CHAPTER V
INTO THE DEPTHS
At the top of the bank made by the dike the girl pointed with herquirt down to the rock-rimmed pool edge where a pair of riders werejust swinging out of their saddles.
"Hello, Daddy! We're coming, Kid," she called, and she turned toexplain to Ashton. "They came around the other end of the hills; alonger way but better going. How's this? Thought you said you werecamped here."
"Yes, of course. Don't you see the tent? It's right there amongthe--Why, what--where is it?" cried Ashton, gaping in blankamazement.
"We'll soon see," replied the girl.
Their horses were scrambling down the short steep slope to the pool,where the other horses were drinking their fill of the cool water. Thetwo men watched Ashton's approach, Knowles with an impassive gaze,Gowan with cold suspicion in his narrowed eyes.
"Well, honey," asked the cowman, "did you have him pulling leather?"
"No, and I didn't lose him, either," she replied, with a mischievousglance at Gowan. "I took that jump-off where the white-cheeked steerbroke its neck. He took it after me without pulling leather."
"Huh!" grunted the puncher. "Mr. Tenderfoot shore is some rider. We'rewaiting for him now to ride around and find that camp where we were todeliver his veal."
Ashton stared with a puzzled, half-dazed expression from the tentlesstrees beside him to the fore and hind quarters of veal wrapped inslicker raincoats and fastened on back of the men's saddles.
"Well?" demanded Knowles. "Thought you said you were camped here."
"I am--that is, I--My tent was right there between those two trees,"said Ashton. "You see, there are the twigs and leaves I had my valetcollect for my bed."
"Shore--valleys are great on collecting beds of leaves and sand andbowlders," observed Gowan.
"There's his fireplace," said the girl, wheeling her horse through aclump of wild rosebushes. "Yes, and he's right about the tent, too. Itis a bed. Here's a dozen cigarette boxes and--What's this, Mr. Ashton!Looks as if someone had left a note for you."
"A note?" he muttered, slipping to the ground.
He ran over to the spot to which she was pointing. On a little pile ofstones, in front of where his tent had been pitched, a piece ofcoarse wrapping paper covered with writing was fluttering in the lightbreeze. He snatched it up and read the note with fast-growingbewilderment.
"What is it?" sympathetically questioned the girl, quick to see thathe was in real trouble.
He did not answer. He did not even realize that she had spoken. Withfeverish haste he caught up an opened envelope that had lain under thepaper. Drawn by his odd manner, Knowles and Gowan came over to stareat him. He had torn a letter from the envelope. It was in typewritingand covered less than a page, yet he gaped at it, reading andre-reading the lines as if too dazed to be able to comprehend theirmeaning.
Slowly the involved sentences burned their way into his consciousness.As his bewilderment cleared, his concern deepened to dismay, and fromdismay to consternation. His jaw dropped slack, his face whitened, thepupils of his eyes dilated.
"What is it? What's the matter?" exclaimed the girl.
"Matter?"--His voice was hoarse and strained. He crumpled the letterin a convulsive grasp--"Matter? I'm ruined!--ruined! God!"
Knowles and the girl were both silent before the despair in the youngman's face. Gowan was more obtuse or else less considerate.
"Shore, you're plumb busted, partner," he ironically condoled. "Yourwhole outfit has flown away on the wings of the morning. Hope youwon't tell us the pay for your veal has vamoosed with the rest."
"Oh, Kid, for shame!" reproved the girl. "Of course Daddy won't askfor any pay--now."
Ashton burst into a jangling high-pitched laugh.
"No, no! there's still my pony and saddle and rifle and watch!" hecried, half hysterically. "Take them! strip me! Here's my hat, too! Ipaid forty-five dollars for it--silver band." He flung it on theground. "There's a hole in it--I wish the hole were through my head!"
"Now, now, look here, son. Keep a stiff upper lip," said Knowles."Don't act like you're locoed. It's all right about that veal, asChuckie says, and you oughtn't to make such a fuss over the loss of acamp outfit."
"Camp outfit?" shrilled Ashton. "If that were all! if that were all!What shall I do? Lost--all lost!--father--all! Ruined! Oh, my God!What shall I do? Oh, my God! Oh--" Anguish and despair choked the cryin his throat. He collapsed in a huddled, quivering heap.
"_Sho!_ It can't be as bad as that, can it?" condoled the cowman.
"Go away!" sobbed the prostrated man. "Go away! Take my pony--all!Only leave me!"
"If ever I saw a fellow plumb locoed!" muttered Gowan, halfawe-struck.
"Maybe he'll come to his senses if we leave him," suggested Knowles.He took a step towards Ashton. "All right, son, we'll go. But we'llleave you half that veal, and we won't take your hawss. D'you wanthelp in looking for your outfit?"
Ashton shook his downbent head.
"Well, if you want to let the thieves get away with it, that's yourown lookout. You'd better strike back to the railroad."
"Go away! Leave me!" moaned Ashton.
"Gone to smash--clean busted!" commented Gowan, as he turned about togo to his horse, his spurs jingling gayly.
Knowles followed him, shaking his head. The girl had been gazing atAshton with an expression that varied from sympathetic commiserationto contemptuous pity. As her adopted father and Gowan mounted, sherode over to them.
"Go on," she said. "I'll overtake you as soon as I've watered myhawss."
"You're not going to speak to that kettle of mush again, MissChuckie," remonstrated Gowan.
"Yes, I am, Kid, and you know you wouldn't stop me if you could. Heneeds it. I'm glad you smashed his pistol. A rifle is not so handy."
Knowles stared over the bushes at the huddled figure on the ground."Look here, Chuckie, you can't mean that?"
"Yes," she insisted. "He is ready to do it right now, unless someonethrows him a rope and hauls him out of the slough."
"Lot of fuss over a tenderfoot you never saw before today," grumbledGowan.
"That's not like you, Kid," she reproached. "Besides, you don't wantthe trouble of digging a grave. It would have to be deep, to keep outthe coyotes. Daddy, you're forgetting the veal."
"So I am," agreed the cowman. "Ride on, Kid. You'll be carrying mostweight."
The puncher reluctantly wheeled his horse and started down the bank ofthe dry stream. Knowles unfastened the hind quarters of veal frombehind the cantle of his saddle, lifted them into a fork of one of thelow trees, and rode off after Gowan, folding up his blood-stainedslicker.
The girl at once slipped from her pony and walked quietly around tothe drooping, despairing man.
"Mr. Ashton," she softly began, "they have gone. I have stayed to findout if there is anything I can do."
She paused for him to reply. His shoulders quivered, but he remainedsilent. She went on soothingly: "You are all unstrung. The shock wastoo sudden. It must have been a terrible one! Won't you tell me aboutit? Perhaps that will make you feel better."
"As if anything could when I am ruined, utterly ruined!" he moaned.
"But how? Please tell me," she urged.
Slowly he raised his haggard face and looked up at her. There could beno question but that she was full of sincere sympathy and concern forhim. Her eyes shone upon him with all the motherly tenderness that anygood woman, however young, has in her heart for those who suffer.
"It's all in this--this letter," he muttered brokenly. "Expected myremittance in it--Got ruin! ruin!"
"It had been opened," suggested the girl. "Perhaps those who took youroutfit also took your remittance money."
"No, there wasn't any--not a cent! My valet had my written instructionsto open it and cash the money orders--that weren't there! He and theguide--they came back. The letter had told them all, all! I was nothere. They took the outfit--the money--divided it. Left that note--theyhad no more use for
me.... Ruined! utterly ruined!"
"But if you wish us to run them down?"
"No--good riddance! What they took is less than what I owed them.Ungrateful scoundrels!"
"That's it!" approved the girl. "Get up your spunk. Cuss, if you like.Rip loose, good and hard. It will ease you off."
"It's no use," he groaned, slumping back into his posture of abjectdejection.
"Oh, come, now!" she encouraged. "You're a young, healthy man. What ifyou have been bucked off this time? There are lots other hawsses inLife's corral."
He hung his head lower.
She went on, in an altered tone: "Mr. Ashton, it is evident you havebeen bred as a gentleman. I wish you to give me your word that youwill not put an end to yourself."
There was a prolonged pause. At last he stirred as if uneasy under hersteady gaze. He could not see her eyes, yet he seemed to feel them.Twice he started to speak, but checked himself and hesitated. Thethird time he muttered a reluctant, "I--will not."
"Good! I have your word," she replied. "I must go now. When you'veshaken yourself together a bit, come down to the ranch. You ride downDry Fork to the junction, and then three miles up Plum Creek. Daddy'llbe glad to put you up a few days until you can think of what to do toget a new start. Good-by!"
She went back to her horse as lightfooted and graceful as an antelope.But he did not look up after her, nor did he respond to her cordialparting. For a long time after she rode away he continued to crouch asshe had left him, motionless, almost torpid with the immensity of hisloss.
The sun sank lower and lower. It touched the skyline of High Mesa anddipped below. The shadow of twilight fell upon Dry Fork and thewaterhole. The man shivered and, as if afraid that the darkness wouldrush upon him, hastily opened his clenched hand and smoothed out thecrumpled letter.
To his bloodshot eyes, the accusing words seemed to glare up at him inletters of fire:
Sir:
We have been instructed by our client, Mr. George Ashton, to inform you that he has at last learned the full particulars of the manner in which you obtained possession of the plans of Mr. Thomas Blake, C.E., drawn by him for the competition on the then projected Michamac bridge; how you copied said plans and destroyed the originals, and was awarded the construction of said bridge on said copied plans presented by you as of your own device and invention; that you were awarded and did enjoy the office of Resident Engineer of said bridge during a period covering the greater part of the construction thereof, and received the full salary of said office, to and until said Blake took charge of said bridge, which had been imperilled by your incompetence; and said Blake, against your strenuous objections and opposition and at great personal risk, saved said bridge from destruction.
Wherefore, because of the disgrace which you have, by reason of the aforesaid actions and conduct, brought upon his name, and because of various and sundry acts of disobedience, as well as your life of frivolity and dissipation,--our client has instructed us to inform you, that he has cut you off from him absolutely; that he has drawn a new will wherein the amount of your legacy is fixed at the sum of one ($1.00) dollar; that he will no longer make you an allowance in any sum whatever; that he no longer regards you as his son; that any communication addressed to him by you, either directly or indirectly, will not be received or read by him; and that he absolutely refuses to see you or to grant you a personal interview.
Respectfully, etc.
The signature was that of his father's confidential lawyers, andbelow, to the left, lest there be no possibility of misunderstanding,were his name and address in full: "Mr. Lafayette Ashton, Stockchute,Colorado."
Again he bent over with his head on his breast and the letter clutchedconvulsively in his slender palm.
A bloodcurdling yell brought him to his feet with a sudden leap. Hestill did not know the difference between the cry of a coyote and thedeeper note of a timber wolf. He hastily started a fire, and ran tofetch his rifle from the saddle sheath. The pony was quietly munchinga wisp of grass as best he could with the bit in his mouth. Theunconcern of the beast reassured his master, who, however, filled themagazine of his rifle before offsaddling.
Having hobbled the pony for the night, Ashton laid the rifle on therim of the pool, stripped, and dived in. He went down like a plummet,reckless of the danger of striking some upjutting ledge. He may haveforgotten for the moment his word to the girl, or he may haveconsidered that it did not prevent him from courting death byaccident.
But, deeply as he dived, he failed to reach bottom. He came up,puffing and blowing, and swam swiftly around the pool beforescrambling out to dress. The combined effect of the vigorous exercise,the grateful coolness of the water, and the riddance of the day's dustand sweat brought him ashore in a far less morbid frame of mind. Goingup the bank, he pulled the hind quarters of veal from the tree andsliced off three or four ragged strips with his knife. After washingthem, he put them to broil over his smoky fire of green twigs. The"cutlets" came off, one half raw and the other half burned to a crisp.But he had not eaten since the early forenoon. He devoured the messwithout salt, ravenously. He topped off with the scant swallow ofbrandy left in his flask.
Stimulated by the food and drink, he set about gathering a large heapof wood. Three or four coyotes had approached his camp, attracted bythe scent of the calf meat. With the fading of twilight into nightthey came in closer, making such a racket with their yelping andwailing that he thought himself surrounded by a pack of ravenouswolves.
He could not see how his pony was unconcernedly grazing within a fewyards of one of the cowardly beasts. Had the wistful singers beentimber wolves, the animal soon would have come hobbling in near thefire; but Ashton did not know that. He flung on brush and croucheddown near the blaze, rifle in hand, peering out into the blackness.Every moment he expected to hear that terrible cry of which he hadread, the death-scream of a horse, and then to hear the crunching ofbones between the jaws of the ferocious wolves.
He had spent the previous night alone in camp, peacefully sleeping.But then the yells of the beasts of darkness had been far away, andthe walls of his tent had shut him in from the wild. Tonight hisnerves had been shattered by the terrible blow of his father'srepudiation. Worst of all, he had no tobacco with which to soothethem.
His dread of the supposed wolf pack in a way eased the anguish ofhis ruin by diverting his mind. But the lack of cigarettes servedonly to put a more frightful strain on his overwrought nerves. Hefelt it first in a vague discomfort that set his hands to gropingautomatically through his pockets. The absence of the usual boxroused his consciousness, with a dismayed start, to the realizationthat he was absolutely without his soothing drug. The abscondingguide and valet had taken the large store he had in camp, and, toplease Miss Knowles, he had flung away all that were left in hispockets.
From vague fumbling he instantly concentrated his mind on an eagersearch for a packet that might have been overlooked, either in hispockets or around the camp. He could find none, nor even a singlecigarette. His nerves were now clamoring wildly for their soothingpoison. So great was the strain that it began to affect his mind. Hefancied that the wolf pack was closing in to attack him. Twice hefired his rifle at imaginary eyes out in the darkness.
All the time the craving for nicotine increased in intensity, until hewas half frantic. Midnight found him, torch in hand, crawling aroundon the ground where his tent had been pitched, hunting for cigarettestubs. He had only to look close in order to find any number. Mostwere no more than cork tips, but some had at least one puff left inthem, and a few had been only half smoked.
Beside the bed he came upon almost a handful, close together. By thistime his jangled nerves were "toning down." He became conscious ofgreat weariness. He stretched out on his leafy bed, and with his headpillowed on his arm, luxuriously sucked in the drugging smoke.