Chapter XX: Dennis (5)

For the first ten miles, Mrs. Panel never opened her lips. I glanced occasionally at her impassive face, wondering when she would speak. Somehow I knew that she would speak, and she did. It was like her to compress all she had left unsaid into the first sentence.

"Jaspar's gone plum crazy with trouble! he took his six-shooter with him."

After that, details given with a descriptive realism impossible to reproduce. The poor creature revealed herself to me during the next few minutes as I feel sure she had never revealed herself to her husband.

"He's mad, plum crazy," she pleaded. "Nobody knows what he's suffered but me. I don't say it ain't a jedgment, mebbe it is. We thought we was jest about right. The pride we took in Sunny Bushes was sinful; yas, it was. The Lord has seen fit to chastise us, an' I'm willin', I tole Jaspar so, ter begin agen. We're healthy, an strong, though we don't look it, I'll allow. Jaspar is plum crazy. His words las' night proved it. He said we might begin life agen in a marble hall sech as I hed dreamed about. Good land o' Peter! I never dreamed of marble halls in all my life, but I dassn't contradict him."

"He believes you dreamed of them," I said, "and he is quite sure you ought to live in them."

"He thinks the world o' me," said Mrs. Panel, in a softer tone, "but this world an' the next won't turn him from what he's set his mind to do. I'd oughter be ashamed o' speakin' so of him, but it's so. Mercy! I hev been talkin'."

She said no more till we descended from the buggy in the livery stable where Jaspar was in the habit of putting up his horses.

"You ain't seen Mr. Panel, hev you?" she asked the ostler.

"He's around somewheres," the man replied. With this information we started out to look for him. Away from the familiar brush hills, confronted by strange faces, confused, possibly, by the traffic, my companion seemed so nervous and helpless that I dared not leave her. Almost unconsciously, we directed our steps towards the Amalgamated Oil Company's office. Here we learned that Leveson was in town, and that Uncle Jap had called to see him.

"Did he see him?" Mrs. Panel's voice quavered.

"No," the clerk answered curtly; then he added: "Nobody sees the boss without an appointment. We told Mr. Panel to call to-morrow."

If the clerk had spoken with tongues of angels Lily could not have assumed a more seraphic expression.

"An' where is he now?" she asked.

"Your husband, ma'am? I can't tell you."

"I mean Mr. Leveson."

"He's in there," the private room was indicated, "and up to his eyes in work. He won't quit till he goes to dinner at the Paloma. D'ye hear the typewriters clicking? He makes things hum when he's here, and don't you forget it."

"I shall never forget that," said Mrs. Panel, in an accent which made me remember that her grandfather had been a graduate of Harvard University. "Good-afternoon."

We walked on down the street. Suddenly, Mrs. Panel staggered, and might have fallen had I not firmly grasped her arm.

"I dunno' what ails me," she muttered.

"Did you eat any breakfast this morning?"

"I dunno' as I did," she admitted with reluctance.

"Did you eat any dinner?"

"Mebbee I didn't." Her innate truthfulness compelled her to add with a pathetic defiance: "I couldn't hev swallered a mossel to save my life."

I took her to a restaurant, and prescribed a plate of soup and a glass of wine. Then I said with emphasis:

"Now, look here, Mrs. Panel! I want you to rest, while I hunt up Mr. Panel. When I find him I'll bring him to you."

"An' s'pose he won't come?"

"He will come."

"No, he won't; not till he's done what he's set his mind to do. Was you aimin' to hunt fer Jaspar up an' down this town?"

"Certainly. It's not as big as you think."

"'Pears to me it'd be a better plan to keep an eye on the other feller."

With a woman's instinct she had hit the mark.

"Perhaps it would," I admitted.

"I noticed one or two things," she continued earnestly. "Near the office is an empty lot with trees and bushes. I'd as lief rest there as here ef it's the same to you. Then you kin look around for Jaspar, if ye've a mind to."

"And if I find him?"

"Watch him, as I shall watch the other feller."

"And then----"

"The rest is in the dear Lord's hands."

She adjusted the thick veil which Southern Californian women wear to keep the thick dust from their faces, and together we returned to Leveson's office. Passing the door, I could hear the typewriters still clicking. Mrs. Panel sat down under a tree in the empty lot, and for the first time since we had met that day spoke in her natural tones.

"I come away without feeding the chickens," she said.

I looked at my watch; it was nearly six. One hour of daylight remained. Leveson, I happened to know, was in the habit of dining about half-past six. He often returned to the office after dinner. Between the Hotel Paloma, which lay just outside the town and the office ran a regular service of street cars. Leveson was the last man in the world to walk when he could drive. It seemed reasonably certain that Jaspar, failing to see Leveson at the office, would try to speak to him at the hotel. From my knowledge of the man's temperament and character, I was certain that he would not shoot down his enemy without warning. So I walked up to the hotel feeling easier in my mind. The clerk, whom I knew well, assigned me a room. I saw several men in the hall, but not Uncle Jap.

"Does Mr. Leveson dine about half-past six?" I asked.

The clerk raised his brows.

"That's queer," he said. "You're the second man to ask that question within an hour. Old man Panel asked the same thing."

"And what did you tell him?"

"Mr. Leveson don't dine till seven. He goes to the church first."

If the man had said that Leveson went to Heaven I could not have been more surprised. Then I remembered what I had read in the local papers. I had not seen the church yet. I had not wished to see it, knowing that every stone in it was paid for with the sweat--as Uncle Jap had put it--of other men's souls.

"Where is this church?"

"You don't know? Third turning to the left after passing the Olive Branch Saloon."

"Leveson owns that too, doesn't he?"

The clerk yawned. "I dare say. He owns most of the earth around here, and most of the people on it."

I walked quickly back towards the town, wondering what took Leveson to the church. No doubt he wanted to see if he were getting his money's worth, to note the day's work, perhaps to give the lie to the published statement that he built churches and never entered them. Nearly half-an-hour had passed since I left Mrs. Panel.

When I reached the third turning to the left I saw the church, certainly the handsomest in San Lorenzo. It stood in a large lot, littered with builders' materials. The workmen had left it at six. The building had an indescribably lifeless aspect. An hour before men had been busy within and without it, now not a soul was to be seen. I had time to walk round it, to note that the doors were locked, to note also, quite idly, that the window of the vestry was open. I could see no signs of Uncle Jap.

Coming round to the front, I saw in the distance a portly figure approaching, followed by a thin, dust-coloured wraith of a woman. I slipped behind a tree and waited. Leveson strolled up, bland and imposing. He stood still for a moment, staring intently at the outside of his church now completed. Then, taking a key from his pocket, he opened the vestry door and entered the building, closing the door behind him. I went to meet Mrs. Panel.

"Seen Jaspar?"

"I haven't."

"What's that feller," she always spoke of Leveson as a 'feller,' "doin' in a church?"

"It's his church. He built it."

"Good Land o' Peter! What's he doin' in it anyway?"

"Not praying, I think."

"Shush-h-h-h."

Mrs. Panel touched my arm, thrusting out her lean face in an attitude of intense attention. I strained my own ears, fairly good ones, but heard nothing.

"Jaspar's in there," said his wife. "I hear his voice."

She trembled with excitement. Obviously, Jaspar had concealed himself somewhere in the vestry. No time was to be lost.

Turning the north-east corner of the building, where the vestry is situated, I crawled under the window, followed by Mrs. Panel. The two men were within a few feet of us. Uncle Jap's slightly high-pitched tones fell sharply upon the silence.

"This is a leetle surprise party, ain't it?" he was saying.

Leveson answered thickly: "What are you doing here, sir?"

Although I risked discovery at an inopportune moment, I could not resist the temptation to raise my eyes level with the sill of the window. So did Uncle Jap's Lily. We both peered in. Uncle Jap was facing Leveson; in his hand he held the long-barrelled six-shooter; in his eyes were tiny pin-point flashes of light such as you see in an opal on a frosty morning. Terror had spread a grim mask upon the other; his complexion was the colour of oatmeal, his pendulous lips were quivering, his huge body seemed of a sudden to be deflated. He might have been an empty gas bag, not a man.

"I'm goin' to tell ye that," continued Uncle Jap mildly, "I come here to hev a leetle talk with you. Sinse I've bin in San Lorenzy County two men hev tried to ruin me: one left the county in a hurry; you're the other."

"I give you my word of honour, Mr. Panel----"

"That's about all _you_ would give, an' it ain't wuth takin'."

"Do you mean to kill me?"

"Ef I hev to, 't won't keep me awake nights."

In my ear I heard his Lily's attenuated whisper: "Nor me neither, if Jaspar ain't caught."

And I had thought that solicitude for Jaspar's soul had sent his Lily, hot-foot to prevent the crime of--murder! I learnt something about women then which I shall not forget.

"You propose to blackmail me, I suppose?"

"Ugly word, that, but it's yours, not mine. I prefer to put it this way. I propose to consecrate this yere church with an act o' justice."

"Go on!"

"This county wan't big enough for the other feller an' me, so he had to go; it ain't big enough to-day for you an' me, but this time, I'm a-goin', whether you stay in it or _under_ it."

At the word "under" Uncle Jap's Lily nudged me. I looked at her. Her face was radiant. Her delight in her husband at such a moment, her conviction that he was master of the situation, that he had regained by this audacious move all the prestige which he had in her estimation, lost--these things rejuvenated her.

"It's a question of dollars, of course?"

"That's it. Before you ask for credit with the angel Gabriel, you've got to squar' up with Jaspar Panel."

"With the dear Lord's help, Jaspar has found a way," whispered the joyful voice in my ear.

"How much?" demanded Leveson. His colour was coming back.

"We've got to figger on that. Take a pencil an' paper an' sit down."

"This is ridiculous."

"Sit down, you----"

Nathaniel Leveson sat down. The vestry had been used by the contractor as an office; the plain deal table was littered with scraps of paper. Leveson took out a gold pencil-case.

"Married man, ain't ye?" said Uncle Jap, with seeming irrelevance.

"Yes."

"Ever give your wife a ti-airy: diamond crown, sorter?"

"What the----"

"Answer--_quick!_"

"Yes."

"What did ye pay for it? _Quick!_"

"Ten thousand dollars."

"Put that down first."

The joy and gladness had entirely melted out of Mrs. Panel's thin voice as she whispered dole-fully to me: "Jaspar _is_ crazy, after all."

"No, he isn't," I whispered back.

Jaspar continued in a mild voice: "What does a way-up outfit o' lady's clothes cost: sealskin sacques, satins, the best of everything outside and in?"

"I don't know."

"You've got to figger it out--_quick!_"

"Say ten thousand, more or less."

"Put down fifteen; I'd jest as lief it was more 'n less. Put down a hundred dollars fer me, I mean to hev a good suit o' clothes myself. What does that come to?"

"Twenty-five thousand, one hundred dollars. Aren't you wasting time, Mr. Panel?"

"Nit. Of course if we happened to be interrupted it might be awkward fer you. If somebody should call, you'll say, of course, that yer very particularly engaged, eh?"

"Yes," said Nathaniel Leveson. "To oblige me, Mr. Panel, take your finger from that trigger."

"Ah? I'd ought ter hev done that before. I'd disremembered 'twas a hair trigger. Now then, put down Sunny Bushes, includin' the oil lake, at yer own figger, fifty thousand. Got it? Yas. Now then, for wear an' tear of two precious souls an' bodies--that's it! Fifty thousand more. Got it? Yas. How much now?"

"One hundred and twenty-five thousand, one hundred dollars."

"Right! What does a marble hall cost?"

"A marble----"

"You heard what I said plain enough. You live in one yerself. What did that leetle shebang on Nob Hill cost ye?"

"Four hundred thousand dollars."

"Jiminy Christmas! Marble halls come high, but you've a large fam'ly, more's the pity. Put down seventy-five thousand. Got it? Yas. Now then, about statooary--"

"Good God!"

"Don't call on the Lord so loud. I reckon he's nearer than you give Him credit fer. Statooary comes high, too, but one don't want overly much of it. A leetle gives a tone to a parlour. Put down five thousand. Got it! Yas. Furniture an' fixins, lemmee see! Wal, when it comes to buyin' fixin's, Mis' Panel beats the world. Put down ten thousand more. Total, please!"

"Two hundred and fifteen thousand and one hundred dollars."

"Make out yer personal note to me an' Mis' Panel fer that amount. One day after date. An' consideration. Sunny Bushes, oil, mortgage an' all, but _not_ the stock, I wouldn't sell any living critter to sech as you. There's pen an' ink all handy."

We heard the scratching of pen on paper.

"Ye look mighty pleased," said Uncle Jap, "an' it's not because yer gittin' a property wuth a million for a quarter its value, nor because late in the day ye've squared an ugly account, but because yer thinkin' that this yere note ain't wuth the paper it's written on. An' it ain't-yit."

Again Mrs. Panel nudged me. Her beatific expression told me more eloquently than words that her Jasper was the greatest man on earth.

"Notes-of-hand given by onreliable parties must be secured," said Uncle Jap slowly. "This yere is goin' to be secured by a confession, dictated by me, written out an' signed by you. When the note is paid, I hand over the confession--see! If the note ain't paid prompt, the confession goes to the noospapers of this enlightened land. I shall git something from them for sech a remarkable doccyment. But, first of all, here an' now, you can make a small payment on the note. Give me that di'mond ring, an' the di'mond pin. _Quick_!"

A moment later these corruscating gems were swept into Uncle Jap's hand.

"What did they cost ye?"

"Twenty-seven hundred dollars."

"Suffering Moses! Endorse that as paid on the back of the note. Got it down? Yas." Uncle Jap folded up the note and placed it carefully in a large pocket-book. "Now write out, good an' plain, what I tell ye. Ready? Date an' address first. That's right. Now----"

Obviously, he was pulling himself together for a tremendous literary effort. Mrs. Panel had hold of my arm, and was squeezing it hard. Uncle Jap began--

"'_This is to certify that I, Nathaniel Leveson, the undersigned, have been fooling with the wrong end of a mule, viz., Jasper Panel, who's as self-opinionated a critter as ever marched with Sherman to the Sea_----' What air you doing?"

Leveson had laid down his pen. "This is farce," he said sharply.

"We'll hev your criticism after the play is over," retorted Uncle Jap decisively. "I'm talkin' now. Pick up that thar pen, and don't lay it down agen till I tell ye, or," the muzzle of the Colt almost touched the perspiring forehead of the Colossus, "or else, by Golly, thar'll be a terr'ble muss to clean up in here to-morrer mornin'. That's better. Lemmee see, whar was I? _'Sherman to the Sea,_' yas. Now: '_I tried to down Jasper Panel, and he's downed me. I'm a nateral born hog, and I eat with all four feet in the trough.'_ Underline that, it's good. _'I'm big, an sassy, an' full o' meanness, but what sand I've got ain't to be seen with a double-barrelled microscope. I'm as false as Judas; an' Ananias wouldn't be seen walkin' arm in arm with me in the place whar I'd oughter be to-night. I'd steal milk from a blind kitten an' sell it as cream to my own mother five minutes after.'_ Underline that: it's straight goods. Now then fer the finish. _'I wouldn't offer a fair price fer Sunny Bushes, because I aimed ter git it fer nothing. I wouldn't allow others to buy it fer the same reason. I used the power that the Devil give me to prevent a railroad, which I own, furnishin' cars to J. Panel, an' las'ly, I caused money ter be loaned to said J. Panel so's to git him completely under my heel. Also I built a church in San Lorenzy, an' I write these yere lines in the vestry of it as a sorter penance. I swear solemn that this is the first time in my life that I ever tole the truth, an' I'll never do it agen, if I know myself._'

"Sign that, an' give it ter me," said Uncle Jap.

Leveson, purple with rage and humiliation, signed it.

* * * * *

At this psychological moment we made our presence known.

"Uncle Jap," said I, "don't you think that document ought to be witnessed."

"Jee-whillikins! Ef it ain't you. Who's that a-peekin' behind ye?"

"It's me, Jaspar," said Mrs. Panel meekly.

Uncle Jap unlocked the door of the vestry and let us in. Leveson sat huddled up in his chair. Uncle Jap prodded him with the ancient pistol which he still held in his hands.

"Can't you offer a lady a chair?" he said testily. Leveson offered his chair, upon the extreme edge of which Mrs. Panel deprecatingly seated herself. Uncle Jap eyed her with wrinkled interrogation.

"What in thunder brought ye to San Lorenzy?"

Mrs. Panel twisted her fingers.

"I looked in the drawer, an' I see _that_," she indicated the weapon, "was missin'."

"Did ye? Now, Lily Panel, you don't mean to tell me that you thought I was goin' ter murder this feller?"

Mrs. Panel looked at Leveson with an expression which I have seen in the eyes of foothill mothers, whose children run barefoot, when they have found a rattlesnake. Then she drawled out: "Wal, I hoped you might, but----"

"Why, Lily! You hoped I might?"

"Yes; but I feared you'd git murdered first. Oh Jaspar, I didn't know you was sech a man."

She stood up, her eyes were shining, her face radiant "Fergive me, but I reckoned you--was--petered--out?"

"Petered out--_me_?"

"Yas; I'm a silly, fullish woman."

"No, you ain't. Petered out--_me_? Wal," he glanced at Leveson, "somebody _is_ petered out, but it ain't me. Did ye ever see a man scairt worse'n him? I scairt the wizard some; yas I did, but he could run: this feller can't crawl, I reckon. An' this yere Colt wan't loaded then, an' it ain't loaded--now. Look! What an appetite I hev! Who says supper? Now, mister," he addressed Leveson, "seein' as the starch is outer you, I'll give ye my arm as fur as the Paloma."

"Leave me," gurgled Leveson.

"I'm too good a Christian. In the state yer in it'd kill ye to meet somebody else ye've robbed. It's too risky."

"Go, you scoundrel! Authority was returning to his voice; the old arrogance gleamed in his eyes.

"Scoundrel--hay?" Uncle Jap's voice became savage. "You come along with me--quick an' quiet. This old Colt ain't loaded, but ef I hit you over the head with the butt of it, ye'll think it is. Come!"

In silence the four of us marched up to the Paloma, and into the big hall where a dozen men were smoking. Uncle Jap addressed the clerk in a loud, clear voice.

"Mr. Leveson," he said, "has just concluded a leetle deal with me. He's bought Sunny Bushes an' the lake of ile for two hundred and fifteen thousand and one hundred dollars. Here is his note. Put it in the safe for me till to-morrer."

The chatter in the big room had ceased long before Uncle Jap had finished. More than one man present divined that something quite out of the ordinary had taken place. Leveson moistened his lips with his tongue. His chance had come. Had he chosen to repudiate the note, had he denounced Uncle Jap as obtaining at the pistol point what could be obtained in no other way, the law of the land would have released him from his bond. But Uncle Jap had read him aright: he was a coward.

"Yes," he said. "I've bought Sunny Bushes."

"An' dirt cheap, too," said Uncle Jap. He spoke to the clerk in his usual mild voice: "Can you give Mis' Panel an' me accommodation?"

"Certainly, Mr. Panel. What sort of accommodation, sir?"

Uncle Jap looked fondly at his wife. I doubt if she had ever crossed the threshold of the Paloma before. I could see her blinking at the marble columns, at the velvet pile rugs, and the innumerable electric lights just turned on.

"What sorter accommodation?" repeated Uncle Jap. "Why, anything'd do fer me, but Mis' Panel is mighty particular. We'll take the bridal suit, if it ain't engaged."

"Certainly; sitting-room, bedroom, and bathroom upon the first floor," said the clerk, striking a bell for the hall porter.

"Come, Lily," said Uncle Jap.

She raised her head, as if she were about to protest; then she smiled contentedly, and followed him out of the old life into the new.

X

WILKINS AND HIS DINAH

Wilkins had a pair of eyes that had seen better days. His features were still good, and the complexion showed quality of texture: a bloom often seen upon the faces of middle-aged men who in youth have been fair. His figure was imposing. When he lounged into a room, even a bar-room, he took the stage, so to speak; you were bound to look at him. When he spoke you listened to words, wise or otherwise. When he smiled you were seized with an absurd desire to shake his hand!

He was herding sheep for Silas Upham, a man of flocks and herds, and the father of one child, Hetty. Meeting Wilkins for the first time, I wondered what Hetty thought of her sire's shepherd.

Wilkins told us that our back fence was down, and that a bunch of steers had broken through into Upham's alfalfa. We thanked him, offering whisky and tobacco. He accepted both with captivating smile and easy nod. A minute later he was sitting in our most comfortable chair, staring at our books and engravings. His eyes lingered upon the best of these with a look of recognition. He asked no questions.

Next day we rode over to his hut, and smoked some pipes. Wilkins spoke of India, Australia, France, and Italy, but he never mentioned England. Nor did we. Presently, somewhat to our surprise, Hetty Upham cantered into camp. The day happened to be unusually hot, which accounted, perhaps, for her rosy cheeks. She delivered a message to Wilkins, exchanged a few words with us, and galloped off.

"Goes faster than she came," said Ajax.

"Yes," said Wilkins. Then he added, with emphasis: "I don't blame any girl from galloping away from such a hole as this." With a derisive glance he indicated the flies swarming about his pots and pans, the ill-trimmed lamp reeking of petroleum, the rough bunk wherein he slept, the rusty stove. We contrasted these sordid surroundings with the splendours of Silas Upham's front parlour, and then we stared furtively at Wilkins.

About a week later Wilkins supped with us. Warmed by good food and drink, his reserve concerning himself somewhat melted. We learned that he had been but two weeks in Upham's service, that he had worked his passage down the coast from Vancouver to San Francisco.

"And how do you like the Uphams?" said Ajax.

The use of the plural provoked a slight smile.

"Naturally, I don't see much of them," said Wilkins.

He picked up an old photograph album, and began to turn over its pages. Obviously, his thoughts were elsewhere; and the sound of his own voice must have startled him.

"By Jove--it's old Sam!"

He spoke in a whisper, as if to himself.

"Yes--it's old Sam," said Ajax quickly. "You were at Harrow?"

Wilkins' eyelids fluttered; then he met our glance with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Yes."

He stared at the portrait of Sam, the Custos of the School, the familiar of the Yard, of the Fourth Room Form, Sam, the provider of birches, Sam of the port wine nose.

"_We_ were at Harrow," said Ajax. "What house was yours?"

Wilkins hesitated; then he said slowly: "Tommy's."

"We were at Billy's."

Wilkins abruptly changed the subject, and soon after he left us. We rushed to the Harrow register. Yes, in Tommy's house, some seven years before our time, there had been a certain Theodore Vane Wilkins. Ajax, whose imagination runs riot, began to prattle about a Dinah, a Delilah of a Dinah, who had wrecked our schoolfellow's life. And, during the ensuing week, Dinah was continually in his mouth. Wilkins had moved camp, and we saw nothing of him. What we heard, however, must be set down. Silas Upham asked us to spend Sunday at his house. At dinner I sat next pretty little Hetty, and at once she spoke of Wilkins. To my annoyance, Ajax introduced the ridiculous Dinah, the perfidious creature of his fancy. Ajax was in his salad days, but he ought to have known, even then, that if you want to interest a maid in a man, tell her that the man has suffered at the hands of another maid. Hetty's blue eyes sparkled, her dimpled cheeks glowed with sympathy and indignation.

"Schoolfellow o' yours, was he? Well--I may make that feller foreman one o' these days," said Silas, with a fond, foolish glance at his daughter. Hetty could do what she pleased with her sire--and knew it.

"Poppa," said Miss Hetty, "you're all sorts of a darling, and I must kiss you."

Then she and Ajax strolled on to the verandah, and I found myself alone with my host. He said meaningly: "Wilkins has had a tough row to hoe--eh? But he's a perfect gentleman, straight, sober, and a worker. I've been looking for a man that is a man to run things here, now that I'm getting a bit stiff in the joints. Hetty likes him first-rate too."

All this in an interrogatory tone. Of course, it was easy to fill the _lacunae_ in the text. Silas Upham adored his daughter and his ranch. If Hetty married Wilkins, the artful Silas would gain an able- bodied, capable major-domo, and he would not lose his pet lamb. I said, rather tartly--

"Look here, Upham, you know nothing of Wilkins, and I advise you and-- er--Miss Hetty to go slow."

"I do go slow," said my host, "but Hetty likes to buzz along. She's a mover, she is."

As we rode home I told Ajax that Opportunity had thrust into Wilkins' hand a very tempting morsel. Was he going to swallow it? And ought we to ask some questions?

I think it was on the following Wednesday that Wilkins walked over to the ranch-house, and asked for a job.

"I've left Upham," he said curtly.

We had not much to offer; such as it was, Wilkins accepted it. Ajax drove to Upham's to fetch Wilkins' blankets and belongings. When he came back, he drew me aside.

"Silas offered him the billet of foreman. Wilkins _refused it_."

* * * * *

A month passed. Wilkins worked hard at first, and his ability, his shrewdness, confounded us, as it had confounded Silas Upham. Then, he began to slack, as boys put it. Small duties were ill done or not done at all. But we liked him, were, indeed, charmed by him. As Ajax remarked, Fascination does not trot in the same class with Respect.

Twice I caught that shameless little witch, Hetty, in our back pasture, where Wilkins was splitting rails. Thrice a week she called at the ranch-house on her way to the post office.

"She means to marry Wilkins," said Ajax to me. "And why not? If one woman has made him--er--invertebrate, let Hetty Upham put backbone into him."

That evening we asked Wilkins to witness a legal paper, some agreement or other. He signed his name Henry Wilkins. Ajax stared at me; then he walked to the bookcase. His voice was very hard, as he turned, Harrow register in hand, and said: "The only Wilkins at Tommy's was Theodore Vane Wilkins."

Wilkins rose, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. Ajax scowled.

"We told Silas Upham that you were an old Harrovian," began my brother.

"So I am; but my name is not Wilkins." He lit a cigarette, before he continued quietly: "I'm a fraud. I'm not even an Englishman. My father was a Southerner. He settled in England after the war. He used to say bitterly that he had been born the wrong side of the Atlantic. He died soon after I left Harrow. With what money he left me I travelled all over the world: shooting, fishing, and playing the fool.

"When I found myself stony-broke, I hunted up my Baltimore relations. Some of them told me it was easier to marry money than to make it. My name--I'll keep that to myself, if you don't mind--had a certain value in the eyes of a rich girl I knew. At the same time there was another girl----"

"Ah--Dinah," Ajax murmured.

"We'll call her Dinah. Dinah," his voice shook for a moment, "Dinah cared for me, and I--I cared for her. But the girl with money had a blaring, knock-me-down sort of beauty that appeals to men. Lots of fellows were after her. Dinah had only me. Dinah was mine, if I chose to claim her; the other had to be won. The competition, plus the coin, ensnared me. I became engaged to the rich girl. I don't think I knew then what I was doing to--Dinah. Within a fortnight I was struck down with scarlet fever. The rich girl--she was game as a pebble--nursed me. I became delirious. My nurse listened to my ravings for two days and nights; then she went away. I came to my senses to find Dinah at my bedside. The other wrote later, releasing me from the engagement and bidding me marry the girl whose name had been on my lips a thousand times. I laughed, and showed the letter to Dinah. A friend promised me work. Dinah and I were going to live in a cottage, and be happy for ever and ever....

"And then she--sickened!"

In the dreary silence that followed, neither Ajax nor I were able to speak.

"And--and she died."

* * * * *

The poor fellow left us next day, and we never saw him again. It is to be remembered that he never encouraged Hetty Upham, whose infatuation was doubtless fanned by his indifference. She offered him bread, nay, cakes and ale, but he took instead a stone, because cakes and ale had lost their savour. We heard, afterwards, that he died on the Skagway Pass in an attempt to reach the Klondyke too early in the spring. He was seeking the gold of the Yukon placers; perhaps he found, beyond the Great White Silence, his Dinah.

XI

A POISONED SPRING

In our bunk-house three of the boys were about to turn into bed. They had worked hard all day, driving cattle into the home-pasture for the spring _rodeo_, and on the morrow they would have to work harder still, cutting out the steers and branding the calves.

"Who is this Perfessor?" asked Dan.

Jimmie, who was rubbing tallow on to his lariat, answered--

"There's a piece about him in the _Tribune_."

Pete picked up the county paper, which happened to be lying on the floor. He read aloud, in a sing-song drawl--

"'We are greatly honoured by the presence amongst us of Professor Adam Chawner, the eminent surgeon and pathologist----'"

"How's that?" demanded Dan.

"Surgeon an' path--ologist."

"What's path--ologist?"

Pete expectorated a contempt for ignorance which he was too polite to put into words. Then he said suavely--

"A pathologist is a kind o' pathfinder. Comes from the Greek, I reckon: _path--logus_--skilled in finding noo paths to knowledge. See!"

"If you ain't a walkin' dictionary!"

"It comes nateral to me," Pete admitted modestly. He continued--

"'The Professor, instead of taking a well-earned holiday in our land of roses and sunshine, proposes to study at first hand the micrococci of a deadly disease which, we are given to understand, is peculiar to this part of California....'"

"Never heard of a deadly disease peculiar to these parts," said Jimmie thoughtfully,--"always exceptin' Annie-dominie."

"'Peculiar to this part of California,'" continued Pete, "'and likely, given certain conditions, to develop into an epidemic as terrible and mysterious as the sleeping sickness.'"

"Sleepin' sickness? What's that?"

"Dan, yer ignorance is disgraceful. Sleepin' sickness is common as hives amongst the cannibals. After a square meal o' missionary, the critters fall asleep, and they don't never wake up neither. Serve 'em right, too."

"Go on, Pete."

Pete, with a thick thumb upon the right line, went on--

"'The Professor's researches here may prove of vital importance. And, speaking for our fellow-citizens, we venture to assure this distinguished pathologist of our cordial desire to co-operate, so far as it may be possible, in the important work which he has undertaken.'"

"Slings words, that feller," remarked Jimmie. "But what in thunder is Perfessor Adam Chawner a-doin' in Paradise?"

"Come, mebbee, to see you rope steers," suggested Dan.

"I shall aim not to disappoint him," replied Jimmie. "All the same, I ask you fellers straight: Has he come here to--work?"

"Meanin'?"

"If this yere deadly disease is on the rampage I, for one, 'd like to know it."

"Me too," drawled Dan.

A silence followed as Jimmie coiled up his rope. Pete began to remove his boots. Dan, very furtively, placed a finger upon his pulse. Then he said with constraint--

"Boys, I don't want any joshin'. I've not felt extry spry lately."

"Same here," said Jimmie quickly.

Pete smiled sarcastically.

"A little bird tole me," he remarked slowly, looking at Dan, "as how Miss Mary Willing was seen a-buggy-ridin' las' Sunday with Jack Rice."

"It's true," said Dan, shortly. "Me and Mame is at outs. If I was dyin', I couldn't forgive her!"

"You don't say?" cried Jimmie. "Wal, Miss Edna Parkinson an' yours truly ain't goin' ter speak never no more, neither. That hound Ikey Greenberg has cut in with a noo Prince Albert coat. It's upset me considerable."

"My trouble ain't heart only," said Dan.

"Stomach?" suggested Pete.

"All overish, mostly."

"You ain't bin readin' the advertisements o' quack doctors, hev ye?"

"Not since I was twenty. They did give me fits at one time. Boys"--he began to scratch himself furiously--"I've a feelin' as if I was afire inside."

"Maw used ter give me sarsaparilla," said Jimmie.

"My folks," observed Pete, "never tuk nothin' but castor ile. Must ha' downed a barrel o' that when I was a kid."

"This thing is drivin' me crazy," said Dan.

"Wal," replied Pete deliberately, "I know what I'd do, and I'd do it quick. This yere Professor is on the ranch, and he's a dandy. After the _rodeo_, you jest sachay up to him an' tell him what you've tole us. If he don't take the kinks outer yer, he's a fraud. See!"

"Gosh," exclaimed Dan, "I'll do it!"

They turned in.

* * * * *

The Professor next day watched the _rodeo_ from a platform erected near the biggest of our corrals. This was his first visit to California, and he was mightily impressed by the skill and vigour of the vaqueroes. To Ajax he declared that he was amazed to find such splendid specimens in that particular locality. Ajax smiled.

"We have not much," he said, "but we feel that we have a right to expect high health. We used to say," he added, "that sickness was unknown in our hills till a wise doctor settled here from the East."

The Professor frowned.

"I rose at six," he said austerely. "I made a microscopical examination of the water in your new spring, which rises, I venture to remind you, through soil which is undoubtedly diatomaceous."

"That sounds awful."

"Diatoms in a fossilised condition are silicious, and they are to be found in Virginia, in Bermuda, and here."

"Professor, I am an ignoramus."

"Then it is my duty to inform you that the man or woman who drinks water from that spring is swallowing millions of tiny flint knives, hard as diamond dust--indeed, diatomaceous earth is used commercially as a polishing powder."

"You mean that if we drink that water we shall be polished off?"

The Professor glared. Like many distinguished scientists, he took himself seriously, and he knew that this was a serious matter.

"Those tiny flint knives cut to ribands the mucous membrane."

"Fortunately," said Ajax, "we don't drink that water. The spring was only developed a few days ago." In a graver voice he continued: "We are exceedingly obliged to you. Of course we shall warn our men."

"Has nobody drunk of that spring?"

Ajax thought that he detected a note of disappointment. He replied reflectively: "I don't think so. The cattle have used it. It doesn't seem to have affected them."

"Are you sure of that?" he demanded sharply.

"You can ask our foreman."

Later, the Professor did so. Uncle Jake came out of the corrals, carrying a branding-iron and found himself confronted by a short, thick-set man with prominent, slightly congested grey eyes, which shone keenly out of an immense head.

"I am Professor Chawner, of the Smithsonian. I wish to ask you a question."

"Perfessor, I'm happy to meet ye. It tickles me to death to answer questions. And I stand by the editor o' _The Tribune_. If I kin co-operate in yer important work, why, count me in."

The Professor raised his grizzled brows in astonishment, but he said politely--

"I am very much obliged to you. My question is this: 'Do the cattle drink at the spring which bubbles out of that hill yonder?'"

"Some of 'em do."

"Regularly?"

"Not to say reglerly, Perfessor. It's this way with cattle on a ranch as well watered as ours. They drink when they feel like it, and they drink where the water is handy to the feed. Come to think of it, there never has been much feed around that spring; and it never flowed good and hard till we opened it a few days ago."

"Since you opened it, to your personal knowledge, have cattle drunk of it?"

Uncle Jake scratched his head. The Professor's manner was impressive.

"Have you seen cattle actually drinking that water?"

"I dunno' as I have. I've seen 'em standing in it."

"Animals have remarkable subjective intelligence--what you would term instincts. It would be extremely interesting to determine whether such instincts have prevented them from drinking water unfit for animal consumption."

"Unfit for animal consumption? By gosh, that's what killed our cow, I reckon! We found her lyin' by the spring, cold an' stiff, two days ago!"

"Have you buried the carcass?"

"Not much. Turkey-buzzards attend to our cow funerals."

"Of course. You look excited, my friend."

"I am. We've lost other cattle and colts in this yere pasture."

"Ah!" murmured the Professor. His expression became benignant.

"We s'posed," continued Uncle Jake, "that they died o' old age."

"You mentioned colts?"

"I did so. Colts die anyhow and anyway. It's a solid fact that we've lost more animals in this pasture than anywheres else. I'll take my oath to that."

"Good!" said the Professor heartily. "You have given to me information of value."

The Professor returned to the corrals. Under the trees, close to the creek, in whose cooling waters stood bottles of beer and wine, a tender calf was being barbecued. Upon long willow spits sizzled and frizzled toothsome morsels, made more toothsome by the addition of a sauce cunningly compounded of chillies, tomatoes, and the pungent onion. The Professor made a noble meal. He was delighted to observe how few of the guests slaked their thirst with water, and he quoted the famous quatrain:

"Let princes revel at the pump;
Let peers with ponds make free;
But whisky, beer, or even wine,
Is good enough for me."

After the _rodeo_, the Professor lighted a large cigar and composed himself under a live-oak. His mind, ever active, was wandering through the home-pasture seeking the fatal spring. He was trying to estimate the effect of silicious matter upon the mucous membrane of a cow, when he saw Dan, sombrero in hand, bowing low before him.

"Hello!" said the Professor, his eye resting professionally upon Dan's splendid proportions. What a "subject" to cut up! What a skeleton to articulate!

"Perfessor!" said Dan, "I want you to hev a look at me."

The Professor looked at him.

"My young friend," he said genially, "you're worth looking at. Do you drink water?"

"When I can't git nothing else," replied Dan.

"Water it is, and lots of it, except when I strike town."

"If you must drink water," said the Professor with authority, "have it distilled."

"Jeeroosalem!" exclaimed Dan. "That's a gilt-edged idea. Perfessor, ye're a pathologist, ain't yer?"

The Professor nodded. Genius, however exalted, acknowledges unsolicited testimonials from any source. He saw plainly that in Dan's eyes he loomed gigantic.

"I am," he replied graciously.

"A path-finder, a seeker-out of noo tracks to knowledge?"

"You might express it worse," said the Professor. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm a mighty sick man," said Dan solemnly.

The Professor was so astonished that he nearly bit through his excellent cigar; but at once a flame sparkled in his grey eyes. If Dan, with his appearance of robust health, was really a mighty sick man, why, then, his case challenged attention. He stood up and, so to speak, spread his wings, hovering over his lawful prey.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"I'm afire with itching. At this moment I feel as if some dev'lish imps was stickin' needles into me."

The Professor felt his pulse, looked at his tongue, and nodded sapiently.

"You've been drinking the water of that new spring."

"I hev. I helped open it up."

"Did you drink much of it?"

"Oceans!"

"My poor fellow, I am distressed beyond words. I promise you that you shall have every care and attention. I won't leave this ranch till-- till the end."

"The end?"

"You are a remarkable specimen--probably you will make a gallant fight--but I cannot disguise from you--it would be criminal to do so-- that you ought to put your house in order."

"Hav'n't got no house," said Dan, not quite comprehending, but sadly frightened. "Me and Mame expected to build next year, but that's off."

"Next year!" echoed the Professor testily. "The question is: Where will you be next week?"

Dan staggered. The Professor, having long retired from active practice, remembered with a qualm that he might have broken this appalling news more considerately. He said quietly--

"I beg your pardon. I ought to have tempered this; but you are an American, and strong enough at this moment to know the truth. I may pull you through. Without boasting, there is not another man in America, or Europe either, who would say as much."

"Christopher Columbus!"

"I don't call myself that," said the Professor modestly, "but I may claim to have discovered pathogenic continents. Now, my boy"--he took hold firmly of Dan's arm--"I am going to put you to bed."

"No, you ain't," said Dan. "I've chores to do. I can't be spared."

The Professor nodded.

"You're a stout fellow. After all, half-an-hour won't make any material difference."

"In half-an-hour you'll find me in the bunk-house. I'm obligated to ye," he added hastily. "So long!"

He strode off. The Professor nodded approvingly. He had grit himself, and esteemed it highly in others.

"I must pull him through," he muttered.

* * * * *

When the Professor reached the bunk-house, he found three tall strong men awaiting him. Their faces, tanned by many suns, exhibited a curious uniformity of tint--the colour of dirty gruel.

Dan said in a voice that trembled--

"These are my friends, Jimmie Barker and Pete Holloway. They helped open up that derned spring. They drank a plenty of the water. Jimmie, here, couldn't git enough of it. They've the same symptoms as I hev."

Jimmie and Pete writhed.

"Pins and needles all over," said Pete.

"Went to sleep on an ants' nest onst," said Jimmie faintly. "This is a heap worse."

"Heaven help you!" ejaculated the Professor.

"'Pears to me," said Dan solemnly, "from what you said just now, we're in the mulligatawny."

The Professor muttered something encouraging, but he remembered the cow.

"To bed with you," he commanded.

Within half-an-hour everyone on the ranch had heard the news. The Professor alone remained monumentally impassive.

"All that is humanly possible shall be done," he affirmed.

"And your treatment?" said I.

"I have no drugs here, but already I have despatched a man to San Lorenzo for strychnia, which in the first stage is invaluable. Meantime I must do what I can with whisky. Have you plenty of whisky?"

"Yes, but----"

"I want a gallon of it."

"Of course you are aware--you know, I mean----"

The Professor waved a powerful arm; beneath his shaggy brows his grey eyes sparkled angrily.

"I know what I am doing," he said sharply, "and I cannot waste valuable time imparting to a layman knowledge gathered during a lifetime. The whisky, please--_at once_."

I obeyed meekly. Five minutes later, the Professor was walking towards the bunk-house with a gallon demijohn tucked under his arm. A quarter of an hour afterwards he might have been seen returning. His eyes were positively snapping with vigour and excitement, for he loved a fight for a fight's sake. Ajax met him.

"Professor," he said, "I don't want you to impart the knowledge of a lifetime to me, but do, please, tell us something. We are on edge with anxiety."

The man of science melted. With a shrug of his massive shoulders, he said, mildly for him--

"My dear sir, I will try to gratify a not unreasonable curiosity. I did not wish to alarm you prematurely this morning, but the worst has happened. The silicious fragments in that confounded earth have lacerated terribly the mucous membranes of these three unfortunate young men. That in itself is a matter of small importance. The mucous membrane is most delicate, but it has quite amazing capacities of repairing itself. The point is this. The water in that spring, and-- I'll be perfectly frank--the water in most of the surface springs in this particular locality, is simply swarming with pathogenic germs, and amongst them I identified this morning the as yet unnamed _coccus_ which I had the honour to discover, and which is as deadly as the _coma bacillus_ of Asiatic cholera, or--shall I say?--the highly specialised venom of the rattlesnake."

"Great Scot!"

"This _coccus_, my dear friend, increases and multiplies under certain conditions. It exacts a highly lacerated condition of the mucous membrane into which it burrows. Fortunately it is rare; fortunately, also, it is seldom found in water which has filtered through diatomaceous earth; for these fossilised deposits are only found here and there, and, as a rule, not near water."

"They are three good fellows."

"I hope to pull them through," said the Professor stoutly. "For the moment there is nothing more to be done. They are in bed, and, not to put a fine point on it, half-drunk. Alcohol stupefies the _cocci_, but it does not destroy them. I shall pour whisky down their throats till the drugs I have ordered arrive from San Lorenzo. I have told your foreman that my patients are not to be disturbed. After supper I shall administer another dose of whisky."

An hour later, the Professor, accompanied by me, returned to the bunk- house.

"I hope to find them asleep," he said. "I gave them enough alcohol to induce stupor."

"How much?"

"At least a quart."

I said with deference--

"I do not presume to question your treatment, but cowboys can carry an amazing quantity of whisky. Alcohol is a stimulant-narcotic, isn't it?"

"Perfectly."

"It stimulates first. Speaking from a variegated experience of cowboys, I should say that a quart of well-matured Bourbon would barely suffice to stimulate three powerful young men."

"'Um!" said the Professor thoughtfully. "I had not considered that. They assured me they were water-drinkers. However, a mistake of that sort is easily rectified."

So speaking, he tiptoed to the door of the bunk-house, and, finger upon lips, entered. Immediately a sharp exclamation indicated that something surprising had occurred. I followed quickly, to find the Professor staring, pop-eyed, at three vacant bunks.

"Gone!" said the Professor, in stupefaction.

"They can't have gone far, sir."

But within five minutes judgment upon this important point had to be suspended. Uncle Jake had obeyed instructions only too well. He had not been near the bunk-house. Indeed, he and the other ranch hands had been eating supper more than a hundred yards away. He was the first to suggest that no cowboy travelled far afoot--a suggestion that sent the Professor at a smart trot towards the big barn. Here, also, were three vacant stalls.

The Professor's patients, illustrating pathetically the ruling passion, had mounted and galloped away. Uncle Jake said, with a curious air of conviction--

"It's my idee that they want to hev one good time in town before they cash in their checks."

"Incredible!" ejaculated the famous pathologist. He looked askance at me. I replied hesitatingly--

"I think it is possible, perhaps probable."

"If they're makin' San Lorenzy," said Uncle Jake, "we'll find their store clothes gone too."

We hastened to the bunk-house. Yes, upon the floor lay flannel shirts and jumpers and overalls. In a corner, where the Professor had left it, stood the demijohn of whisky. Uncle Jake lifted it.

"Gosh," said he, "the whisky's gone, too!"

"Thank Heaven!" muttered the Professor, wiping his forehead.

"Why?"

"Don't you understand? By the luck of things, they've taken their medicine!"

"A quart apiece!" I gasped. "We shall find them dead drunk on the road."

Uncle Jake delivered himself--

"It's my idee that they've jest filled up three bottles. There's a rubbish heap outside."

"We must follow them," said the Professor, grimly. He was no horseman, and San Lorenzo was six-and-twenty miles away.

"Yes," said Uncle Jake.

As they approached the barn, the Professor whispered to me--

"There is nothing to regret. If I can get these boys into the County Hospital before to-morrow morning, I shall have done a splendid night's work. Pick me out a decently mannered horse."

* * * * *

After the Professor had administered the first dose of alcohol, his patients lay quiet for at least three minutes. Then Jimmie said dolefully--

"Badly as she's treated me, I'd like to kiss my Edna good-bye."

In the silence that followed Pete's rather rasping voice was heard--

"I ain't got no best girl!"

"Ye're in luck," groaned Dan. "This may break pore Mame's heart. When I'm gone, she'll remember that onst I was the greatest thing on this green earth to her."

Presently Pete remarked: "Surgeon an' pathologist is the Perfessor."

"Meanin'?"

"Like as not he'll operate."

"Operate?"

"Cut us open, you derned fool!"

Dan retorted savagely: "Now ye're so near yer end, I'd go easy with sech talk, if I was you."

"I beg yer pardon," said Pete, "but I'm scairt of the Perfessor's eye. Anyways, sink or swim, I'll hev no man gittin' his knife into me."

Dan sat up.

"Boys," he said emphatically, "you kin do as you please, but I'm goin' to hev a las' kind word with my Mame."

He slipped out of his bunk.

"Me too," said Jimmie. He glanced at Pete, who lay still. "My regards to the Perfessor, and tell him that he'll find us at old man Greiffenhagen's. I'll hev one more taste of happiness before I die."