not crying. They thought then that she had marvelous self-control, but could they have known the hideous battle she was fighting against grief and the insistent craving for morphine and the raw, taunt and nerves that would give her no peace and the shattered will that begged only to be allowed to sleep? Could they have known all this that would have realized that they were witnessing a miracle? They led her back to the car where she sat with wide eyes staring straight ahead. She wanted to scream, to tear her clothing, to do anything but sit there quiet and rigid. The short drive to Canado seemed to the half-mad girl to occupy hours. She saw nothing, not even the quiet, restful ranch house, as the car swung up the hill and stopped at the north entrance. In her mind's eye was nothing but the face of her dead mother and the little black case in their traveling bag. The Colonel helped her from the car, and a sweet-faced young girl came and put her arms around her and kissed her. As Mrs. Pennington had done at the station. In a dazed sort of way, Shannon understood that they were telling her the girl's name that she was the daughter of the Pennington's. The girl accompanied the visitor to the room she was to occupy. Shannon wished to be alone. She wanted to give the black case in her traveling bag. Why didn't the girl go away? She wanted to take her by the shoulders and throw her out of the room yet outwardly she was calm and self-possessed. Very carefully she turned toward the girl. It required a supreme effort not to tremble and to keep her voice from rising to a screen. Please, she said, I should like to be alone. I understood the girl and left the room, closing the door behind her. Shannon crept stealthily to the door and turned the key in the lock. Then she wheeled and almost fell upon the traveling bag in her eagerness to get the small black case within it. She was trembling from head to foot. Her eyes were wide and staring. And she mumbled to herself as she prepared the white powder and drew the liquid into the syringe. Momentarily, however, she gathered herself together. For a few seconds she stood looking at the glass and metal instrument in her fingers. Beyond it she saw her mother's face. I don't want to do it, she sobbed. I don't want to do it, mother. Her lower lip quiver and tears came. My God, I can't help it. Almost viciously she plunged the needle beneath her skin. I didn't want to do it today, of all days, with you lying over there all alone, dead. She threw herself across the bed and broke into uncontrolled sobbing, but her nerves were relaxed and the expression of her grief was normal. Finally, she sobbed herself to sleep, for she had not slept at all the night before. It was afternoon she awoke, and again she felt the craving for an iconic. This time she did not fight it. She had lost the battle, why renew it? She bathed and dressed and took another shot before leaving her rooms, a guest suite on the second floor. She descended the stairs, which opened directly into the patio, and almost ran against a tall, brooch-holded young man in flannel shirt and riding breeches with boots and spurs. He stepped quickly back. Miss Burke, I believe, he inquired. I am Custer Pennington. Oh, was you who hired me, she said? No, that was my father. I'm afraid I did not thank him at all for his kindness. I must have seemed very ungrateful. Oh, no indeed, Miss Burke, he said, with a quick smile of sympathy. We all understand, perfectly. You have suffered a severe nervous shock. We just want to help you all weekend, and we are sorry that there is so little we can do. I think you have done a great deal already for a stranger. Not a stranger exactly, he hastened to assure her. We were also fond of your mother that we feel that her daughter can scarcely be considered a stranger. She was a very lovable woman, Miss Burke, a very fine woman. She ran and felt tears in her eyes, and turned them away quickly. Very gently, he touched her arm. Mother heard you moving about in your rooms, and she's gone over to the kitchen to make some tea for you. If you'll come with me, I'll show you to the breakfast room. She'll have it ready in a jiffy. She followed him through the living room in the library of the dining room, beyond which a small breakfast room looked out toward the peaceful hills. Young Pennington opened the door leading from the dining room to the butler's pantry, and called to his mother. He went down, he said. The girl turned immediately from the breakfast room and entered the butler's pantry. Can't I help, Mrs. Pennington? I don't want you to go to any trouble for me. You've all been so good already. Mrs. Pennington laughed. Bless your heart, dear. It's no trouble. The water is boiling, and Hannah has made some toast. We were just waiting to ask you if you prefer green tea or black. Green, if you please, said Shannon, coming into the kitchen. Custer had followed her, saying, This is Hannah, Miss Burke, said Mrs. Pennington. I'm so glad to know you, Hannah, said the girl. I hope you don't think me a terrible nuisance. Hannah is a brick in her pose, the young man. You can muster out her kitchen all you want, and she never gets mad. I'm sure she doesn't, agreed Shannon, but people who are late to meals are a nuisance, and I promise that I shan't be again. I fell asleep. You may change your mind about being late to meals when you learn the hour we breakfast laughed Custer. No, I shall be on time. I shall stay in bed just as late as you please, said Mrs. Pennington. You mustn't think of getting up when we do. You need all the rest you can get. It seemed to take it for granted that Shannon was going to stay with him, instead of going to the little bungalow which had been her mother's. The truest type of hospitality, because requiring no oral acceptance, it suggested no obligation. But I can't impose on you so much, she said. After dinner I must go down to to no dare, she said, quietly, but definitely. You were to stay here with us until you return to the city. Colonel Pennington has arranged with the nurse to remain with your mother's housekeeper until after the funeral. Please let us have our way. It will be so much easier for you, and it will let us feel that we have been able to do something for you. Shannon could not have refused if she had wished to, but she did not wish to. In the quiet ranch house, surrounding by these strong, kindly people, she had to experience again. She had these thoughts when, under the influence of morphine, her nerves were quieted and her brain clear. After the effects had worn off, she became restless and irritable. She thought of crumb, then, under the bungalow on the Vista del Paso, with his purple monkey stenciled over the patio gate. She wanted to be back where she could be free to do what she pleased, free to sing again to the most degrading and abject slavery that human vice has ever devised. On the first night, after she had gone to her rooms, Pennington's, gathered in a little family living room, discussed her, as people were wanting to discuss a stranger beneath the roof. Isn't she radiant, to make it ava? She's the most beautiful creature I ever saw. She looks much as her mother must have looked at the same age to comment on the colonel. There's a marked family resemblance. She is beautiful, agreed Mrs. Pennington, but eventually to say that she's looking her worst right now. She doesn't appear at all well to me. Her complexion is very shallow, and sometimes there's the strangest expression in her eyes, almost wild. The nervous shock of her mother's death must have been very severe, but she bears it wonderfully at that, and she is so sweet and appreciative. I sized her up over there in the kitchen today, said Custer. She's the real article. I can always tell by the way people treat a servant whether they are real people or only counterfeit. She was as sweet and natural to Hannah as she is to mother. I noticed that, said his mother. It is one of the hallmarks of good breeding, but if you scarcely expect anything else of Mrs. Burke's daughter, I know she must be a fine character. In the room above them, Sharon Burke, with trembling hands and staring eyes, was inserting a slender needle beneath her skin above her hip. In the movies, one does not disfigure one's arms or legs. End of chapter 13. Chapter 14 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This is the provost recordings in the public domain. According by Joe De Noia, the day of the funeral had come and gone. It had been a very hard one for Shannon. She had determined that on this day, at least, she would not touch the little hypodemoric syringe. She owed that much respect to the memory of her mother, and she had fought, God, how she had fought, with screaming nerves that would not be quiet, with trembling muscles, with a brain that held but a single thought. Morphine. Morphine. She tried to shut the idea from her mind. She tried to concentrate her thoughts upon the real anguish of her heart. She tried to keep before her a vision of her mother. But her hideous, resistless vice crowded all else from her brain. And the result was that on the way back from the cemetery, she collapsed into screaming, incoherent hysteria. They carried her to her room. Custer Pennington carried her, his father and mother following. When the men had left, Mrs. Pennington and Eva undressed her and comforted her and put her to bed. But she still screamed and sobbed, frightful, racking sobs without tears. She was trying to tell him to go away. How she hated them to only go away and leave her. But she could not voice the words she sought to scream at them and so they stayed and ministered to her as best they could. After a while she lost consciousness and they thought that she was asleep and left her. Perhaps she did sleep. For later, when she opened her eyes, she lay very quiet and felt rested and almost normal. She knew though that she was not entirely awake. That when full wakefulness came the terror would return unless she quickly had recourse to the little needle. In that brief moment of restfulness she thought quickly and clearly and very fully on what had just happened. She had never had such an experience before. Perhaps she had never fully realized a frightful hold a drug had upon her. She had known that she could not stop or at least she had said that she knew or that she had any conception of the pitiful state which enforced abstinence would reduce her to be doubted. Now she knew and she was terribly frightened. I must cut it down she said to herself and must have been hitting it a little too strong. When I get home I'll let up gradually until I can manage with three or four shots a day. When she came down to dinner that night they were all surprised to see her for they thought she was still asleep. Particularly were they surprised to see no indications of a recent breakdown. How could they know that she had just taken enough morphine to have killed any one of them. She seemed normal and composed and she tried to infuse a little gage into her conversation but the grief was not there. She knew that their kind hearts shared something of her sorrow but it was selfish to impose her own sadness upon them. She had been thinking very seriously had Shannon Burke. The attack of hysteria had jarred her loose temporarily at least from the selfish rut that her habit and her hateful life with crumb had worn her. She recalled every emotional ordeal through which she had passed even to the thoughts of hate that she had held for those two sweet women at the table with her. She hated herself for the thought. She compared herself with them and a dull flush mounted to her cheek. She was not fit to remain under the same roof with them and here she was sitting at their table a respected guest. What if they should learn of the thing she was? The thought terrified her and yet she talked on, often times gaily joining with them in the laughter that was part of every meal. She really saw them that night as they were. It was the first time that her grief and her selfish voice had permitted her to study them. It was her first understanding glimpse of a family life that was as beautiful as her own life was ugly. As she compared herself with the women she compared crumb with these two men. They might have vices. They were strong men and a few strong men are without vices she knew. But she was sure that they were the vices of strong men which by comparison with those of William Crumb would become virtues. What a pitiful creature Crumb seemed beside these two with his insignificant mentality and his petty egotism. Suddenly it came to her almost as a shock that she had to leave this beautiful place and go back to the sorted life that she shared with Crumb. Her spirit revolted but she knew that it must be. She did not belong here. Her vice must ever bar her from such men and women as these. The memory of them would haunt her always making her punishment the more poignant to the day of her death. That evening she and Colonel Pennington discussed her plans for the future. She had asked him about disposing of the orchard, how she should proceed and what she might ask for it. I should advise you to hold that he said he's going to increase in value tremendously in the next few years. You can easily get someone to work it for you on shares. If you don't want to live on it Custer and I will be glad to keep an eye on it and see that it's properly cared for. But why don't you stay here? You can really make a very excellent living from it. Besides Miss Burke, here in the country you can really live. Your city people don't know what life is. There, said Eva, pops he had started. If he had his way, we'd all have to move to the city to escape the maddening crowd. He'd move the maddening crowd into the country. It may be that Shannon doesn't care for the country, suggested Mrs. Pennington. There are such foolish people, she added, laughing. Oh, I would love the country, exclaimed Shannon. Then why don't you stay? urged the Colonel. I had never thought of it, she said, hesitatingly. It was indeed a new idea. Of course it was an absolute impossibility but it was a very pleasant thing to contemplate. Possibly Miss Burke has ties in the city that she could not care to break, suggested Custer, noting her hesitation. Ties in the city? Shackles of iron, rather, she thought bitterly. But, oh, it was such a nice thought. To live here, to see these people daily, perhaps be one of them? To be like them? Oh, that would be heaven. Yes, she said, I have ties in the city. I could not remain here. I am afraid much such should like to. I, I think I'd better sell. Rubbish, exclaimed the Colonel. You'll not sell. You're going to stay here with us until you are thoroughly rested and then you won't want to sell. I wish that I might, she said, but, but nothing interrupted the Colonel. You are not well, and I should permit you to leave until those cheeks are the color of Eve's. He spoke to her as he might have spoken to one of his children. She had never known a father, and it was the first time that any man had talked to her in just that way. It brought the tears to her eyes. Tears of happiness for everyone wants to feel that she belongs to some man, a father, a brother, or husband, who loves her well enough to order her about for her own good. I shall have to think it over, she said. It means so much to me to have you all want me to stay. Please don't think I don't want to, but there are so many things to consider. I want to stay so very, very much. All right, said the Colonel. It's decided. You stay. Now run off to bed, for you're going to ride with us in the morning, and that means you'll have to be up at half past five. But I can't ride, she said. I don't know how, and I have nothing to wear. Evil will fit you out. And as for not knowing how to ride, you can't learn any younger. Why? I've taught half the children in the foothills to ride a horse, and a lot of grown-ups. What I can't teach you, cousin Eva can. You're going to start in tomorrow, my little girl, and learn how to live. Nobody who has simply survived the counterfeit life of the city knows anything about living. You wait, we'll show you. She smiled up into his face. I suppose I shall have to mind you, she said. I imagine everyone does. Seated in an easy chair in her bedroom, she stared at the opposite wall. The craving that she was seldom without was growing in intensity, for she had been without morphine since before dinner. She got up, unlocked her bag, and took out the little black case. She opened it and counted the powders remaining. She had used half her supply. She could stay up to three or four days longer at the outside, and the colonel wanted her to stay until her cheeks were like Eva's. She rose and looked in the mirror. How salad she was. Something she did not know what had kept her from using rouge here. During the first days of her grief, she had not even thought of it, and then, after that evening at dinner, she knew that she could not use it here. It was a make-believe, a sham, which didn't harmonize with these people or the life they led. A clean, real life in which any form of insincerity had no place. She knew that they were broad people, both cultured and travel, but she could not understand why it was that she felt that the harmless vanity of rouge might be distasteful to them. Indeed, she guessed that it would not. It was something fine in herself, long suppressed, seeking expression. It was the same thing perhaps that had caused her to refuse a cigarette that Custer had offered her after dinner. She indicated that they were accustomed to having women smoke there, as women nearly everywhere smoke today. But she had refused, and she was glad she had, for she noticed that neither Mrs. Pennington nor Eva smoked. Such women didn't have to smoke to be attractive to men. She had smoked in her room several times. For that habit, too, had a strong hold on her. But she had worked assiduously to remove the telltale stains from her fingers. I wondered if she had used, looking at the black case, a few more hours here if I could. A few more hours of life before I go back to that. Until midnight, she fought her battle, a losing battle, tossing and turning in her bed. But she did her best before she gave up and defeat. No, not quite defeat. Let us call it compromise, for the dose she took was only half as much as she ordinarily allowed herself. The three hour fight and half dose meant a partial victory. For gain for her, she estimated an additional six hours. After six, she was awakened by a knock on the door. It was already light, and she awoke with mingled surprise that she had slept so well, and vague foreboding to the next hour or so, for she was unaccustomed to horses and a little afraid of them. Who is it, she asked, and the knock was repeated. Eva, I have brought your writing things. Shannon rose and opened the door. She was going to take the things from the girl, but the letter bounced into the room fresh and laughing. Come on, she cried. I'll help you. Just pile your hair up anyhow. It doesn't matter. This hat will cover it. I think these breeches will fit you. We are just about the same size, and I don't know about the boots. They may be a little large. I didn't bring any spurs. Papa won't let anyone wear spurs until they ride fairly well. You'll have to win your spurs, you see. It's a beautiful morning, just spiffy. Run in and wash up a bit. I'll arrange everything, and you'll be in a minute of jiffy. She seized Shannon around the waist and danced off toward the bathroom. Don't be long, she admonished, and she returned to the dressing room, where she had laid down a barrage of conversation before the bathroom. Shannon washed quickly. She was excited that the prospect of the ride, that and the laughing, talking girl in the adjoining room, gave her no time to think. Her mind was fully occupied, and her nerves were stimulated. For the moment, she forgot about morphine, and then it was too late, for Ava had her by the hand, and she was being led, almost at a run, down the stairs, through the patio, and out over the edge of the hill, down toward the stable. At first, the full foliageed umbrellas through which the walk wound concealed the stable in the crowds at the foot of the hill, but presently they broke upon her view, and she saw the horses saddled and waiting, and the other members of the family. The Colonel and Mrs. Pennington were already mounted. Custer and a stableman held two horses, while the fifth was tied to a ring in the stable wall. It was a pretty picture, the pulling horses with arched necks eager to be away, the happy, laughing people in their picturesque the new day upon the nearer hills, the haze upon the farther mountains. Fine, cried the Colonel, as he saw it coming, really never thought you'd do it. I'll wager this is the earliest you've been up in many a day. Barbarous hour, that's what you're saying. Why, when my cousin was on here from New York, he was really shocked, said it wasn't decent. Come along, relate this morning. You'll ride Baldy. Custer will help you up. She stepped in a mounting block as the young man led the dancing Baldy close beside it. Ever ridden much he asked? Never in my life. Take the rings in your left hand, so. Like this. Left hand ring coming in under your little finger, the other between your first and second fingers, and the bite out between the first and thumb. There, that's it. Face your horse, put your left hand on the horn and you're right on the cantal. This is the cantal back here. That's your ticket. Now put your left foot in the stirrup and stand erect. Don't lean forward over the saddle. Good. Swing your right leg, knee bent over the cantal, at the same time lifting your right hand. When you come down, ease yourself into the saddle by closing on the horse with your knees. That takes the jar off both of you. Ride with a light ring. If you want to slow down or stop, pull them in. Don't jerk. He was holding Baldy close to the bit as he helped her and explained. He saw that her right foot found the stirrup, that she would have the rings properly gathered and then he released the animal. Immediately Baldy began to curve it, raising both four feet simultaneously and as they were coming down raising his hind feet together so that all four were off the ground at once. Shannon was terrified. Why they put her on a bucking horse? They knew she couldn't ride. It was cruel. But she sat there with tight pressed lips and uttered no sound. She recalled every word that Custer had said to her and she did not jerk with some almost irresistible power urged her to. She just pulled and as she pulled she glanced around to see if they were rushing to her rescue. Great was her surprise when she discovered that no one was paying much attention to her or to the mad actions of her terrifying mount. Suddenly it dawned upon her that she had neither fallen off nor come near fallen off. She had not even lost a stirrup. As a matter of fact, the motion was not even uncomfortable. It was enjoyable and she was in about as much danger of being thrown as she would have been from a rocking chair as violently self agitated. She laughed then and in the instant all fear left her. She saw Ava mount from the ground and noted that the stable inn was not even permitted to hold her rest of horse, much less to assist her in any other way. Custer swung to the saddle with an ease of a long habititude. The colonel reigned to her side. We'll let them go ahead he said and I'll give you your first lesson. Then I'll turn you over to Custer. He and Ava can put on the finishing touches. He wants to see that you're started right called the younger man laughing. Popsie just wants to add another feather to his cap said Ava. Someday he'll point with pride and say look at her ride. I gave her her first lesson. Here comes Mrs. Evans and Guy. As Mrs. Pennington spoke they saw two horses rounding the foot of the hill at a brisk canter. Their riders waving a cheery long distance greeting. That first morning ride with the Penningtons and their friends was an event in the life of Shannon Burke that assumed the proportions of an adventure. The novelty, the thrill, the excitement filled her every moment. The dancing horse beneath her seemed to impart to her a full measure of its buoyant life. The gay laughter of her companions the easy fellowship of young and old the generous sympathy that made her one of them gave her but another glimpse of the possibilities for happiness that requires no artificial stimulus. She loved the hills she loved the little trail winding through the leafy tunnel of the cool baronco. She loved the thrill of the shelving hillside where the trail clung precariously in his ascent towards some low summit. She tingled with a new life and a new joy as they broke into a gallop along a glassy ridge. Custer in the lead rained in raising his hand and signal for them all to stop. Look, Miss Burke, he said pointing toward the near hillside. There's a coyote. Thought maybe you'd never seen one on its native heath. Shoot it! Shoot it! cried Eva. You poor boob, why don't you shoot it? Bald is gun shy, he explained. Oh, said Eva. Yes, of course. I forgot. One of the things you do best, return Custer loftily. I was just going to say that you were not a boob at all but now I won't. Shannon watched the gray, wolfish animal turn and trot off dejectedly until it disappeared along the brush but she was not thinking of the coyote. She was considering the thoughtfulness of a man who could remember to forego a fair shout at a wild animal because one of the horses in this party was gun shy and was ridden by a woman unaccustomed to riding. She wanted that this was an index to young Pennington's character so different from the men she had known. It bespoke a general attitude toward women with which she was unfamiliar, a protective instinct that was chiefly noticeable in the average city man by its absence. Interspersed with snatches of conversation and intervening silences were occasional admonitions directed at her by the colonel instructing her to keep her feet parallel to the horses' sides, not to lean forward, keep her elbows down and her left forearm horizontal. I never knew there was so much to riding, she exclaimed laughingly. I thought you'd just gone on a horse on a road. That was all there was to it. That is all there is to it to most of the people you see riding rented horses around Los Angeles, Colonel Pennington told her. It is all there can ever be to the great majority of the people anywhere. Horsemanship is inherited in some. By others, it can never be acquired. It is an art. Like dancing, suggested Eva. In thinking, said Custer, lots of people can go through the motions of riding or thinking, let never achieving any one of them. I can't even go through the motions of riding, said Shannon ruffally. All you need is practice, said the colonel. I can tell a born rider in half an hour, even if he's never been on a horse before in his life. You're one. I'm afraid you're making fun of me. The saddle keeps coming up and hitting me, and I never see any of you move from yours. Guy Evans was riding close to her. No, he's not making fun of you, he whispered, leaning closer to Shannon. The colonel has paid you one of the greatest compliments in his power to bestow. He always judges people first by their morals and then by their horsemanship. But if they are good horsemen, he can make generous allowance for minor lapses in their morals. They both laughed. He's a deer, isn't he, said the girl. He and Custer, the finest man I ever knew, replied the boy eagerly. That ride ended in a rushing gallop along a quarter mile of straight road leading to the stables, where they dismounted, flushed, breathless, and laughing. As they walked up the whiny concrete walk toward the house, Shannon Burke was tired, lame, and happy. She had ventured into a new world and found it good. Come into my room and wash, said Eva as they entered the patio, we're late for breakfast now and we all have to sit down together. For just an instant, and for the first time that morning, Shannon thought of the hypodermic needle and its black case upstairs. She hesitated and then resolutely turned into Eva's room. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This liberal box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Joe DeNoyer, Somerset, New Jersey. During the hour, falling breakfast that morning, while Shannon was alone in her rooms, the craving returned. But thought of it turned her sick when she felt incoming. She had been occupying herself making her bed and tidying in the room as she had done each morning since her arrival. But when that was done, her thoughts reverted by habit to the desire that so fatally mastered her. While she was writing, she had had no opportunity to think of anything but the thrill of the new adventure. At breakfast, she had been very hungry for the first time in many months. And this new appetite for food and the gay conversation at the breakfast table had given her nerves no chance to assert their craving. Now that she was alone and unoccupied, the terrible thing clutched her again. Once again, she fought the fight that she had fought so many times of late. The fight she knew she was ordained to lose before she started fighting. She longed to win it so earnestly that her defeat was the more pitiable. She was eager to prolong the newfound happiness to the uttermost limit though she knew that it must end when her supply of morphine was gone. She was determined to gain a few hours each day in order that she might add at least another happy day to her life. Again, she took but half her ordinary allowance. But with what anguished humiliation she performed the hated and repulsive act. Always had she loathed the habit but never had it seem nearly so disgusting as when performed by these cleanly and beautiful surroundings under the same roof with such people as the Penitents. The crypt into her mind thought that had found its way there more than once during the past two years. The thought of self-destruction. She put it away from her but in the depth of her soul she knew that never before had it taken so strong a hold upon her. Her mother, her only tie, was gone and no one would care. She had looked into heaven and found that it was not for her. She had returned to the hideous existence of the Hollywood bungalow and her lonely boarding house into the hated crumb. It was then that Ava Pennington called her. I'm going to walk up to the Berkshires she said, come along with me. The Berkshires exclaimed Shannon I thought they were in New England. She was descending the stairs towards Ava who stood at the foot holding open the door that led into the patio. She welcomed the interruption that had broken in upon her morbid thoughts. The sight of the winsome figure smiling up at her held them as the light of the sun sweeps away my asmic vapors. In New England repeated Ava. Her brows puckered and then suddenly she broke into a merry laugh. I meant pigs not hills. Shannon laughed too. How many times she had laughed that day and it was yet far from noon. Closest was the memory of her mother's death she could laugh here with no consciousness of irreverence. Perhaps with the conviction that she was best serving the ideals that had been dear to that mother she came with you offered it. I'm only sorry it's not the hills she said for that would mean walking, walking, walking. Doing something in the open away from people who live in cities and who could find no pleasures as hot four walls. Shannon's manner was tense her voice has suddenly become serious. The other girl looked up with her with an expression of a mild surprise. My gracious Cried Ava you're getting almost as bad as Popsie and you've only been here half a week but how radiant if you really love it. I do love it dear though I didn't mean to be quite so tragic but the thought that I should have to go away and never enjoy it again is tragic. I hope you won't have to go said Ava simply slipping an arm about the other's waist we all hope that you won't have to. They walked down the hill past the saddle horse barn and along the gravel road that led to the upper end of the ranch. The summer sun beat hotly upon them making each old sycamore and oak and walnut a delightful oasis of passion shade. In a field that they're left two mowers were clicking merrily through lush alfalfa. At their right, beyond the pasture fence gentle Guernsey's lay in the shade of a widespread sycamore a part of the pastoral allegory of content that was the Rancho Danganano and overall there was the blue California sky and the glorious sun. Isn't it wonderful breathe Shannon half to herself it makes one feel that there cannot be a care or sorrow in all the world. Which depends in the houses where the sleek black bircher is dozed in every shaded spot. Then they wanted further up the canyon into the pastures with a great brood salad sprawled beneath the sycamores or wild and concrete pool shaded by overhanging boughs. Ava stooped now then to stroke a long deep side. How clean they are exclaimed Shannon. I thought pigs were dirty. They are when they're kept in dirty places the same as people. They don't smell badly even the pens smell of pig. All I noticed was a heavy sweet odor. What was it? Something they feed them? Ava laughed. It was the pigs themselves. The more you know pigs the better you love them. They're radiant creatures. You deer you love everything don't you? Pretty nearly everything except prunes and washing dishes. They swung up through the orange grove and along the upper road back toward the house it was noon and lunchtime when they arrived. Shannon was hot and tired and dusty and delighted that she opened the door at the foot of the stairs that led up to her rooms above. There she paused. The old gripping desire had seized her. She had not once felt it since she had passed through that door more than two hours before. For a moment she hesitated and then fearfully she turned towards Ava. May I clean up in your room? She asked. There was a strange note of appeal in Shannon's voice that the other girl did not understand. Why certainly she said in the matter, you are not ill. Just a little tired. There, I should have never walked you so far. I'm so sorry. I want to be tired. I want to do it again this afternoon. All afternoon. I don't want to stop until I'm ready to drop. Then seeing the surprise in Ava's expression she added, you see I shall be here such a short time that I want to crowd every single moment full of pleasant memories. Shannon thought that she had never eaten so much before as she had that morning at breakfast but at luncheon she more than complicated her past performance. There was cold chicken, delicious Rhode Island reds raised on the ranch. There was a salad of homegrown tomatoes. Firm, deep red beauties to let us from the garden. Hannah's bread with butter fresh from the churn and tall cool pictures filled with rich Guernsey milk. And then a piece of Hannah's famous apple pie with cream so thick it would scare poor. My, Shannon exclaimed at last, I've seen the pigs and I have become one. And I see something dear as it misses Pennington smiling. What? Some color in your cheeks. Not really she cried delighted. Yes, really. And it's mighty becoming offered to Colonel. Nothing like a brown skin and rosy cheeks for beauty. That's the way God meant girls to be or he would have given them delicate skins and hung the sun up there to beautify them. Here he's gone through a lot of trouble to fit up the whole worlds of beauty parlor and what do women do? They go and find some stuffy little shop that ever reaches it and pay some other woman who knows nothing about art to paint a mean imitation of a complexion on their poor skins. They wouldn't think of hanging a chrome on their living room but they wear one on their faces when the greatest artist of them all is ready and willing to paint a masterpiece there for nothing. What a dapper little thought exclaimed Eva. Popsies should have been a poet or an ad writer for a cosmetic manufacturer suggested Custer. Oh, by the way, not changing the subject or anything but the cheer about slick Allen? No, they had not. Shannon pricked up her ears metaphorically. What did these people know of slick Allen? He's just been sent up in L.A. for having narcotics in his possession. Got a year in the county jail. I guess he was a bad one common at the colonel but he never struck me as being a drug addict. Nor me, but I guess you can't always tell them said Custer. It must be a terrible habit to have Mrs. Pennington. It's about as low as anyone can sing said Custer. I hear that there's been a great increase in it since prohibition remarked the colonel. Personally, I'd have more respect for a whiskey drunkard than for a drug addict or perhaps I should better say that I feel less disrespect. A police official told me not long ago at a dinner in town that if drug taking continues to increase as it has recently it will constitute a national menace by comparison with which the whiskey evil will seem paltry. Shannon Burke was glad when they rose from the table putting an end to the conversation. She had plumbed the utter most depths of humiliation. She had felt herself go hot and cold in shame and fear. At first her one thought had been to get away to find some excuse for leaving the Penningtons at once. If they knew the truth, what would they think of her? Not because of her habit alone but because she had been imposed upon their hospitality in the guise of decency knowing that she was unclean and practicing her horror advice beneath their very roof. Associating with their daughter and bringing them all in contact with her moral leprosy. She had hastened to her room to pack. She knew there was an evening train for the city and while she packed she could be framing some plausible excuse for leaving thus abruptly. Custer Pennington called to her. Ms. Burke. She turned her hand up on the knob of the door to the upstairs suite. I'm going to ride over the back ranch this afternoon. Ava showed you the Berkshires this morning. Now I want to show you the Hereford's. I told the stableman to saddle Baldy for you. Will half an hour be too soon? He was standing in the north part of the patio a few yards from her waiting for her reply. How fine and straight and clean he was. If fate had been less unkind she might have been worthy of the friendship of such a man as he. Worthy? Was she unworthy then? She had been just as fine and clean as Custer Pennington until a beast had tricked her into shame. She had not knowingly embraced the vice. It had already claimed her before she knew what it was. Must she then forgo all hope of happiness because of a wrong of which she herself was innocent? She wanted to go with Custer. Another day would make no difference for the Penningtons would never know. How could they? By what chance might they ever connect Shannon Burke with Gaza de Lour? She knew well that her screen days were over and there was no slightest likelihood that any of these people would be introduced to the bungalow of the Vista del Paso. Who could begrudge her just this little afternoon of happiness before she went back to Crumb? Don't tell me you don't want to come, cried Custer. I won't take no for an answer. Oh, but I do want to come. Ever so much. I'll be down in a minute. Why wait half an hour? She was in her room no more than five minutes and during that time she sought bravely to a face all thought with a little black case. But with diabolic pergnacity it constantly obtruded itself and with it came the gnawing hunger of nerves starving for an iconic. I won't, she cried, stamping her foot. I won't. I won't. If only she could get away from the room before she succumbed to the mounting temptation. She was sure that she could fight it off for the rest of the afternoon. She had gained that much at least but she must keep occupied, constantly occupied where she could not have access to it or see the black case in which she kept the morphine. She triumphed by running away from it. She almost hurled herself down the stairs and into the patio. Custer Pennington was not there. She must find him before the cravings dragged her back to the rooms above. It was Will weakening. It was the old, old story that she knew so well. What's the use, the voice that a tempter asked? Just a little one will make you feel so much better. What's the use? She turned toward the door again. She had her hand up on the knob and then she swung back and called him Mr. Pennington. If he did not hear, she knew that she would go up into her rooms defeated. Coming, he answered from beyond the arched entrance to the patio and almost ran to him. Was I very long, she asked? Did I keep you waiting? Why, you've scarcely been gone any time at all, he replied. Let's hurry, she said breathlessly. I don't want to miss any of it. He wondered why she should be so much excited at the prospect of a ride into the hills, but it pleased him that she was and it flattered him a little too. He began to be a little enthusiastic over the trip which he had planned only as part of the generous policy of the family to keep Shannon occupied for a week too sorrowfully over her loss. And Shannon was pleased because of her victory. She was too honest at heart to attempt to deceive herself into thinking that it was any great triumph, but even to have been strong enough to have run away from the enemy was something. She did not hope that it augured any permanent victory for the future for she did not believe that such a thing was possible. She knew the scarce three and a hundred slaves of morphine definitely cast off their bonds this side of the grave, and she had gone too far to be one of the three. If she could keep going forever as she had that day, she might do it. But that, of course, was impossible. There must be hours when she would be alone with nothing to do but think, think, think. What would she think about? Always the same things, the little white powder and the peace and the rest that would give her. Custer watched her as she mounted, holding Baldi beside the block for her, and again he was pleased to know that she did not neglect the single detail of the instructions he had given her. Some girl this, the young man so little acquiesed mentally. He knew she must be at least a little lame and sore after the morning ride, but though he watched her face, he saw no sign of it registered there. Game. He was going to like her, stir up to stir up the road slowly up the lane toward the canyon road. Her form was perfect. She seemed to recall everything his father had told her, and she said easily, with no stiffness. Don't you want to ride faster? It was too long on my account. It's too hot, he replied, but the real reason was that he knew she was probably suffering, even at a walk. For a long time they rode in silence, the girl taking in every beauty of Meadow, Ravine, and Hill, that she might store them all away for the days when they would be only memories. The sun beat down upon them fiercely, for it was an early August day and there was no relieving breeze, but she enjoyed it. It was also different from any day in her past or years or anything she could expect in the future. Custer Pennington, never a talkative man, was always glad of a companionship that could endure long silences. Grace had been like that with him. They could go together for hours with scarce a dozen words exchanged, and yet both could talk well when they had anything to say. It was the knowledge that conversation was not essential to perfect understanding and comradeship that had rendered their intimacy delightful. The riders had entered the hills and said, if you tire, he said, or if it gets too hot, we'll turn back. Please don't hesitate to tell me. It's heavenly, she said. Possibly a few degrees too hot for heaven, he suggested, but it's always cool under the live oaks. Anytime you want to rest, we'll stop for a bit. Which of the live oaks, she asked. He pointed to one. Why are they called live oaks? They're evergreen. I suppose that's the reason. And get off? If you wish. Do you think I can get on again? I'll get you up all right. Still feel a little lame? Who said I was lame, she demanded. I know you must be, but you're mighty game. I was when I started, but not anymore. I seemed to have limbered up. Let's try it. I want to see if I can get off on the ground, as Eva does. What are you smiling at? That's the second time in the last few seconds. I didn't know it. I didn't mean to. What did I do? You didn't do anything. It was something you said. You won't mind with you as long as you are learning to ride a horse. Do I teach you the correct terminology at the same time? Why, of course not. What did I say? Was it very awful? Oh no, but it always amuses me when I hear it. It's about getting on and off. You get on or off a streetcar, but you mount or dismount if you're riding a horse. But I don't, chiefsly, am laughing. Falling on and off would suit my method better. No, you mount very nicely. Now watch, and I'll show you how to dismount. Put your left hand on the horn, throw your right leg over the cantile, immediately grasping the cantile with your right hand. Stand erect in the left stirrup, leg straight, and heels together. You see, I'm facing right across the horse. Now support the weight of your body with your arms like this. Remove the left foot from the stirrup and drop to the ground, alighting evenly on both feet. That's the correct form and a good plan to follow when you're learning to ride. Afterward, one gets to swing off almost any old way. I thought one always dismounted, she suggested, from a horse. Her eyes twinkled. He laughed. I'll have to be careful, won't I? You scored that time. Now watch me, she said. Splendid, he exclaimed, as she dropped lightly to the ground. They led their horses beneath the spreading tree and sat down at their backs to the huge bowl. How cool it is here, remarked the girl. I can feel a breeze, though I hadn't noticed one before. There always is a breeze beneath the oaks. I think they make their own. I read somewhere that an oak evaporates about 180 gallons of water every day. That ought to make a considerable change of temperature beneath the tree on a hot day like this. And in that way, it must start a circulation of air around it. How interesting. How much there is to know in the world and how little of it most of us know. A tree is a tree, a flower is a flower, and the hills are hills. That much knowledge of them satisfied nearly all of us. The how and the why of them we never consider. But I should like to know more. We should know all about things that are so beautiful. Don't you think so? Yes, he said. In ranching, we do learn a lot that city people don't need to know about how things grow and what some plants take out of the soil and what others put into it. It's part of our business to know these things. Not only that we may judge the food value with certain crops, but also to keep our soil in condition so that it can grow. He told her how the tree beneath which they sat drew water and various salts from the soil and how the leaves extracted carbon dioxide from the air, taking in through myriads of minute mouths on the undersides of the leaves and how the leaves manufactured starch and the sap carried it to the every growing part of the tree from deepest root to the tip of the loftiest twig. The girl listened absorbed. As she listened, she watched a man's face, earnest and intelligent, the sense she had known in the city and their conversation. They had talked to her as if she was a mental cipher incapable of understanding or appreciating anything worthwhile. Small talk, that subverter of the ancient art of conversation. In a brief hour, Custer Pennington had taught her things that would help to make the world a little more interesting and a little more beautiful, where she could never look upon a tree again as just a tree. It would be for her a living, breathing, almost a sentient creature. She had to recall what she had learned from two years' association with Wilson Crumb and the only thing she could think of was that Crumb had taught her a snuff cocaine. After a while, they started on again and the girl surprised the man by mounting easily from the grout. She was very much pleased with her achievement laughing happily at his word of approval. They rode on until they found the hearfords. They counted them as they searched through the large pasture that ran back into the hills and when the full number had been accounted for they turned toward home. After hearing her about the trees, Custer told her also about the beautiful white-faced cattle in their origin in the English county whose name they bear another unequaled value as beef animals. He pointed out various prize winners as they passed them. There you are, smiling again she said accusingly as they followed the trail homeward. What have I done now? You haven't done anything but be very patient all afternoon. I was smiling at the idea of how thrilling the afternoon must have been for a city girl, for pleasure and excitement. I have never known a happier afternoon she said. I wonder if you really mean that. Honestly, I am glad he said for sometimes I get terribly tired of it here and I think it always does me good to have an outsider enthuse a little. It brings me a realization of the things we have here that city people can't have. It makes me a little more contented. You couldn't be discontented while there are just thousands and thousands of people in the city who would give everything to change places with you. We don't all live in the city because we want to. We are fortunate that you don't have to. Do you think so? I know it. But it seems such a narrow life here I ought to be doing a man's work among men where it will count. You are doing a man's work here and living a man's life. And what you do here does count. Suppose you were making stoves or selling automobiles or bonds in the city. Would any such work count for more than all this? The wonderful swine and cattle and horses that you were raising? Your father has built a great business and you were helping him make it greater. Could you do anything in the city of which you could be half so proud? No, but in the city you might find a thousand things to do of which you might be terribly ashamed. If I were a man, I'd like your chance. You're not consistent. You have the same chance, but you tell us that you're going back to the city. You have your grove here and a home and a good living. You want to return to the city you invade against. I do not want to, she declared. I hope you don't then, Custer said simply. They reached the house in time for a swim before dinner, but after dinner when they started for the ballroom to dance, Shannon threw up her hands and surrounded her. I give up, she cried laughingly. I tried to be game to the finish and I won't ever so much to come and dance, but I don't believe I could ever walk as far as the ballroom, much less dance after I got there. Why I doubt whether I'll be able to get upstairs without crawling. You poor child, this lame is spinning and we've nearly killed you. I know. We were also used to long rides and walking and swimming and dancing that we don't realize how they tire unaccustomed muscles. You go right to bed, my dear, and don't think of getting up for breakfast. Oh, but I want to get up and ride if I may and if Ava will wake me. She's got the real stuff in her, commented the Colonel after Shannon had bid them good night and gone to her rooms. I'll say she has, said Custer. She's a peach of a girl. She's simply divine, added Ava. In her room, Shannon could barely get into bed before she was asleep. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of The Girl from Hollywood by Edgar Rice Burroughs. This liberal class recording is in the public domain. According by Joe De Noia, Somerset, New Jersey. It was four o'clock the following morning before she awoke. The craving awoke with her. It seized her mercilessly. Yet even as she gave into it, she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had gone without the little white powders longer this time to choose them. She took but a third of her normal dose. When Ava knocked at half past five, Shannon rose and dressed in frantic haste that she would escape a return of the desire. She did not escape it entirely, but she was able to resist it until she was dressed and out of reach of the little black haste. That day she went with Custer and Ava and guide at the country club, returning only in time for a swim before dinner. And again she fought off the craving while she was dressing for dinner. They danced, and once more she was so physically tired when she reached her rooms that she could think of nothing but sleep. The day of golf had kept her fully occupied in the hot sun, and in such good company her mind had been pleasantly occupied too, so that she had not been troubled by her old enemy. Again it was early morning before she was forced to fight the implacable foe. She fought valiantly this time, but she lost. And so it went, day after day as she dragged out her dwindling supply and prolonged the happy hours of her two brief respite from the degradation of the life which she knew she must soon return. Each day it was harder to think of going back, of leaving these people whom she had come to love as she loved their lives and their surroundings, and taking her place again in this lifeling, degrading atmosphere of the Vista del Paso bungalow. They were so good to her, and taking her so wholly into their family life that she felt as one of them. They shared everything with her. There was not a day she did not ride with Custer out among the brown hills. It seemed that she was going to miss these rides, that she was going to miss the man too. He had treated her as a man who would like other men to treat his sister, with the respect and deference that she had never met within the city of Angels. Three weeks had passed. She had drawn out the weak supply that Crumb had doled out to her to this length. There was even enough for another week to such small quantities that she reduced the doses, and to such lengths had she increased the intervals between them. She had gone two whole days without it, entirely, for when the craving came in full force, she was powerless to withstand it. And she knew that she would always be so. Without realizing it, she was building up a reserve force of health that was to be her strongest ally in the battle to come. The saladness had left her. Her cheeks were tanned and ruddy. Her eyes sparkled with the old fire and were no longer wild and staring. She could ride and walk and swim and dance with the best of them. She found interest in the work of her orchard, talked with the caretaker, to question him and to learn all that she could of citrus culture. She even learned to drive the light tractor and steered in and out about the trees without barking them. Every day that she was there, she went to the sunny bedroom in the bungalow, the bedroom that had been her mother's, and knelt beside the bed and poured forth her heart in blind faith that her mother heard. She did not grieve, for she held the sublime faith in the hereafter which many profess and few possess. The faith which taught her that her mother was happier than she had ever been before. Her sorrow had been in her own loss and this she fought down as selfishness. She realized that her greatest anguish lay in vain regrets and such thoughts she sought to stifle knowing that uselessness. Sometimes she prayed there, prayed for strength to cast off her bonds and her servitude. Inefectual prayers she knew them to be, for the only power that could free her had lain within herself and that power that drove her undermined and permanently weakened. And now the time had come when she must definitely set a date for her departure. She had determined to retain the orchard not alone because she had seen that it would prove profitable but because it would always constitute a link between her and the people whom she had come to love. No matter what the future held she could always feel that a part of her remained here where she would that all of her might be but she knew that she must go and she had determined to tell them on the following day that she would return to the city within the week. It was going to be hard to announce her decision for she was not blind to the fact that they have grown fond of her and that her presence meant much to Ava who, since Grace's departure had greatly missed the companionship of a girl near her own age. Mrs. Pennington and the Colonel had been a mother and a father to her and cussed her a big brother and a most charming companion. She passed that night without recourse to the white powders for she must be frugal of them if they were to last through the week. The next morning she rode the Penningtons as usual. She would tell them at breakfast. When she came to the table she found a pair of silver spurts beside her plate and when she looked about in astonishment they were all smiling. For me she cried from the Pennington said to the Colonel you've won him my dear you ride like a trooper already the girl choked and the tears came to her eyes they are all so lovely to me she said walking around the table to the Colonel she put her arms around his neck and standing on tiptoe kissed his cheek how can I ever thank you you don't have to child the spurs are nothing they are everything to me they are a badge of honor that I don't deserve but you do deserve them you wouldn't have got them if you hadn't we might have given you something else a vanity case or a book perhaps but no one gets spurs from the Penningtons who does not belong after that she simply couldn't tell them that she was going away she would wait until tomorrow that's a fate that afternoon immediately after luncheon they were all seated on the patio lazily discussing the chief topic of thought the heat it's one of those sultry days that are really unusual in southern California the heat was absolutely oppressive and even beneath the canvas canopy that shaded the patio there was little relief I don't know why we sit here said Custer it's cooler than the house this is the hottest place on the ranch a day like this wouldn't it be nice under one of those looks of the canyon suggested Shannon they looked at her and smiled phew it's too hot even to think of getting there that from a Pennington she cried in mock astonishment and reproach give me to say that you'd ride up there through this heat he demanded of course I would I haven't christened any new spurs yet I'm game then if you are Custer announced she jumped at her feet come on then who else is going Shannon looked around at them questioningly Mrs. Pennington shook her head smiling not I before breakfast is enough for me in the summertime I have to dictate some letters to the Colonel and I suppose the little Ava has to stay at home and powder her nose it's just a Custer grinning at her sister little Ava is going to drive over to Canado with Guy Thackeray Evans the famous author said the girl he expects an express package his story is coming back again poor and stupid old editors they don't know a real story when they see one I'm in it Guy put me in you all have to read it oh it's simply radiant I'm Hortense tall and willily and very dignified Ava made a grimace yes that's you unmistakably said Custer tall and willily and very dignified Guy's some hot baby at character delineation Ava ignored the interruption I spoon when the villain enters my room and carries me off then the hero he's Bruce Billingham tall and slender with curly hair is he very dignified too and then the hero pursues and rescues me just as the villain is going to hurl me off a cliff oh it's gorgeous it must be commented Custer you're Hortense at Ava you ought to have been an editor tall and slender with curly hair Guy Custer or was it tall and curly with slender hair come on Shannon I see where we are the only real sports in the family hot sports is what you're going to be I have a call after them the only real sports in the family the worlds thrilled her they had taken her in and they made her a part of their life it was wonderful oh god if it can only last forever it was very hot the dust rose from the shuffling feet of their horses even the Apache shuffled today his head was low and he did not dance the dust settled on sweating neck and flank and filled the eyes of the riders lovely day for a ride commented Custer think how nice it will be under the oak she reminded him I'm trying to suddenly he raised his head as his wandering eyes sighted a slender column of smoke rising from behind the ridge beyond Jack Knife Canyon he reigned in the Apache fire he said to the girl wait here I'll notify the boys then we'll ride on the head and have a look at it it may not amount to anything he rolled about and was off at a run the heat and the dust forgotten she watched him go erecting the saddle swinging easily with every motion of his mount in less than five minutes he was back come on he cried she swung Baldy inside the Apache and they were off the loose stones clattered with the iron hose the dust rose far behind them now they had forgotten the heat a short cut crossed the narrow wash that meant a jump grab the horn he cried her give him his head she went over almost stir up to stir up and he smiled broadly for she had not grabbed the horn she had taken the jump like a veteran she was thrilled with the excitement of the pace the horses flattened out their backs seemed to vibrate in a constant plane it was like flying the hot wind blew in her face and choked her but she laughed and wanted to shout aloud and swing a hat more slowly they climbed the side of Jack Knife and just beyond the ridge they saw the flames leaping in the narrow ravine below them fortunately there was no wind no more than what the fire itself was making but it was burning fiercely in thick brush there isn't a thing to do he told her the flames and plows and shovels it's in a mean place too steep to plow and heavy brush but we've got to stop it presently the boys a wagon full of them came with four horses two walking plows shovels, a barrel of water and burlap sacks they were all of ages from 18 to 70 some of them have been 20 years on the ranch and have fought many a fire they did not have to be told what to bring and what to do with what they brought the wagon had to be left in Jack Knife Canyon the horses dragged the plows to the ridge and the men carried the shovels and wet burlaps and buckets of water from the barrel the cuffs were dismounted and turned the Apache over to an old man to hold plowed down the east side of the ravine drug it all the way around the south side of the fire and then back again he directed the two men with one of the teams I'll take the other with Jake and we'll try to cut her off across the top here you can't do it cuffs said one of the older men it's too steep otherwise we'll have to go back so far that it would get away from us on the east side before we have made a circle Jake, you choke the plow handles I'll drive Jake was a short, stock, red-headed boy of 20 with shoulders like a bull he grinned good naturedly I'll choke the tar out of him he said the rest of you shovel and beat like hell ordered Custer Shane watched him as he took the reins and started the team forward slowly, quietly the men of Gonado the great perch runs moved ponderously forward the plow point bit deep into the earth and the huge beast walked on as if dragging an empty wagon when the girl saw where Custer was guiding them she held her breath no, she might be mistaken he would turn them up toward the ridge he could not be thinking of trying to drive them across the steep shelving side of the ravine but he was they slipped and caught themselves directly below them the burning brush had become a fiery furnace if ever they failed to catch themselves nothing could save them from that hell of heat Jake, clinging to the plow handles stumbled and slid but the plow steadied him and the furrow saved his footing a dozen times in as many yards Custer, driving walked just below the plow how he kept the team going was a miracle to the girl the steep sides of the ravine seemed almost perpendicular in places with footing fit only for a goat how those heavy horses clung there was beyond her only implicit confidence in these men of Gonado handled them from the time they were foiled and great courage could account for it what splendid animals they were the crackling of burning brush the roaring of the flames the almost unbearable heat that swept up to them from below must have been terrifying and yet only by occasional nervous side glances and unprickled ears did they acknowledge their instinctive fear of fire at first it seemed as if she ended a mad thing to attempt but as she watched and realized what Custer sought to accomplish she understood the wisdom of it if he could check the flames here with a couple of furrows he might gain time to stop its eastward progress to the broad pastures filled with the tender dry grasses and brush of late August already some of the men were working with shovels just above the furrow that the plow was running clearing away the brush and throwing it back Shannon watched these men and there was not a shaker among them they worked between the fierce heat of the sun and the fierce heat of the fire each one of them as if he owned the ranch it was fine proof of loyalty so an indication of the reason for it in Custer's act when he turned the Apache over to the oldest man in order that the veteran might not be called upon to do work beyond his strength while young Pennington himself undertook a dangerous and difficult part in the battle the sight thrilled her and beside this picture she saw Wilson Crumb directing a western scene sending mounted men over a steep cliff while he sat in safety beside the camera hurling taunts and insults at the poor devils who risked their lives for five dollars a day he had killed one horse that time he ran into the hospital badly injured and the next day he had bragged about it and now they were across the ravine and moving along the east side on safer footing Shannon realized the tension that had been upon her nerves when a reaction followed the lessening of the strain she felt limp in fact the smoke hid them from her occasionally and it rose and clouded like puffs then there would be a break in it and she would see the black coats of the percharounds and the figures of the sweating men they rounded well down the east side of the ravine and then turned back again for the other team with easier going would soon be up on that side to join its furrow with theirs they were running the second furrow just above the first and this time the work seemed safer for the horses had the first furrow below them should they slip a ridge of loose earth that would give them footing they were more than half way back when it happened the off horse must have stepped upon a loose stone so suddenly did he lurch to the left striking the shoulder of his mate just as the latter had planted his left forefoot a ton of weight hurled against the shoulder of the near horse threw him downward against the furrow he tried to catch himself on his right foot crossed his forelegs stumbled over the ridge of newly turned earth and rolled down the hill dragging his mate and the plough after him toward the burning brush below Jake at the plough handles and Koster on the lines tried to check the horses fall but both were jerked from their hands and the two percharounds rolled over and over into the burning brush a groan of dismay went up from the men it was with difficulty that she hadn't sleighful to scream but then her heart stood still she saw Koster Pennington lift deliberately down the hillside drawing the long heavy trail cutting knife that he always wore on the belt with his gun the horses were struggling and floundering to gain their feet one of them was screaming with pain the girl wanted to cover her eyes with her palms to shut out the heart rendering sight but she could not take them from the figure of the man she saw that the upper horse was so entangled with the harness and the plough that he could not rise that he was holding the other down then she saw the man leap into the midst of the struggling terrifying mass of horse flesh seeking to cut the beast loose from the tangled traces of the plough it seemed impossible that he could escape the flying hose or to tongue the flames that licked upward as if in hunger greed to seize this new prey as Shannon watched a great light awoke within her suddenly revealing the unsuspected existence of a wondrous thing that had come into her life a thing which a moment later dragged her from her saddle and sent her stumbling down the hill into the burning ravine to the side of Koster Pennington he had cut one horse free seizing its head stall, dragging it to its feet and then starting it scrambling up the hill as he was returning to the other the animal struggled up crazed with terror and pain and bolted after its mate Pennington was directly in its path on the steep hillside he tried to leap aside but the horse struck him with his shoulder hurling him to the ground and before he could stop his fall he was on the edge of the burning brush stunned and helpless every man of them who saw the incident leapt down the hillside to save him from the flames but quick as they were Dan Burke was first to his side vainly endeavoring to drag him to safety an instant later strong hands seized both Koster and Shannon and helped them up the steep aclivity for Pennington had already regained consciousness and it was not necessary to carry him Koster was badly burned but his first thought was for the girl and his next when he found she was uninjured for the horses they had run only a short distance and were standing on the ridge above Jackknife where one of the men had caught them one was burned about the neck and shoulder the other had a bad cut above the hawk where he had struck the plow point in his struggles take them in and care for these wounds, Jake said Pennington after examining them you go along, he told another of the men and bring out Dick and Dave I don't like to risk them in this work but none of the cults are steady enough for this then he turned to Shannon why did you go down into that, he asked you shouldn't have done it with all the men here I couldn't help but she said I thought you were going to be killed Koster looked at her searchingly for a moment it was a very brave thing to do, he said and a very foolish thing you might have been badly burned never mind that, she said you had been badly burned and you must go to the horses at once do you think you can ride? he left I'm alright, he said I've got to stay here and fight this fire you're not going to do anything of the kind she turned and called to the man who held Pennington's horse please bring the Apache over here, she said these men can fight the fire without you, she told Koster you're going right back with me you've never seen anyone badly burned and you don't know how necessary it is to take care of the burns at once he was not accustomed to being ordered about and then amused him Grace would never have thought of questioning this judgment in this or any other matter but this girl's attitude implied that she considered the judgment faulty and his decisions of no consequence she evidently had the courage of her convictions for she caught up on her own horse and rode over to the men who had resumed their work to tell them Koster was too badly burned to remain with them I told him he must go back to the house and have his burns dressed but he doesn't want to maybe he would pay more attention to you if you told him sure we'll tell him, cried one of them here comes Colonel Pennington now we'll make him go if it's necessary Colonel Pennington reigned in the dripping horse beside his son and Shannon rode over to them Koster was telling him about the accident to the team burned was he exclaimed the Colonel why damn it man, you're burned it's nothing, replied the younger man it is something Colonel, cried Shannon please make him go back to the house he won't pay any attention to me and he ought to be cured for it right away he should have a doctor just as quickly as we can get one can you ride, snap the Colonel out Koster of course I can ride and get out of here and take care of yourself will you go with him Shannon have him call Dr. Baldwin his rough manner did not conceal the father's concern or his deep love for his boy that he could be as gentle as a woman was evidence when he dismounted in a way that he helped Koster do his saddle take care of him my dear he said to Shannon I'll stay here and help the boys ask Mrs. Pennington to send the car out with some ice water or lemonade for them take care of yourself boy he called after them as they rode away as the horses moved slowly along the dusty trail Shannon riding a pace behind the man watched his profile for signs of pain that she knew he must be suffering once when he winced she almost gave a little cry as if it had been she who was tortured they were riding very close and she laid her hand gently upon his right arm in sympathy I am so sorry she said I know it must pain you terribly he turned to her with a smile on his face now white and drawn it does hurt a little now and you did it to save those two dumb brutes I think it was magnificent Koster he looked at her in mild surprise what was there magnificent about it it was my duty my father has always taught me that the ownership of animals entails certain moral obligations which no honorable man can ignore that it isn't sufficient merely to own them and feed them and house them but to serve and protect them even if it entails sacrifice to do so I don't believe he meant that you should give your life for them she said no of course not but I'm not giving my life you might have I really didn't think there would be any danger to me he said I guess I didn't think about anything I saw those two beautiful animals who have been working there for me so bravely helpless at the edge of that fire in any circumstances you don't know Shannon how we penance love our horses it's been bred in the bone for generations perhaps it's silly but we don't think so neither do I it's fine by the time they reached the house she could see that the man was suffering excruciating pain the stablemen had gone to help the firefighters as have every able-bodied man on the ranch so that she had to help Koster from the Apache after tying the two horses at the stable she put an arm around him and assisted him of the long flight of steps to the house there Mrs. Pennington and Hannah came at her call and took him to his room while she ran to the office to telephone the doctor when she returned they had Koster undressed and in bed they were giving such first aid as they could she stood in the doorway for a moment watching him as he fought to hide the agony he was enduring he rolled his head slowly from side to side as his mother and Hannah worked over him but he slayethold even a faint moan though she hadn't knew that his tortured body must be goading him to screams he opened his eyes and saw her and tried to smile Mrs. Pennington turned then and discovered her please let me do something Mrs. Pennington there's anything I can do I guess we can't do much until the doctor comes if we only had something to quiet the pain until then if they only had something to quiet the pain the horror of it she had something that would quiet the pain but it would have frightful cost to her they would know then the sordid story of her vice there could be no other explanation of her having such an outfit in her possession how they would loath her to see disgust in the eyes of these friends whose good opinion was her one cherished longing seemed the punishment too great to bear and then there was the realization of that new force that had entered her life with the knowledge that she loved Koster Pennington it was a hopeless love she knew but she might at least have had the happiness of knowing that he respected her was she to be spared nothing was her sin to deprive her of even the respect of the man whom she loved she saw him lying there and saw the muscles of his jaw as tensing as he bowed to conceal his pain and then she turned and ran up the stairway to her rooms she did not hesitate again but went directly to her bag unlocked it and took out the little black case carefully she dissolved a little of the white powder a fraction of which she could have taken without danger of serious results but enough to allay his suffering until the doctor came she knew that this was the end that she would not remain under that roof another night she drew the liquid through the needle into the glass barrel of the syringe wrapped it in her handkerchief and descended the stairs she felt as if she moved in a dream she felt that she was not Shannon Burke at all but another whom Shannon Burke watched with pitying eyes for it did not seem possible that she could enter that room and pour his eyes and Mrs. Pennington's and Hannah's revealed the things she carried in her handkerchief ah the pity of it to realize her first love and the same hour to slay the respect of its subjects with her own hand if she entered the room with a brave step fearlessly had he not risked his life for the two dumb brutes he loved could she be less courageous perhaps though she was braver for she no only surrendered but was dearer to her than life Mrs. Pennington turned toward her as she entered he has fainted she said my poor boy tears stood in his mother's eyes he is not suffering then as Shannon trembling not now for his sake I hope you won't recover consciousness until after the doctor comes Shannon Burke staggered and would have fallen had she not grasped the frame of the door it was not long before the doctor came and then she went back up the stairs to her rooms still trembling she took the filled hyper that was arranged from her handkerchief and looked at it then she carried it into the bathroom you can never tempt me again she said aloud as she emptied its contents into the lavatory oh dear god I love him End of chapter 16