Jackson Gregory - Desert Valley

Confidence inspires confidence. Howard had hardly finished sketching for her his own plans and hopes; he had gone succinctly and openly into detail concerning his deal with John Carr. Now Helen, glad to talk with some one, answered in kind.

‘The University elected a young president, a New Broom,’ she said bitterly. ‘He is a man of more ambition than brains. His slogan is “Young Men.” He ousted father together with a dozen other men of his age. I thought father’s heart would be broken; he had devoted all of the years of his life, all of his best work, to his University. But instead he was simply enraged! Can you imagine him in a perfectly towering rage?’

Howard grinned. ‘Go ahead,’ he chuckled. ‘He’s a good old sport and I like him.’

‘Well,’ said Helen, without meeting his smile, ‘father and I went into business session right away. We had never had much money; father had never cared for wealth measured in money; had always been richly content with his professor’s salary; had never saved or asked me to save. When the thing happened, all we had in the world was a little over seven hundred dollars. I was right away for economizing, for managing, for turning to some other position. But father, I tell you, was in a perfect rage. When I mentioned finances to him he got up and shouted. “Money!” he yelled at me. “What’s money? Who wants money? It’s a fool’s game to get money; anybody can do it.” When he saw that I doubted he told me to pack up that very day and he’d show me; he’d show the world. The new University man named him an old fogy, did he? He’d show him. Didn’t he know more than any other man living about geology? About the making of the earth and the minerals of the earth? Was it any trick to find gold? Not in the dribbles, but such a mine as never a miner drove a pick into yet?’

She sighed again and grew silent. Howard, toying idly with the spurs in his hands, could at the moment find nothing to say.

‘Dear old pops,’ she said more softly in a moment. ‘I am afraid that his heart-breaking time is coming now—when he learns that it isn’t so easy to find gold, after all.’

‘No,’ said Howard slowly. ‘No. It doesn’t break a man’s heart, for he is always sure that it is coming the next day and the next and the next. I’ve known them to go on that way until they died, and then know in their hearts that they’d make a strike the next day—if only the Lord would spare them twenty-four hours more.’

‘I wanted father to bank our money,’ went on Helen, her eyes darkening. ‘I wanted to go to work, to earn something. I can teach. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He said—he said that if the time had come when he couldn’t support his own daughter it was high time he was dead.’

Howard nodded his understanding. ‘He’s a good sport, I tell you,’ he maintained warmly. ‘And I like him. Who knows but that he may make his ten-strike here after all? Or,’ as he marked the droop of the girl’s mouth and understood how she must be thinking of how little was left of their pittance, he added briskly, ‘this is a better place than the East any day; there are more chances. If a man is the right sort there is always a chance for him. If you want to teach—— Well, we’ve got schools out here, haven’t we?’

Helen’s eyes rounded at him. ‘Have you? Where?’

‘And bully good schools,’ he insisted. ‘There’s the Big Springs school not over ten miles off, over that way. You could have a job there to-morrow, if you said the word.’

Her eyes brightened. ‘There is a vacancy, then?’

‘Well,’ he admitted, ‘I’m not so sure about that. There’s a teacher there, I believe. But,’ and now it was his eyes that brightened, ‘it could be fixed somehow. Just leave it to John and me.’

She laughed at him and all her gaiety came surging back.

‘Here I’ve been drawing a face a mile long,’ she cried lightly, ‘when everything’s all right as far as I can see in all directions. I am going down to see what father is up to; he and Mr. Barbee look to me like a couple of youngsters plotting trouble.’

A look of understanding flashed between Yellow Barbee and Professor Longstreet as the two came down from the ranch-house. Thereafter Longstreet beamed upon his daughter while Yellow Barbee, his hat far back upon the blonde cluster of curls, turned his insolent eyes upon her. Helen, deeming him overbold, sought to ‘squelch’ him with a look. Instead she saw both mirth and admiration shining in the baby-blue eyes. She turned her back upon El Joven, who retaliated by turning his back upon her and swaggering away into the stable, whistling through his teeth as he went. Howard went with him for his horse.

‘Papa,’ said Helen after the stern fashion which in time comes natural to the girl with a wayward father, ‘what are you two up to?’

‘My darling,’ said Longstreet hurriedly, ‘what do you mean?’

‘I mean you and that young scamp. He’s bad, papa; bad all the way through. And you, you dear old innocent——’

Longstreet glanced hastily over his shoulder and then frowned at her.

‘You mustn’t talk that way. He is a remarkably fine young fellow. We are in a new environment, you and I, Helen. We are in Rome and must learn something of the Romans. Now, Mr. Barbee——’

‘Is Roman all the way through!’ sniffed Helen. ‘You just look out that he doesn’t lead you into mischief.’

In the stable Howard was saddling two horses, meaning to invite Helen to begin her serious study now. He, too, was interested in the odd friendship which seemed to be growing up so swiftly between two men so utterly unlike. He turned to Barbee to ask a question and saw the young fellow stoop and sweep up something that had fallen into the straw underfoot. Howard’s eyes were quick and keen; it was only a flash, but he recognized a ten of spades. He turned back to the latigo he was drawing tight. But before they left the stable he offered carelessly:

‘What do you think of the professor, Barbee?’

And Barbee answered joyously:

‘He’s a reg’lar ring-tailed old he-devil, Al.’ He winked brightly. ‘One of these days him and me is going to drift down to Tres Pinos. And, say, won’t the town know about us?’

‘What do you mean?’ demanded Howard sharply.

Barbee considered him a thoughtful moment. Then he shrugged.

‘Oh, nothing,’ he said.

To both Helen and her father, tarrying at Desert Valley Ranch, the long, still, hot days were fraught with much new interest. Life was new and golden, viewed from this fresh viewpoint. Helen had come hitherward from her city haunts with trepidation; even Longstreet, serenely optimistic regarding the ultimate crown of success to his labour, was genuinely delighted. The days passed all too swiftly.

As can in no way be held reprehensible in one of her age and maidenly beauty and charm, Helen’s interest had to do primarily with men, two men. They, quite as should be in this land of novelty, were unlike the men she had known. With each passing hour Helen came to see this more clearly. She was a bright young woman, alert and with at least a modicum of scientific mental attitude inherited from the machinery of her father’s brain. Like any other healthy young animal, she wanted to know whys and wherefores and the like.

The evening of their first day, alone in her room for an hour before bed, she settled for herself the first difference between these men of the desert fringes and the men she had known at home. To begin with, she reviewed in mind her old acquaintances: there were a half-dozen professors, instructors, assistants who called infrequently on her father and whom she had come to know with a degree of familiarity. The youngest of them had been twenty years older than Helen, and, whereas her father was always an old dear, sometimes a hopeless and helpless old dear, they were simply old fogies. They constituted, however, an important department in her male friends; the rest were as easily catalogued. They were the young college men—men in name only, boys in actuality. They were of her own age or two or four years older or a year younger. They danced and made mysterious references to the beer they had wickedly drunk; they motored in their fathers’ cars and played tennis in their fathers’ flannels when they fitted; no doubt they were men in the making, but to judge them as men already was like looking prematurely into the oven to see how the bread was doing; they were still under-baked. So far they were playing with the game of life; life, herself, had not yet taken them seriously, had not reached out the iron hand that eventually would seize them by the back of the neck, the slack of the trousers, and pitch them out into the open arena.