CHAPTER XLII
THE FURNACE OF GOLD
All the following day, which was Thursday, two small companies were outin the hills. One was Beth's, where she, Glen, and Pratt toiled slowlyover miles and miles of baking mountains and desert slopes and rocks,tracing out the reservation boundary with a long slender ribbon ofsteel.
The other group, equally, if less openly, active, comprised the sheriffand three of his men. They were trailing out the boundary of one man'sendurance, against fatigue, starvation, and the hatred of his kind.
Barger had been at his work once more, slaying and robbing for hisneeds. He had killed a Piute trailer, put upon his tracks; he hadrobbed a stage, three private travelers, and a freight-team loaded withprovisions. He had lived on canned tomatoes and ginger snaps for aweek--and the empty tins sufficiently blazed his orbit.
He was known to be mounted, armed, and once more reduced to extremitiesin the way of procuring food. A trap had been laid, a highway baitedwith an apparently defenseless wagon, with two mere desert prospectorsand their outfit for a load--and this he was expected to attack.
The morning waned and the afternoon was speeding. Old Pratt, with Bethand Glen, was eager to finish by sunset. The farther he walked themore the surveyor apparently warmed to his work. Beth became footsoreby noon. But she made no complaint. She plodded doggedly ahead, theribbon-like "chain" creeping like a serpent, on and on before her.
At the forward end Glen was dragging the thing persistently over hillsand dales, and bearing the rod for Pratt with his transit to sight.
The surveyor himself was at times as much as a mile or more behind,dumbly waving Glen to right or left, as he peered through his glass andset the course by the compass and angles of his transit. Anon hesignaled the two to wait, and Beth sat down to watch him come, "setup," and wave them onward as before.
She was thus alone, at the end of the chain, for hours at a stretch.So often as Pratt came up from the rear and established a station forhis instrument, she asked how the line was working out, and what werethe prospects for the end.
"Can't tell till we get much closer to the claim," said Pratt, withnever varying patience. "We'll know before we die."
In the heat that poured from sky and rocks it might have been possibleto doubt the surveyor's prediction. But Beth went on. Her exhaustionincreased. The glare of the cloudless sky and greenless earth seemedto burn all the moisture from her eyes. The terrible silence, thedread austerity of mountains so rock-ribbed and desolate, oppressed herwith a sense of awe.
She was toiling as many a man has toiled, through the ancient,burned-out furnace of gold, so intensely physical all about her; andalso she was toiling no less painfully through the furnace of gold thatlove must ever create so long as the dross must be burned from humanore that the bullion of honor, loyalty, and faith may shine in itspurity and worth.
She began to feel, in a slight degree, the tortures that Van, oldGettysburg, Napoleon, and Dave had undergone for many weary years. Itwas not their weakness for the gold of earth that had drawn themrelentlessly on in lands like these; it was more their fate, a speciesof doom, to which, like the helpless puppets that we are, we must allat last respond.
She felt a new weight in the cruelty whereby the owners of the"Laughing Water" claim had been suddenly bereft of all they possessedafter all their patient years of serving here in this arid waste ofminerals. The older men in Van's partnership she pitied.
For Van she felt a sense of championing love. His cause was her cause,come what might--at least until she could no longer keep alive herhope. Her passion to set herself to rights in his mind was great, butsecondary, after all, to the love in her heart, which would not, couldnot die, and which, by dint of its intensity, bore her onward to fightfor his rights.
Alone so much in the burning land all day, she had long, long hours inwhich to think of Van, long hours in which to contemplate the silenceand the vast dispassion of this mountain world. Her own inward burningoffset the heat of air and earth; a sense of the aridness her heartwould know without Van's love once more returned, was counter to thearidness of all these barren rocks. The fervor of her love it was thatbore her onward, weary, sore, and drooping.
What would happen at the end of day, if Pratt should confirm theLawrence survey, bestowing the claim on Bostwick and McCoppet, she didnot dare to think. Her excitement increased with every chain lengthmoving her onward towards the cove. She did not know the hills orravines, the canyons descended or acclivities so toilsomely climbed,and, therefore, had not a guide in the world to raise or depress herhope. There was nothing to do but sustain the weary march and awaitthe survey's end.
All day in Goldite, meanwhile, Van had been working towards an end. Hehad two hundred dollars, the merest drop in the bucket, as he knew,with which to fight the Bostwick combination. He was thoroughly awarethat even when the line could be run, establishing some error or fraudon the part of surveyor Lawrence, the fight would barely be opened.
McCoppet and Bostwick, with thousands of dollars at command, coulddelay him, block his progress, force him into court, and perhaps evenbeat him in the end. The enginery of dollars was crushing in itsmight. Nevertheless, if a survey showed that the line had been falselymoved, he felt he could somewhat rely upon himself to make the seat ofwar too warm for comfort.
There was no surveyor nearer than two hundred miles, with Pratt, as Vanexpressed it, "camping with the foe." He had shaken his partnersuntimely from their beds that morning--(the trio were mining nights, onthe four-to-midnight shift)--and busied them all with the work of theday, by way of making preparations.
He spent nearly twenty silver dollars on the wire, telegraphing varioustowns to secure a competent man. He sent a friend to the Governmentoffice, where Lawrence was up to his ears in work, and procured all thedata, including metes and bounds, of the reservation tract before itsfateful opening.
The day was consumed in the petty affairs attendant upon such acampaign. When his three old partners went away to their work at fouro'clock in the afternoon, a wire had come from far out north that a manwho was competent to run the line was starting for Goldite forthwith.
The moonless night, at ten o'clock, found Van alone at his tent. Fromthe top of the hill whereon he had camped a panoramic view of all thetown swung far in both directions. The glare of the lamps, the noiseof life--even the odor of man upon the air--impinged upon his senseshere, as he sat before the door and gazed far down upon it. He thoughtthat man with his fire, smells, and din made chaos in a spot that wasotherwise sacred to nature.
He thought of the ceaseless persistence with which the human familyhaunts all the corners of the earth, pursues life's mysteries, invadesits very God. He thought of this desert as a place created barren,lifeless, dead, and severe for some inscrutable purpose--perhaps evenfashioned by the Maker as His place to be alone. But the haunter wasthere with his garish town, his canvas-tented circus of a day, and Godhad doubtless moved.
How little the game amounted to, at the end of a man's short span!What a senseless repetition it seemed--the same old comedies, the sameold tragedies, the same old bits of generosity, and greed, of weakness,hope, and despair! Except for a warm little heartful of love--ah_love_! He paused at that and laughed, unmirthfully. That was thething that made of it a Hades, or converted the desert into heaven!
"Dreamers! dreamers--all of us!" he said, and he went within to flattendown his blankets for the night.
He had finally blown out his candle and stretched himself upon theground, to continue his turmoil of thinking, when abruptly his sharpear caught at a sound as of someone slipping on a stone that turned,just out upon the slope. He sat up alertly.
Half a minute passed. Then something heavy lurched against the tent,the flap was lifted, and a man appeared, stooped double as if in pain.
"Who's there?" demanded Van. "Is that you, Gett?" He caught up hisgun, but it and the hand that held it were invisible.
"It'
s me," said a voice--a croaking voice. "Matt Barger."
He fell on the floor, breathing in some sort of anguish, and Van strucka match, to light the candle.
The flame flared blindingly inside the canvas whiteness. A great,moving shadow of Van was projected behind him on the wall. The lightgleamed brightly from his gun. But it fell on an inert mass whereBarger had fallen to the earth.
He did not move, and Van, mechanically igniting the candle's wick,while he eyed the man before him, beheld dry blood, and some that wasfresh, on the haggard face, on the tattered clothing, and even on oneloose hand.
"Barger!" he said. "What in thunder, man----"
The outlaw rallied his failing strength and raised himself up on onehand. He could barely speak, but his lips attempted a smile.
"I thought I heard you--call fer the joker," he said, "and so--I come."
Van was up. He saw that the man had been literally shot to pieces.One of his arms was broken. A portion of his scalp was gone. He waspierced in the body and leg. He had met the posse, fought his fight,escaped with wounds that must have stopped any animal on earth, andthen had dragged himself to Van, to repay his final debt.
"I haven't called--I haven't called for anything," said Van. "You'rewounded, man, you're----"
Barger rose up weakly to his knees.
"Need the money, don't you--now?" he interrupted. "You can--use thereward, I guess."
"Good God, I don't want that kind of money!" Van exclaimed. "Who gotyou, Matt--who got you?"
"Sheriff," said the convict dispassionately. "Good man, Christler--anda pretty good shot--but I got away with his lead."
He slumped again, like a waxen thing on melting props, deprived of allsupport.
Van plunged out to the water bench, with its bucket, near the door. Hebrought back a basin of water, knelt on the ground, and bathed theconvict's face. He poured some liquor between the dead-white lips. Heslashed and unbuttoned the clothing and tried to staunch the wounds.He bound up the arm, put a bandage on the leg and body, continuing fromtime to time to dash cold water in the pallid, bearded face.
Barger had fainted at last. What hideous tortures the fellow hadendured to drag and drive himself across the mountain roughnesses towin to this tent, Van could but weakly imagine.
The convict finally opened his eyes and blinked in the light of thecandle.
"What in hell--was the use of my comin' here," he faltered, "if youdon't take the money--the reward?"
"I don't want it!" said Van. "I told you that before."
Barger spoke with difficulty.
"It's different now; they've--got you in a hole. Van Buren, I'm yourmeat! I'm--nuthin' but meat, but you acted--as if I was a man!"
"We're all in a hole--it's life," said Van, continuing his attentionsto the wounds. "I don't want a cent of blood-money, Matt, if I have tostarve on the desert. Now lie where you are, and maybe go to sleep.You won't be disturbed here till morning."
"By mornin'--all hell can't--disturb me," Barger told him painfully,with something like a ghastly smile upon his lips. "I'm goin'--thereto see."
He lapsed off again into coma. Van feared the man was dead. Buthaving lived a stubborn life, Barger relinquished his hold unwillingly,despite his having ceased at last to care.
For nearly an hour Van worked above him, on the ground. Then the mannot only aroused as before, but sat up, propped on his arm.
"God, I had to--wake!" he said. "I was sure--forgettin' to tell you."
Van thought the fellow's mind was wandering.
"Lie down, Matt, lie down," he answered. "Try to take it easy."
"Too late--fer me to take--anything easy," replied the outlaw, speakingwith a stronger voice than heretofore. "Gimme a drink of whisky."
Van gave him the drink and he tossed it off at a draught.
"I said to myself I'd be--hanged if I'd tell you, that--day you cheatedthe quicksand," Barger imparted jerkily, "but you've got--a--right toknow. McCoppet and that--pal of his give Lawrence twentythousand--dollars, cash, to queer you on the--reservation line and runyou off your claim."
Van scrutinized the sunken face and glittering eyes with the closestattention.
"What's that?" he said. "Bought Lawrence to fake out the reservationline? Who told you, Matt? Who told you that?"
The convict seemed to gain in strength. He was making a terribleeffort to finish all he had to impart.
"Trimmer put me--on to all the game. It was him that told me--you wasgoin' through, when I--pretty near got you, in the pass."
Van's eyes took on a deep intensity.
"Trimmer? Trimmer?"
"Larry Trimmer--Pine-tree Trimmer," explained the convict impatiently."McCoppet--wanted you detained, the day they--jumped your claim.Lawrence--he run the line out crooked fer--twenty thousand bucks.Culver was put away by Cayuse, mebbe because--he was square--Larrywasn't sure---- I guess--that's all, but it ought to--help you some."
He dropped himself down and languidly closed his eyes.
"Good heavens, man," said Van, still staring, "are you sure of whatyou're saying?"
There was no response for a time. Then Barger murmured:
"Excuse me, Van Buren, fer--bein' so damn--long--dyin'."
"You're not dying, Matt--go to sleep," said. Van. "I'll be herebeside you, all night."
He sat down, got up and sat down again, stirred to the depths of hisbeing by the story the man had revealed. Beth's money, then, had gonefor this, to bribe a Government agent! A tumult of mad, revengefulthoughts went roaring through his mind. A grim look came upon hisface, and fire was flashing from his eyes. He arose and sat down adozen times, all the while looking at the worn, broken figure that layon the earth at his feet. What an ill-used, gaunt, and exhausted frameit was, loose and abandoned by the strength that once had filled itwith vigor and might. What a boyish look had come at last upon thehaggard, sunken face!
The night wind was chill. He had forgotten for himself, but he thoughtof it now for Barger. He laid his blankets on the inert limbs and uparound the shoulders.
Perhaps another hour went by, with Van still sleepless by his charge.The convict stirred.
"Van--Buren," he said in a hoarse, rattling whisper, "Van----"
Van was instantly alert.
"Hello."
Barger partially raised his hand.
"So long,"--and the hand dropped downward.
"Matt!" answered Van, quickly kneeling on the earth. He caught up thefingers, felt their faint attempt to close upon his own--and the man onthe ground was dead.