The Long Chance Part 16

"All anybody ever needs--a bright idea."

CHAPTER IX

Bob McGraw threw back his red head and chuckled. "A bright idea, sweetheart," he repeated, "and if it works out and I am enabled to file first, the problem of getting back to the desert will be a minor one.

The real problem is the acquisition of four or five thousand dollars to drive my tunnel, and after that I must sc.r.a.pe together thirty-nine thousand dollars to advance to my poor Pagans, in order that they may pay for the land on which I shall have induced them to file. In the meantime I do not antic.i.p.ate any diminution in the appet.i.tes of myself and Friar Tuck.

"Well, after I have my tunnel driven and the head-gates in and my Pagans have the land, I have only started. The land must be cleared of sage and greasewood, which in turn must be piled and burned. Then I must build several miles of concrete aqueduct, with laterals to carry the water for irrigation, and I must install a hydro-electric power-plant, purchase telegraph poles, string power lines, build roads, houses, barns and fences. I think I shall even have to build one hundred and fifty miles of railroad into Donnaville and equip it with rolling stock."

He thrust both arms out, as if delving into the treasures of his future.

"Whew-w-w!" he sighed. "I'll need oodles of money. I'm going to be as busy as a woodp.e.c.k.e.r in the acorn season."

Donna drew his arm within hers and they walked slowly--up and down the brick-lined patio.

"It means a fight to the finish, Bobby dear--and you're terribly handicapped. If your suspicions are well founded you will find yourself opposed by men with the power of wealth and political influence behind them."

His whimsical exalted mood pa.s.sed. In the presence of the girl he loved and whom he hoped to marry he suddenly realized that he stood face to face with a gigantic sacrifice. To carry through to a conclusion, successful or unsuccessful, this great work to which he had set his hand meant that until the finish came he must renounce his hope of marriage with Donna. True, he might win--but it would take years to demonstrate that victory was even in sight; if he lost, he felt that he could never have the heart to ask her to share with him his poverty and his failures.

An intuitive understanding of his thoughts came to Donna at that moment; she realized that under that gay, careless exterior there beat the great warm heart of a man and a master, on whom, for all his youth and strength and optimism, a great load of care was already resting--the destiny of his people. She realized that he needed help; she thought of her insignificant savings (some six hundred dollars) reposing in the strong-box of the eating-house safe, and the first impulse of her generous heart was to offer him these hard-earned dollars. In the task that Bob McGraw had set himself, moral support was a kindly thing to offer, but dollars were the things that counted!

However, to offer him financial aid now, no matter how badly he required money, would not avail. The dictates of his manhood would not permit him to accept, and until G.o.d and man had given her the right to make the offer she must remain silent.

"I can wait here until you're ready to come for me, Bob," she said bravely. "It's a big task--a man's work--that you're going to do, and win or lose, I want you to fight the good fight. I know the kind of man I want to marry. If he starts anything that's big and n.o.ble and worthy of him, I want him to finish it--if he wants to marry me. Success or failure counts but little with men like you; it is only the fight that matters, and there are some defeats that are more glorious than victories. Remember that little jingle, dearie:

The harder you're hit, the higher you bounce, Be proud of your blackened eye.

It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts, But how did you fight--and why?"

"You quoted your Pagan's Litany to me to-night, sweetheart. I want you to be true to it. I don't know a thing about desert land laws and riparian rights, but I do know that if you sold your Pagans into bondage for money to marry me, I'd be ashamed of you--and disappointed. Don't let your love for me weaken your defenses, Bob. If you win I want to live with you in Donnaville, but if you lose--I want you to make me a promise, Bob."

"You wonderful woman! What is it--you wonderful, wonderful woman?"

"I'm asking for a promise, dear."

"I'll grant it."

"If you lose, you'll come to me and we'll be married despite defeat and failure, and you'll live here, with me--at the Hat Ranch until--"

"Oh, Donnie, girl, I couldn't do that!"

"I understand your point of view. Perhaps you think me bold--or unconventional. But a woman has certain rights, Bob. She should be given the right to outline her own ideas of happiness, regardless of tradition and ancient usage, provided she conforms to all of the law, legal and moral. If you go forth to battle and they slaughter you, I claim the right to pick up your poor battered old heart and give it the only comfort--I mean, if I have to wait, I love you enough to work with you--and for you--when further waiting is useless--"

She pressed her face against his great breast and commenced to cry.

"I have never been really happy until you came" she sobbed. "We're young, Bob--and I do not want to wait--for happiness--until the capacity for it--is gone."

He patted the beautiful head, soothing her with tender words, and it was characteristic of the man that in that instant he made his decision.

"Within six weeks I shall know how long the fight is to last, Donna.

If I can put through a scheme which I have evolved to secure that land without recourse to the desert land laws--if I can get my applications filed first in the State Land Office--I shall have won the first battle of the war. If I fail to do this I shall have lost the land, and without further ado I shall sell my water-right to the best possible advantage.

The enemy may conclude to pay me a reasonable price for it, rather than declare war and delay the development of their land. The power possibilities of my water-right are tremendous and I think I can force a good price, for I can poke away at my tunnel and by doing the a.s.sessment work I can keep my t.i.tle alive for a few years. Of course, in the event that I should, after the lapse of years, be financially unable to develop my water-right, or interest others in it, I should lose it and they would grab it, no doubt. But they will buy me out, I think, rather than brook delay."

She raised her face, transfigured through the tears.

"Then, win or lose--"

"Win or lose, if you desire it and I can sc.r.a.pe together the price of a marriage license, we'll be married in six weeks.

"I'm so tired of the desert, dear. I'm lonely."

"A little like Br'er B'ar, eh, darling! You want to see the other side of the mountain." He pressed her to him lovingly. "Of course" (with masculine inconsistency Bob was beginning to equivocate) "I may not be able to sell my water-right and the enemy may elect to play a waiting game and starve me out. In that case, it would not be fair to you to burden you with a husband whose sole a.s.sets are his dreams and his hopes."

"That makes no difference" she exclaimed pa.s.sionately. "We're young.

We'll fight the rest of the battle together."

"Well, there's strength in numbers, at any rate, beloved. You're my mascot and I'm bound to win." He placed his left hand under her chin and tilted her face upward. He was stooping to seal their compact with a true lover's kiss, when the sound of footsteps startled them. Both turned guiltily, to confront Mr. Harley P. Hennage.

"Hah-hah," puffed Mr. Hennage, "at it again, eh?" He stood at the corner of the house, with his three gold teeth flas.h.i.+ng in the moonlight.

"Kill-joy!" hissed Bob McGraw. "His Royal Highness, Kill-joy the Thirteenth!"

Harley P. shook a fat forefinger at the lovers. "If I was a young feller, Bob McGraw--"

"Mr. Hennage, you're an old snooper, that's what you are!" cried Donna.

"You're all the time snooping."

"Explain this unwarranted intrusion, Harley P. Hennage" Bob demanded, as he advanced with outstretched hand to greet the gambler. "I'll have you know that in approaching this ranch hereafter, you will be required to halt at the front gate and whistle, cough, stamp your feet, yell or fire six shots from a Colts revolver--"

"You mean a presidential salute o' twenty-one twelve-inch guns" retorted Harley P. "I ain't no snooper. I've wore corns on my hands a-bangin'

that there iron gate to announce my approach, an' it wasn't no use; so I just made up my mind you was ready to receive me an' I come ramblin' in.

Donnie, you know I ain't one o' the presumin' kind."

He held out a hand to Bob and another to Donna. "How?" he queried, and made swift appraisal of Bob McGraw from heels to hair. "You've filled out a whole lot since the last time I seen you standin' up. How's tricks?"

"Great. I'll be out in a day or two."

The gambler nodded his approval of this cheerful news. Donna brought out another chair and the trio sat in the secluded patio and talked generalities for ten minutes. Donna knew that Mr. Hennage must have some reason for calling other than a mere desire to pay his respects to Bob, and presently he unbosomed himself.

"Our mutual friend, Miss Pickett, has a notice pasted up on the wall o'

the post-office, advertisin' a registered letter for one Robert McGraw."

The gambler t.i.ttered foolishly. "Ain't a soul can tell Miss Pickett who the feller is or where he's at, except me an' Doc Taylor an' Miss Donna--an' we're all swore to secrecy, so I come down to scheme out a way to bell the cat--meanin' Miss Pickett" he added, apparently as an afterthought.

"A letter for me?" Bob was surprised. "Why, it's years since I have received a letter. I wonder who could know that I might be found in San Pasqual I didn't tell anybody I was headed this way, and as a matter of fact I hadn't intended staying here beyond that first night."

"Well, there's a letter there all right," reiterated Mr. Hennage, "an'

if I was called on to give a guess who sent it I'd bet a stack o'

blue chips I could hit the bull's eye first shot. A dry, purse-proud aristocrat, with gray chin whiskers an' a pair o' bespectacled blue lamps that'd charm a Gila monster, they're that s.h.i.+ny, lined up at the Silver Dollar bar the other day an' bought a drink for himself. Yes, he drank alone--which goes to prove that men with money ain't always got the best manners in the world. Well, after stowin' away his little jolt, he comes fussin' around among the boys, askin' which one of 'em is Mr.