The Desert Fiddler

  CHAPTER VI

  Three days after Bob had returned from Los Angeles and found that ReedyJenkins had bought the Benson lease, he rode up from the Mexican sideand jumped off in front of the hardware store. Dayton was talking tothe old man with bushy eyebrows and a linen duster.

  "Here's Rogeen now," said the implement dealer. "Mr. Crill was justinquiring about you, Bob."

  The two men shook hands.

  "How you comin'?" asked the old man, his blue eyes looking sharply intoRogeen's.

  "I'm starting in on my own," replied Bob; "going to raise cotton overthe line."

  "Why?" The heavy brows worked frowningly.

  "Got to win through." Bob's brows also contracted and he shook hishead resolutely. "And I can't do it working by the month. Some mencan, but I can't."

  "See that?" The old gentleman pointed to a tractor with ten plowsattached. "That's success. Those plows are good and the engine isgood; but it's only when they are hooked up together they are worthtwenty teams and ten men. That's the way to multiply results--hookgood things together. Resolution and hard work aren't enough. Got tohave brains. Got to use 'em. Organize your forces.

  "Don't tell me," the old chap spoke with some heat, "that a man whouses his brains and by one day's work makes something that saves amillion men ten days' work is only entitled to one day's pay. Not abit of it. He's entitled to part of what he saves every one of thosemillion men. That's the difference between a little success and a bigsuccess. The little one makes something for himself; the big one makessomething for a thousand men--and takes part of it. Has a right to.Those Chinamen across the line get sixty-five cents a day. If you canmanage them so they earn a dollar and a half a day and give them adollar and thirty cents of it and keep twenty cents, you are a publicbenefactor as well as a smart man. That is the way to do it; use yourbrains to increase other men's production and take a fair per cent. ofit, and you'll be both rich and honest."

  Bob's brown eyes were eagerly attentive. He liked this cryptic oldman. This was real stuff he was talking; and it was getting at thebottom of Rogeen's own problem. All these years he had tried toproduce value single-handed. But to win big, he must think, plan,organize so as to make money for many people, and therefore entitlehimself to large returns.

  "I'm going to try that very thing," he said. "I've just leased onehundred and sixty acres. Half already planted in cotton, and I'm goingto plant the rest."

  Bob was proud of his achievement. He had been really glad he failed toget the Red Butte Ranch. It was entirely too big to tackle withoutcapital or experience. But he had found a rancher anxious to turnloose his lease for about half what he had spent improving it. Rogeenthen convinced a cotton-gin man that he was a good risk; and offered togive him ten per cent. interest, half the cotton seed, and to gin thecrop at his mill if he would advance money sufficient to buy the leaseand raise the crop. The gin man had agreed to do it.

  Crill jerked his head approvingly. "Good move. That's the way to goat it. Think first, then work like the devil at the close of arevival."

  Crill paused, and then asked abruptly:

  "Know a man named Jenkins?"

  "Yes," replied Bob.

  "Is he safe?"

  Bob grinned. "About as safe as a rattlesnake in dog days."

  As Jim Crill stalked up the outside stairway of Reedy Jenkins' office,the wind whipping the tail of the linen duster about his legs, hecarried with him two very conflicting opinions of Reedy--Mrs. Barnett'sand Bob Rogeen's. Maybe one of them was prejudiced--possibly both.Well, he would see for himself.

  Reedy jumped up, gave his head a cordial fling, and grabbed Jim Crill'shand as warmly as though he were chairman of the committee welcomingthe candidate for vice-president to a tank-station stop. Reedyremembered very distinctly meeting Mr. Crill in Chicago five years ago.In fact, Mr. Crill had for a long time been Mr. Jenkins' ideal of thereal American business man--shrewd, quick to think, and fearless inaction; willing to take a chance but seldom going wrong.

  "Evy said you wanted to see me about borrowing some money," the old mandryly interrupted the flow of eloquence.

  "Yes--why, yes." Reedy brought up suddenly before he had naturallyreached his climax, floundered for a moment. "Why, yes, we have aninvestment that I thought would certainly interest you." Reedy haddecided not only to get the old man to finance the Red Butte purchasebut his whole project.

  He began to explain his maps and figures as volubly as though he wereselling the Encyclopedia Britannica, and again the old man cut in:

  "How many acres you got leased?"

  "Ten thousand--practically." Reedy paused to answer, his penciltouching the Dillenbeck Canal.

  "What did you pay for them?"

  "I got most of them for about a third to half what they cost theranchers."

  "Why did they sell so cheap?"

  "Oh," Reedy waved, vaguely evasive, "you know how that is; fellows arelike sheep--stampede into a country, and then one makes a break, andthey stampede out. Now that Benson has sold, a lot more of them willget cold feet."

  "Altogether how much money have you put in over there?"

  "Forty-two thousand dollars," replied Reedy, consulting a memorandum."You understand," he continued to explain, "I'm not a cotton grower atall; I am an investor. I'm dealing in leases; and I merely took overthe planted crop on the Benson leases because I got it so cheap thereis bound to be money in it."

  "What is it you want?" demanded Crill.

  "Seventy thousand or so for the lease and the crop. I have 8,000 acresalready planted, some of it coming up. I'll pay you 10 per cent. forthe money, and half the cotton seed, and give you first mortgage on thecrop. Those are the usual terms here."

  The sharp blue eyes under the shaggy brows had been investigating Reedyas they talked. He wanted to make loans, for he had a lot of idlemoney. "There are two sorts of men who pay their debts," the old mansaid to himself. "One who wants to owe more, and one who doesn't wantto owe anything." Jenkins would want to borrow more, therefore hewould pay his first loan. Even rascals are usually good pay when theyare making money. And it looked like this fellow would make money onthese leases. Anyway, Jim Crill moved a little annoyedly in his chairat the thought of his niece. It would be almost worth the risk to berid of Evy's nagging him about it.

  "Fix up the papers," he said, shortly, to Reedy's delight. He hadexpected to have to work much harder on the old man.

  The next morning after the interview with Jim Crill Bob was at thehardware store assembling the implements he had bought, when a tall,shambling hill billy sauntered up.

  "Hello, Noah Ezekiel Foster," said Bob, without looking up.

  "Hello," responded the hill billy. "Reckon you know a hoss at longrange."

  "Reckon I do." Bob resumed his whistling.

  "Don't also know somebody that wants a chauffeur for a tractor? Bensonsold out my job."

  "No." Bob straightened up and looked at the lank fellow appraisingly."But I know a fellow who wants a chauffeur for a team of mules."

  Noah Ezekiel shook his head. "Me and mules have parted ways a longtime ago. I prefer gasoline." Then in a moment: "Who is the fellow?"

  Bob grinned and tapped himself. "I'm the man."

  Noah Ezekiel shook his head again.

  "You look too all-fired industrious; I'd rather work for a fellow thatlives at Los Angeles."

  Bob laughed. "Just as you like."

  But Noah Ezekiel ventured one more question:

  "You workin' for Reedy Jenkins?"

  "Not much!" Bob put emphasis in that.

  "Where is your ranch?"

  "On the road a couple of miles north of Chandler's."

  The hill billy's forehead wrinkled and his eyes looked off into emptyspace.

  "I reckon I'll change my mind. I'll take the job. How much am Igettin' a month?"