Out of the Depths: A Romance of Reclamation

  CHAPTER XXII

  A REAL WOLF

  When the loiterer came over the second ridge into view of the boomingchasm in the top of the plateau, he saw the others down near thebrink. The baby had been laid on a soft bed of pine needles, and Blakewas leading the ladies down to look over into the abyss, one on eacharm.

  Ashton's chagrin flared into jealous hate. He felt certain that thegirl was quite capable of strolling along the extreme edge of theprecipice without a trace of giddiness. Yet now she was clinging toBlake even more closely than was Genevieve. There was more thanapprehension in the clasp of her little brown hand on the engineer'sshoulder. Her cheek brushed his sleeve.

  The anger of the onlooker was so intense that he did not see Gowanriding towards him from the left. The puncher dismounted and cameforward, his cold gaze fixed on Ashton's face.

  "So you're beginning to savvy it, too," he remarked.

  Ashton confronted him, vainly attempting to mask his telltale lookand color with a show of hauteur. "I never discuss personal matterswith acquaintances of your stamp," he said.

  "That's too bad," coolly deplored Gowan. "Maybe you've heard thesaying about cutting off your nose to spite your face."

  "What do you mean?"

  "If you want to go it alone, I can't stop you," replied the puncher."Needn't think I'm sucking around you for any favors or friendship. Ifthis was my range, I would run you off it so fast you'd reachStockchute with your tongue hanging out like a dog's. That's how muchI like you."

  "The feeling is fully reciprocated, I assure you," rejoined Ashton.

  "All right. Now what're we going to do about him?--each play a lonehand, or make it pardners for this deal?"

  "I--fail to understand," hesitated Ashton.

  "No, you don't," jeeringly contradicted the puncher. "It's athree-cornered fight. You see it now, even if you have been too big afool to see it before. We can settle ours after. But I'm free to ownup to it that you're a striped skunk if you won't work with me firstto get rid of him. Look at him now--and him married!"

  Ashton's flush deepened to purple. "Married!--yes, married!" he chokedout.

  "Right alongside his wife, too!" Gowan thrust the goad deeper. "You'dthink even that brand of skunk would have more decency. Not that hiswife is any friend of mine, like she is yours. But for a man with sucha wife and baby ... with Miss Chuckie! The--"

  Gowan ended with a string of oaths so virulent that even Ashton'shalf-mad anger was checked.

  "You may be--er--I fear that we--Perhaps it's not so bad as itappears!" he stammered.

  "_Bah!_" disgustedly sneered the puncher, and he strode on ahead,leaving Ashton torn between rage and doubt and terror of his ownfurious jealousy.

  The others continued to stand on a flat ledge that here formed the lipof the canyon. Genevieve was trembling with awed delight. Her husbandand the girl appeared more calm, but they were drinking in thegrandeur of the tremendous gorge below them with no less intenseappreciation of its gloomy vastness.

  Upstream, to their left, the precipices jutted so far out from eachwall of the canyon that they overlapped, a thousand or fifteen hundredfeet from the top. But downstream the upper part of the chasm flaredto a width that permitted the noonday sun to penetrate part way downthrough the blue-black shadows.

  "O-o-o-oh!" sighed Genevieve, for the tenth time, and she clungtighter than ever to the strong arm of her husband. "Isn't itfearfully, fearfully delightful? It makes the soles of my feet tingleto look at it!"

  "That tickly feeling!" exclaimed Isobel. "I often ride up here to thecanyon, I do so love to feel that way! Only with me it's like antscrawling up and down my back."

  "O-o-o-oh!" again sighed Genevieve. "It--it so overpowers one!"

  "It's sure some canyon," admitted her husband. "That French artist Doreought to have seen it."

  "If only we had a copy of Dante's Inferno to read here on the brink!"she whispered.

  "It always reminds me of Coleridge's poem," murmured Isobel, and shequoted in an awed whisper:

  Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man, Down to the sunless sea.

  "Fortunately for us, this is a canyon, not a string of measurelesscaverns," said Blake. "It can be measured, one way or another. If Ihad a transit, I could calculate the depth at any point where thewater shows--triangulate with a vertical angle. But it would cause along delay to send on for a transit. We shall first try to chain downat that gulch break."

  Genevieve shrank back from the verge of the precipice and drew theothers after her.

  "Dear!" she exclaimed, "I did not dream it was so fearful. One has tosee to realize! You will not go down--promise me you will not godown!"

  "Now, now, little woman," reproached Blake. "What's become of mypartner?"

  "But baby--? If you should leave him fatherless!"

  "Better that than for him to have a father who is a quitter! Justwait, Sweetheart. That break looks much less overwhelming than thesesheer cliffs. You know I shall not attempt anything foolhardy. If itis not possible to get down without too great risk, I shall give it upand send for a transit."

  "Oh, will you?" exclaimed Isobel, hardly less apprehensive than hiswife. "Why not wait anyway until you can send for your transit?"

  "Because I cannot triangulate the bottom within half a mile upstreamfrom where the tunnel would have to be located. That roar and thewildness of the water wherever we can see it is proof that it isflowing down a heavy grade. At the point where I triangulated it mightbe above the level of Dry Mesa, and way below the mesa here at thetunnel site."

  "You could triangulate at the first place where the bottom can beseen, beyond here," suggested Genevieve.

  "Suppose it proved to be lower than Dry Mesa, wouldn't that stillleave us up in the air?" he asked. "Like this--"

  He pulled out his notebook and drew a rough sketch.

  [Transcriber's Note: an illustration showing "Elevation of bench-markat foot of chute in Dry Fork Gulch" appears in the text here.]

  "I see, Dear," said his wife. "When do you plan to go down?"

  "Tomorrow morning."

  "Can you wait until we come up from the ranch?"

  "Yes. Mr. Knowles will no doubt be back by then. He can bring you outearly."

  "We shall come early, anyway," said Isobel.

  "Of course!" added Genevieve. She drew a deep breath. "I shall see theplace before you attempt to descend."

  Her husband nodded reassuringly and looked around to where Gowan andAshton stood waiting, several yards from one another.

  "About lunch time, isn't it?" he remarked. "Mr. Gowan will wish to bestarting soon to bring up his second load."

  At the suggestion, the ladies hastened to spread out their own lunchand the one brought by Blake. When called by Isobel, Gowan cameforward to join the party, with rather less than his usual reserve inhis speech and manner.

  Ashton was the last to seat himself on the springy cushion of brownpine needles, and he sat throughout the meal in moody silence. Blakeand the ladies attributed this to the fatigue of working through thelong hot morning while suffering from his unhealed wound. He repulsedthe sympathetic attentions of the Blakes. But he could not longcontinue to resist the kindly concern of the girl. After lunch shemade him lie down in the shade while she bathed his wound with a goodpart of the small supply of water remaining in the canteens.

  Gowan had been asking questions about the work. Blake explained atsome length why he considered it necessary not only to descend intothe canyon but to carry the line of levels down along the bed of thesubterranean stream to this point opposite Dry Fork Gulch. When Isobeldrew apart with Ashton the puncher did not look at them, though hiseyes narrowed to slits and his mouth straightened.

  "You shore have nerve to tackle it, Mr. Blake," he commented."Everything alive that I know of that's ever gone down into Deep Canyonhasn't ever come up again, except it had wings."

  "We'll prove that the rule has an
exception," replied Blake, smilingaway the reawakened apprehension of his wife.

  Gowan shook his head doubtfully, and strolled down the slope to peerinto the canyon. The level was directly in his path, set up firmly onits tripod, about six feet from the brink. The puncher stopped besideit to squint through the telescope.

  "You'll have one--peach of a time seeing anything through thiscontraption down there," he remarked. "I can't see even right here inthe sun."

  "The telescope is out of focus," explained Blake. "Turn that screw onthe side." Gowan twisted a protruding thumbscrew. "Not that--the oneabove it," directed Blake.

  "Can't stop to fool now," replied the puncher. "I've got to hustlealong."

  He started hastily around between the level and the precipice. The toeof his boot struck hard against the iron toe of the outer tripod-leg.He stumbled and sprawled forward on his hands and knees. Behind himthe instrument toppled over towards the brink.

  Genevieve cried out in alarm at Gowan's fall. Her husband sprang tothe rescue--not of the puncher, but of the level. It had crashed downwith its head to the chasm, and was sliding out over the brink. Blakebarely caught it by the tip of one of the legs as it swung up for theplunge. He drew it back and set it up to see what damage had been doneto the head. Gowan watched him, tight-lipped.

  "This is luck!" exclaimed the engineer, after a swift examination."Nothing broken--only knocked out of adjustment. I can fix that inhalf an hour. She struck with the telescope turned sideways. You musthave set the clamp screw."

  The puncher's face darkened. "Wish the--infernal machine had goneplumb down to hell!" he growled. "It came near tripping me over theedge."

  "My apology," said Blake. "I spraddled the tripod purposely to keep itfrom being upset."

  "Oh, Kid, you've hurt yourself," called Isobel, as the puncher beganto wrap a kerchief about his hand. "Come here and let me bandage it."

  "No," he replied. "Two babies are enough for you to coddle at onetime. I've got to hit out."

  He turned his back on Blake and hurried up to his horse. The engineerfollowed as far as the nearest tree, where he set up the instrument inthe shade and began to adjust it.

  "Good thing she has platinum crosshairs," he said to Ashton. "A falllike that would have been certain to break the old-style spiderwebhairs."

  Ashton did not reply. He was absorbed in a murmured conversation withIsobel. Blake completed the adjustments of the level and stretched outbeside his wife to play with his gurgling son. A half hour of thiscompleted the two hours that he had set apart for the noon rest. Heplaced the baby back in his wife's lap and stood up to stretch hispowerful frame.

  "How about it, Ashton?" he inquired. "Think you feel fit to rod thisafternoon? Don't hesitate to say no, if that's the right answer. Iexpect my wife and Miss Chuckie, between them, can help me carry theline as far as the camp."

  "I can do it alone," interposed the girl. "Let them both stay here andrest all afternoon."

  "No, Miss Chuckie. I can and shall do my work," insisted Ashton,springing up with unexpected briskness for one who had appeared sofatigued. "It is you and Mrs. Blake who must stay here to rest--unlessyou wish to keep us company."

  "Might we not go to the new camp and put it in order?" suggestedGenevieve.

  "What if that outlaw should come sneaking back?" objected Ashton. "Itseems to me you should keep with us."

  "He would not trouble us," replied Isobel.

  "Yet if he should? Anyway, Blake and I saw a wolf up here the otherday."

  "A real wolf! Where?"

  "Yes," answered Blake. "Over in the ravine the other side of the headof Dry Fork Gulch."

  "He may attack you," argued Ashton.

  The girl laughed. "You're still a tenderfoot to think a wolf wouldn'tknow better than that. Wish he didn't! It would mean the saving of ahalf dozen calves this winter." She flashed out her long-barreledautomatic pistol and knocked a cone from the tree above Blake's headwith a swiftly aimed shot.

  Blake caught the cone as it fell and looked at the bullet hole throughits center. "Unless that was an accident, I should call it someshooting," he remarked.

  "Accident!" she called back. "Stand sideways and see what happens toyour cigar."

  "No, thanks. I'll take your word for it. Just lit this one, and I'veonly a few left. By by, Tommy! Don't let the wolves eat mamma and thepoor little cowlady!"

  He picked up the level and started off at a swinging stride. Ashtonfollowed several paces behind. His face was sullen and heavy, but intheir merriment over Blake's banter, the ladies failed to observe hisexpression.

  They rested for a while longer. Then, after venturing down for anotherawed look into the abyss, they rode along, parallel with thestupendous rift, to the place selected for the new camp. As Gowan hadbrought up the tent in one of the first packs, the ladies pitched iton the level top of the ridge.

  "This is real camping!" delightedly exclaimed Genevieve, as they setto gathering leafy twigs for bedding and dry branches for fuel. "How Iwish we could stay all night!"

  "We can, if you wish," replied Isobel.

  "Can we, really?"

  "Our men often sleep out in the open, this time of year. We shall takethe tent for ourselves. Won't it be fun! But will Thomas be allright?"

  "I can manage with what I have until tomorrow afternoon."

  "How long do you think they will be down in the canyon?" the girlinquired.

  Genevieve shuddered. "I wish I could tell! If only Tom finds that hecannot get down at all, how thankful I shall be!"

  "And--Lafe!" murmured the girl.

  "It is possible that they may be unable to do it in one day," went onGenevieve apprehensively--"Down, down into those dreadful depths, andthen along the river, all the way to where the tunnel is to be, andback again, and then up the awful cliffs! Surely they cannot finish inone day! Of course they will succeed--Tom can do anything, _anything_!Yet how I dread the very thought--!"

  "We must prepare to stay right here on High Mesa until they dofinish!" declared Isobel. "It will be impossible to go back to theranch tomorrow if they are still in that frightful place! Kid willhave to take the hawsses down to the waterhole. He shall go on home,and tomorrow morning fetch us cream and eggs and everything you need.They will have to be told at the ranch; and if Daddy has returned, hewill come up to help and be with us."

  "You dear girl! The more I think of this terrible descent, the more Idread it. I feel a presentiment that--But I must try to be brave andnot interfere with Tom's work! It will be a great comfort to have yourfather with us."

  "Daddy will surely come if he has returned. Isn't he kind and good? Hecouldn't have done more to make me happy if he had been my own realfather!"

  Genevieve smiled into the girl's glowing face. "Yes, dear. Yet I amfar from surprised, since _you_ are the daughter he wished to makehappy. I was more surprised to have him tell me you were adopted. Youhave never said a word about it."

  "I--you see, I did not happen to," confusedly murmured the girl.

  "Chuckie Knowles is not your real name," Genevieve gently reproachedher.

  "No, it is the pet name Daddy gave me. My real one is--Isobel."

  "Isobel--?"

  "Yes. Daddy's sister, in Denver, always calls me that. But here on theranch--"

  "Isobel--?" repeated Genevieve, with a rising inflection.

  The color ebbed from the girl's face, but she answered steadily:"Chuckie--Isobel--Knowles. I am Daddy's daughter. I have no otherfather."

  "Is-o-bel--Is-o-bel," Genevieve intoned the name musically. "It has abeautiful sound. I had a friend at school--Isabella--but we alwayscalled her Belle."

  The girl suddenly faced away from her companion, and darted to meetBlake and Ashton, who were bringing the line of levels up over theridge.