The Vision of Elijah Berl Part 12

Helen and Amy were standing under a rose-covered trellis. Helen was sober, Amy was peaceful.

"Sorry to leave you so soon, little girl. We're going out on business."

The team pulled up beside them. "We'll be home tonight." The words floated back through the crush of wheels on the gravel.

Amy watched them drive away. This time she held no Fate-dealing daisy in her hands; a full-blown rose was there instead. The flush of it was on her cheeks, its perfume in her nostrils as she cleared the table, and was.h.i.+ng the dishes, put them away. She sang softly to herself, with her sewing in her lap, as she rocked gently to and fro through the long, hot day. In the shade of the rose and the honeysuckle, the tempered sunbeams fell on her hair, on her work, the sweet perfume of the air mingling with the perfume of her dreams.

It was almost six o'clock when Elijah and Helen returned. Following them closely was a dusty horseman. Without dismounting the horseman handed a note to Elijah. Elijah tore open the envelope, his face clouding as he read. He turned to Helen.

"You're right, as usual. The Pacific will close its doors tomorrow.

We've got to get back to Ysleta tonight. The cas.h.i.+er tells me that we can get our money out if we're on hand early when the bank opens in the morning." Elijah turned to the stable man. "Take out these horses and put in Chica and Lota. Hurry!" He slipped his arm through Amy's. "Too bad, little girl. Thought we'd have an evening together. Let's go in and have a bite. Jose will be ready in fifteen minutes. Sixty miles is a long drive for one day; are you good for it?" He looked sharply at Helen.

"Of course I am." The answer was brusque. The day, for very good reasons, had not eased Helen's mind.

Amy stood bright-eyed and smiling, as Elijah kissed her goodbye. A fleeting wonder swept over Elijah's mind; but he had no time for riddles. Amy was still smiling as Elijah and Helen drove away. The setting sun rested a halo on her hair, shone softly in her triumphant eyes. A long time she stood looking towards the great ocean, then she turned to the cottage. "A pencil and paper, and a little practice and the thing is done."

CHAPTER NINE

The Rio Vista was the famous hostelry of Ysleta. With full appreciation of the truth of the old adage that the path to a man's heart leads through his stomach, the promoters of the Ysleta boom had built a gorgeous edifice and equipped it with a cuisine not equalled west of the Mississippi. It is true that their artistic palates were not so finely educated as were their gastronomic, but the glitter of plate gla.s.s windows and the constant warfare of hostile colors, affected not at all the delicate viands which were placed before the guests. Since her connection with the Las Cruces, Helen Lonsdale had made this palace her home.

As she ascended the steps of the Rio Vista, after her return from the Berl ranch, Helen's attention was attracted to an old man who was seated near the head of the broad stone steps that led to the broader verandah.

He seemed utterly out of harmony with his surroundings. His clothes were not shabby, but they were evidently worn more with an eye to the useful than to the ornamental. The heavy boots were wrinkled and worn, yet solid, and the blacking suggested a reluctant concession to custom rather than to a sense of propriety. His trousers were baggy and his coat hung in loose folds from a pair of broad, square shoulders. A white s.h.i.+rt was topped by a high old-fas.h.i.+oned collar, held by a flowing tie of navy blue. These incongruities, in sharp contrast to the finished specimens of well-groomed humanity who circled around him, first attracted Helen. It was the face that compelled from her more than a pa.s.sing notice.

As she looked at the face, more especially the eyes, a sense of relief from oppression, an almost irresistible impulse to laughter came over her. It was not ridicule, but a light-hearted response to the contagious humor radiating from every line and wrinkle. Yet the weathered face, with its closely-cropped fringe of gray beard, resting like a sphere on the sharp lips of the high collar, carried the conviction that the mobile lines could set hard as frozen metal, that the humorous eyes, deep beneath overhanging brows, could pierce like sharpened steel.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but the eyes seemed to answer her own and the face to turn as as she pa.s.sed, in order to prolong the interchange of wordless messages.

Later in the day Helen was seated apart from the crowd in the rotunda.

She wanted to get away from herself but there was no desire to seek companions.h.i.+p. Consequently she was annoyed at the sound of footsteps which evidently had her for an object. She was more annoyed when a chair was dragged from its position and thrust beside her own. She did not even turn her head when she heard a slump in the chair which testified that the intruder intended to maintain his position. With no preliminary cough, a rugged voice remarked:

"Pretty considerable goin' on in these parts, if 'tis three thousand miles from nowhere, an' a hard road at that."

Helen's annoyance vanished. She turned brightly to the old man.

"Please excuse me. I didn't know who it was till you spoke."

"If you know now, you've got the advantage 'o me, in one sense. I'm Uncle Sid Harwood, retired sea captain, at present cruisin' for pleasure."

Helen bowed with sedate humor.

"I'm Helen Lonsdale and nothing in particular."

Uncle Sid Harwood surveyed his companion leisurely.

"First time I ever found nothin' in particular worth while. You come from around here?"

"Yes, I'm Californian, born and bred."

"Glad to know it. I've been lyin' at anchor here some days lookin' for a pilot. I reckoned you knew the harbor. Met a young fellow by the name o'

Berl?"

"Elijah Berl?" Helen asked in surprise.

"That's him."

"Why yes, of course I have. He's president of the Las Cruces Irrigation Company."

"Praisin' the Lord an' callyhootin' around like a sky rocket with its tail a-fire?" pursued Uncle Sid.

Helen laughed at the apt though rather superficial a.n.a.logy.

"Yes, but he's not all fire and fizz after all. He is doing things worth while."

"Don't doubt it." Uncle Sid spoke with conviction. "He always carried high steam, an' I guessed he'd do something, if he got hitched to an engine that would stand the pressure."

"Wouldn't you like to see him? He's in the hotel now, I think. I'll send for him."

Uncle Sid made no objections and Helen beckoned a waiter.

"Please see if Mr. Berl is in his room and tell him he's wanted."

"Eunice an' I thought maybe we'd see 'Lige. That's one reason why we came here instead o' somewhere's else. Eunice's my sister," Uncle Sid added.

Before Helen had time to reply, she heard the quick beat of Elijah's feet on the floor.

"That's him," Uncle Sid remarked, as he rose to his feet.

The footsteps halted and Helen saw Elijah standing in mute surprise before the old man. The next instant he had Uncle Sid's outstretched hand in both his own with crus.h.i.+ng grasp.

"Well! well! Uncle Sid! You're looking as natural as life."

Uncle Sid winced.

"I'm feelin' as natural's life too, just this very minute. Cast off, 'Lige! I brought my rheumatiz with me."

Elijah turned to Helen.

"How under the sun did you come to know Uncle Sid?"

"She don't know me. We're just gettin' acquainted."

"Uncle Sid is worth knowing, Helen, I can vouch for that." Elijah surveyed Uncle Sid with a beaming face. "Where's your sister, Mrs.

MacGregor; why didn't you bring her with you?"

"I did. She'll be down in a minute. Sit down. How do you make it out here, 'Lige? You used to be great on temperance back East, but I haven't seen any water worth drinkin' out here."