Chapter TWENTY-SIX

The party that had gathered to see the last stone of the great Sangre de Cristo dam swung into position was far larger than Winston had expected. Elijah was not among them. Winston had spared no effort to find Elijah and to deliver to him another message to the effect that he was once more a free man. Messengers had been sent to his ranch; but he had left home and Amy had not seen him for several days; she supposed him to be in Ysleta. Parties had scoured the mountain in the vicinity of the dam, but in vain. It was clear that Elijah was purposely in hiding and that the exercises at the dam must be carried on without him.

Ysleta was largely represented. Winston was at first surprised, then deeply grateful for the genuine interest which even the wildest boomers displayed in his work. As, one by one, in pairs or in groups, they took him cordially by the hand, congratulated him on the successful completion of a great piece of work, compared the lasting utility of his work with their own ephemeral and selfish efforts, a wave of self-reproach swept over him. These were the people whom, in season and out, he had condemned as greedy, selfish, unprincipled sharks. For the first time in his life, he began to realize the fact that, even in the worst of humanity, there is a soul of goodness, a soul that is only obscured, never extinguished. In deep contrition, he reviewed his attitude of mind toward Elijah. He saw him in a new light, the light of kindliness that was radiating from those whose hearts he had condemned as black with unscrupulous greed. He pictured Elijah, shunning his fellow men like a hunted animal, the warmth of his good intentions changed to the biting flame of bitter resentment against those who were to profit by his success, and who had turned from him at sight of the first shadow that had fallen upon him. He reproached himself for not having gone directly to Elijah on the first suspicion of defalcation, for not having pointed out to him his error, for not having pleaded with him to face the consequences of his wrong doing, to endeavor to set himself right. He contrasted his self-righteous conduct with that of Helen Lonsdale, her readiness to stand by Elijah, to assume her own share of blame for Elijah's mistaken actions. He had assumed that, because certain of Elijah's actions had been criminal, Elijah was a criminal by instinct, and he, a friend, an intimate business associate, had treated him as one, but made no effort at reclamation.

Winston's was not an emotional nature, but the circumstances in which he was placed, played upon his calmly balanced mind, until he saw his own self-righteous errors and condemned himself as sharply as he had condemned Elijah. He was recalled to himself by the proffered hand of one of the most successful and as he deemed him, one of the most heartless of Ysleta's boomers.

"Say, Ralph, old man, I want to do myself the honor of shaking hands with the real thing. This work," he swept his hand with a comprehensive gesture which included the dam, the canal, and the waiting hillsides, "makes us feel like thirty cents Mexican. It don't come with the real plunk from us, you know, but it's real just the same. Ysleta wasn't worth whooping for, but we whooped. We whooped for cash. Some of us got it; but what we got, others lost, and we knew it. But you fellows have helped us to make good. With this thing in working order," he again pointed to the dam, "Ysleta will make good in time."

"I know it," Winston's voice was regretful, "but the beginning, end and middle of this whole business, is a hunted man who dares not show his face, even to those whom he had every reason to believe were his friends."

The man looked sharply at Winston.

"You mean 'Lige Berl?"

"Yes, the best man of us all."

"You're right there. And say, Ralph, you just listen. We all know about this Pacific business. It was a mistake on 'Lige's part, that's all. He'll make good, if he gets a chance, and by God, we're going to stand by and see that he gets it."

Winston's grasp tightened on the hand he held.

"It's all straightened out now, if we only knew where he was."

The work at the dam called for Winston's attention. As he passed through a bowing, smiling group, he came face to face with Helen. She was laughing and chatting with some Ysleta acquaintances. She darted an eager, inquiring look at Winston as he came towards her. In obedience to an unvoiced bidding, she joined Winston as he passed by. Beyond the hearing of the group, her look changed to one of anxiety.

"Have you seen anything of Elijah?" she asked.

"Not a thing. Helen, I'm worried about Elijah. He has been home, but has gone again and I can't find him in the mountains. I have sent men everywhere."

There were tears in Helen's eyes. They did not fall; they only softened and intensified their depths.

"I hoped to see him here. If we could only get word to him about Seymour." After a moment's hesitation, she added: "I have had several strange letters from him, but no clue as to where they were sent from."

Winston's glance wandered to the group of Ysleta men.

"It just crushes me, Helen, to think that these men are actually truer to Elijah than I have been."

"No, don't blame yourself too much. I know more now than I did when you and Uncle Sid held me up that day in the office, and--Oh, I cannot talk about it, Ralph! It is all unspeakably awful."

Helen turned abruptly away and joined Uncle Sid at the foot of the great derrick which was to swing the last stone into place.

Winston glanced quickly at her, but she was talking eagerly with Uncle Sid, her somber mood apparently quite gone. He turned inquiringly to the foreman, who nodded his head in reply.

"Come, Helen; they are ready for us." He took Helen by the arm to steady her, and together they started out over the foot-way on the crest of the dam, Helen a little in advance of Winston.

"Don't look down," he continued, "it may make you dizzy."

"Dizzy!" she repeated derisively, "why I could walk a slack rope. It's great! I don't wonder that you are an engineer."

"This is easy, doing things, when some one tells you what to do and what for."

"Thanks! You are original and independent. So am I." With reckless daring she freed her arm from Winston's detaining hand, and before he could prevent, she was skipping over the dizzy walk far ahead.

"Stop, Helen, stop! It's dangerous!" His voice was commanding.

"I know it is. That's where the fun comes in." Over her shoulder she flung him a mocking glance from reckless eyes.

Winston dared make no quick move that would increase her danger. He could not understand the spirit of bravado that had come over her. A sigh of intense relief escaped him as she grasped one of the staying ropes and swung inside the enclosure, which, hanging far out over the abyss, railed in the space where the last stone was to be laid.

"It's no credit to you," he said sternly, "that your childish prank hasn't ended in tragedy."

Helen was conscious of a creeping thrill as she looked into Winston's eyes. They were like poles of a dynamo, with thousands of volts of energy waiting to leap out, if the safety line was crossed. She felt as if she were dangerously near the line.

"Be thankful for your mercies," she said lightly. "No tragedy has happened."

Winston wanted to say more, but an expectant crowd was waiting.

"Well, go ahead," he said. "You're in command now."

"I don't know where to begin, but I'm not old enough yet not to take a dare."

Out on one of the abutments, a great derrick rose; near its foot an engineer stood with his hand on the throttle of an engine. Helen waved her hand, looking defiantly at Winston.

There came the short, sharp bark of the engine, the groaning of rope and timber as the locking stone swung in the air, turned, poised high above them; them slowly began to sink to its position. Under Winston's directions, her small, firm hands guided the great block, as it settled, then came to a rest. The fall ropes slackened, and Helen unclasped the tackle. Amidst the cheers of the watchers on the abutments, the boom of the derrick swung free. The last stone had been laid in the Sangre de Cristo dam.

Helen turned to Winston. Her great, black eyes were solemn.

"It is finished now, isn't it Ralph?"

"It is."

Helen sighed deeply. It suggested relief from a long, anxious strain.

"Thunder and Mars, Helen! Isn't there anything more in life for you? I can imagine Alexander heaving that sigh when he realized that he'd done the whole world."

"That's where Alexander and I separate. I'm relieved, not regretful."

Winston spoke with feeling.

"It must be a relief, Helen. No one has done more for this work than you."

Helen's reply was unguarded.

"I wasn't thinking of myself."

Winston looked up in unfeigned surprise.

"You weren't?"

"Let's not talk of this now. It's finished."

"Tell me what you meant."

Helen looked at Winston. There was a suggestion of yielding in her eyes. Her lips trembled on the verge of speech; then they set, voiceless. Why should she tell Winston of her fears of Elijah? That, driven to desperation, as she knew he was, she feared that in some way he would thwart the work that was now completed.

"Sometime, perhaps; not now." She was not quite herself. "This will stay here forever?" She evidently wished to be reassured.

"Unless something happens."

"But what can happen?" She questioned anxiously.

"A very simple thing might destroy the whole thing in an hour."

Helen's face grew white.

Winston noted the look, but failed to assign the correct reason for it. Helen had given more to the work than he had thought.

"There's no danger, really." Winston spoke with conviction. "It's just this. We've built a rip-rap dam with a stone facing. No amount of water behind it can ever move it. Yet if by chance the water should flow over the crest, it would go in an hour."

"What's to prevent it?" Helen's voice was sharp.

"The waste weir." Winston pointed to the stone paved canal on the far side of the dam. "We know the rainfall here. That spillway will handle twice the amount."

"But if it should become choked?"

"We have the flood gates." Winston pointed to the two great shafts that reached up from the base of the dam, crowned with grooved wheels.

"But suppose they should get wedged so they could not be opened?"

"Then I would advise you to get out of the way! What's the matter, Helen?" Winston grew suddenly conscious that there was more in Helen's persistent questions than appeared on the surface.

Helen did not reply.

"Couldn't all this have been provided against?"

"Yes; but it would have cost more money than we had to put in. It's safe enough, if we watch out."

Helen laid her hand on Winston's arm. Her eyes were deep and anxious.

"Watch out day and night, Ralph. There is danger, grave danger."

Winston was thoroughly aroused.

"You know something that you are concealing from me. Tell me!"

"I have told you enough to put you on your guard. I can't tell you any more. I don't know any more."

Helen turned resolutely toward the foot-way. Winston walked silently beside her. He wanted to know more, but he felt the uselessness of words. As soon as he could free himself from the friends who thronged around him and Helen, he sought out Uncle Sid and told him of Helen's warning.

"What do you make out of it?" he asked.

"No more than you do, I guess."

"You think Elijah is at the bottom of it all, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. I'm sure of it."

"Why didn't she tell me then?" Winston burst out.

"Well, women are queer creatures." Uncle Sid spoke meditatively. "They see more sides to a man than we do, an' when he's down, they stay by him closer. I sometimes think that Helen knows more about 'Lige than we do; anyway, she's mighty suspicious of him, but she's goin' to give him every chance to get up, an' at the same time she's lookin' out that no one gets hurt when he's flappin' his heels around, tryin' to make his feet. What are you doin' to shut off any deviltry?"

"I've put on extra watchmen, day and night, and I've got men out hunting Elijah."

"I guess that's all that you can do."

Winston meditated long over Helen's warning and Uncle Sid's explanation of her conduct. The idea of Elijah's trying to injure the dam finally seemed too monstrous to be entertained. It occurred to him to remain at the dam and not trust to watchmen; but this was impossible. He had other pressing duties demanding him. Nothing could happen this night; the next would be spent at the mouth of the canyon. The day following he would send some of his young assistants in place of the Mexicans.