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CHAPTER XIX
The Enigma

The heights and depths of life are sounded by emotions–cold reason lags behind. As thought cannot compass, so words cannot describe the anguished spirit’s flight; and whether it soars to ecstasy or sinks to despair it comes back wide-eyed and silent. So any action which has been prompted by passion cannot be explained by a calculating mind, and to seek a reason where none exists is to stray still farther from the truth. Virginia Huff was poor and waited on the table for what she could eat and get to wear; and when she returned stock which was worth twelve hundred dollars without even a note of thanks it was not for any reason of the mind. It was a reason of the feelings, the soul, the human ego, which drives our minds and bodies to their tasks; a reason that soared up like a flaming aurora and stabbed the darkened sky with hate and passion. It was nothing to reason about, and yet Wiley reasoned.

He put down the stocks and lit his lamp and examined the package carefully. Then he looked inside for some note of explanation and paused and swore to himself. No note was there, nor any sign that the stocks had ever passed through her hands. He rose up craftily and stepped out the door, passing silently from house to house, and then as he came back he threw his door open and examined the snow for tracks. If Death Valley Charley had failed of his mission, if he had neglected to place the shares in her stocking and then sneaked back to get rid of them–but Wiley put all thought of Charley aside for there in the snow was the print of a woman’s shoe. Small and dainty it was and he knew in his heart that Virginia had been there and gone. She might have been watching him as he sat at his work, she might even be watching him now; but again something told him that, however she had come, she had gone away in a rage. The stab of the high heel, the heedless step into a mud-puddle, the swinging stride down the trail; all spoke of defiance, of a coming in the open and a return without fear of man or devil. She had come there to see him and, finding him away, she had thrown down the papers and gone home. And that was the answer to his love.

Wiley sat down by the fire and tried to account for it. He imagined himself a woman, young and beautiful, but poor; working hard, as Virginia now worked, for her board and keep. Before her there was nothing–her father was dead or lost, her mother a hopeless scold, her fortune irretrievably gone–and yet she closed the only door out. As an earnest of his love, without asking anything in return, he had restored to her a portion of her stock; and she had promptly flung it back. Had Charley made some break in his method of presentation? But no, she would not mind if he had; it was something deeper, behind. He battered his brain, recalling every little incident that might have turned her heart against him, and it all brought him back to the trial.

When he had had her mother arrested for coming into his office and demanding–what was it she had demanded? He remembered the six-shooter, and the deputy and Blount, and the Widow’s rage and tears; and Virginia’s return and all she had said to him–but what was it her mother had demanded? Her stock! All her stock! The stock she had refused to sell for ten cents a share and then had turned around and put up with Blount as security on a quick-action note. She had demanded it all back, without reason, without compensation, simply because she was a woman with a gun; and because he had invoked the law to protect him in his rights Virginia had sworn she would kill him. Wiley rose up swiftly and pulled the curtain across the window, and then he considered the matter again.

It was not like Virginia to resort to any violence–she had been humiliated too often by her mother’s–but she must still think he had deprived her of her rights. By what process of reasoning could they fix the blame on him for this stock which had been purloined by Blount, was beyond his strictly masculine mind; but women sometimes think by jumps. They skip a few processes, like a mathematical prodigy, and then arrive at some mammoth result. But, even if they exaggerated their grievance–was there anything behind it, any peg on which to hang this senseless hate?

Well, of course he had deceived them about the mine. He had known it contained scheelite the moment he picked up that white rock that Virginia had placed in her collection, but naturally he had not announced it from the house-tops. With the Widow as a partner, or even as a stockholder, the best-natured man in the state of Nevada could not have worked the Paymaster at a profit. For that reason alone he had been fully justified in letting her freeze herself out; and if Virginia had taken his advice–but then, the poor girl had been distracted. She had been worn out and discouraged, hag-ridden by her mother and facing a trip to the city; and she had sold out for what she could get. She was a good girl, a brave girl, and a sweet and lovely one too; and it was foolish to blame her for anything. The thing to do, after all, was to find ways and means of bringing her back to her own. Just a word from Virginia and he could change her whole life, he could get back all her stock and her mother’s as well and pour money into their laps–but first he must win her love. He must teach her to trust him, break down her suspicion and show her that he was her friend.

Wiley thought a long time and the next morning at dawn he was up in his car and away. Virginia was a child. She did not reason about this and that, but was swayed by the impulses of the moment. Her life was ruled, not by her head but by her heart; and he had forgotten until that moment the sacks full of cats that he had taken from her house to the ranch. They were all her pets, and he had taken them as a trust when she was about to start for Los Angeles; but the mine had made him forget. They were safe at the ranch, with his sisters to look after them; but how many times since their estrangement began must some question have risen to her lips as to how they were, or if he would bring them back, or whether any had died or been lost? Yet she had turned her head away and refused to speak to him, even to demand back the pets she loved.

The road was bad out across the desert, and on through Vegas to the ranch, but he came thundering back the next night. He had left the mine to run itself, for his thoughts were of Virginia, but as he slowed down at the sand-wash and listened for the pumps he noticed that the engine had stopped. Well, he had an engineer and that was his business–to keep the sump-hole pumped out; perhaps he had shut down for repairs. But the big thing, after all, was to restore Virginia her pets and win his way to a place in her heart. He drove boldly up the street and stopped before the house, but nobody came to the door. He waited a while, then leapt out uncertainly and released the mother of Virginia’s pet kittens. She ran under the house and, as no one came out, Wiley let the rest of them go and turned disconsolately back towards the mine. If he had ever thought, when he had the Widow arrested, that Virginia was going to take it so hard–but then, of course, it had been absolutely necessary–and just wait till she found her kittens!

There was trouble in the engine-house. He knew that the minute he saw the dancing torches in the dark, and he went up the trail on the run; but when he saw the wreckage, and the gear-wheel dismounted, he burst into a wailing curse. The mine had been all right, pumps operating, hoist running, when he had left the day before; but the minute he turned his back─

“What’s the matter?” he demanded and then, pushing the engineer aside, he flashed a torch on the wreck. Wedged in the gearing of the shattered gear-wheel was a pair of engineer’s overalls. They had jammed tight in the teeth and the resistless driving of the engine had cracked the great gear-wheel like an eggshell. Held solid by its base in the bolted concrete there had not been a half-inch’s play and, since something must give, and the opposing wheel had stood, the enormous casting had smashed. The engineer and his helpers were pottering about, trying guiltily to remove the cause of the accident, but one look was enough to tell Wiley Holman that his mine was closed down for a week. No welding could ever repair that broken gear-wheel–he would have to wire for another.

“Whose overalls are those?” he asked at last as the men sought to evade his eye and the engineer himself confessed ownership.

“They’re an old pair of mine,” he explained, “that got caught when I was wiping up the grease.”

“What? Wiping up grease when the machinery was in motion? Why didn’t you wait until it stopped?”

“Well–I didn’t; that’s all. There was a big puddle of grease gathering dirt underneath there–and I thought I’d wipe it up.”

“I see,” observed Wiley and his eyes narrowed down as he caught the aroma of whiskey. “Well, clear up this mess,” he said at last and hurried to his office to telephone. A single line of wire stretched out across the plain, connecting Keno with Vegas and the world, and within half an hour he had dictated a rush order to be wired to his supply-house in Los Angeles. If money would buy it he would grab a new gear-wheel and have it shipped out by express; but if there was none in stock he would have to wait for it; and the machine-shops were months behind. Yet his whole mine was shut down on account of this accident and, if he only had the money, he could almost afford to buy a new engine and be done with it. He stopped and thought if there was one in the country that he could get hold of, second-hand, and then he thrust the matter aside. The problem of getting an engine on the ground was one that could be worked out later, but in the meanwhile the water was rising in the sump and the pumps would soon be submerged. There were two shifts of miners who would have to be discharged and–yes, the engine crew, too. It was against all the rules for an engineer to be wiping up his engine while it was running, and it was only by a miracle that the engineer himself had escaped unhurt from the smash?

But was it a miracle? A swift stab of suspicion made Wiley’s heart stand still. Was this the first treacherous move in Blount’s battle to win back the mine? Had Blount, or some agent, suggested to the engineer that an accident would be followed by a reward; and then had not the engineer, when no one was looking, fed his overalls into the gearings? He was a surly young brute and he met Wiley’s eyes with a stare that bordered on defiance, yet there was nothing to be gained by accusing him. If Blount had bribed his men it was best to get rid of them without the faintest suggestion of suspicion; and then take on a new crew, shipped in from San Francisco or some equally distant place.

Wiley went underground with his men, opening up the air-cocks in the pumps, and bringing out the powder and steel; and then the next morning, just before the stage went out, he gave them all their time. They had a certain constraint, a sullen silence in his presence, that argued them against him at heart and, since the mine was closed down for some time to come, he made a clean sweep of them all. Yet it pained him somehow, being new at the game, to see all these miners against him and as they piled their rolls on the stage he lingered to see them off. He had paid them union wages and treated them right but now, with their time-checks in their pockets, they looked past him in stony silence. It puzzled him somehow, leaving him vaguely uneasy; but just as the stage pulled out he found the answer to his enigma. On the gallery of the Huff house as the automobile sped past there was a sudden flash of white and as Virginia appeared the young engineer rose up drunkenly and wafted her a kiss. After that the answer was plain.

CHAPTER XX
An Appeal to Charley

What is a kiss waved by a drunken hand, to a man whose love is like the hills? And yet that kiss, wafted so amorously to Virginia, stirred up a rage in Wiley Holman’s heart. Was it not enough to wait on the table, without cultivating the acquaintance of her boarders? And this foolish affair, whatever it was, had cost him at least ten thousand dollars. It would come to that before he was through with it–in lost time and new machinery and unearned profits–and all because Virginia had smiled at this drunken engineer, who had promptly sent his overalls through the driving-gear. Yet that was the natural result of letting his men board in town where they could hear the Widow’s ravings against him.

In the midst of his telephoning and giving directions to his mill-crew, who were still rushing their work on the mill, Wiley turned the matter over in his mind and it left him sick with doubts. He had counted upon the opposition of Blount, but Virginia’s almost staggered him. It would make a difference, before his six months was up, if she set all his men against him, and yet he could not stop her. If he withdrew his men and boarded them himself that would only inflame the neighborhood the more, for it would deprive the Huffs of their livelihood; and if he let things go on it might result in more wrecks that would seriously interfere with his plans. No, the thing to do was to see Virginia at once and come to an understanding.

A telegram from his supply-house reported the engine an old type with all parts out of stock, and he worked for hours making tedious measurements before he ordered the new gear-wheel made. Then he sent an urgent wire to rush him the new engine that had been ordered to supply power to the mill, only to be told once more that it was held up by previous orders and could not be delivered for a month. A month! And with the water mounting up in his shaft like the interest on his notes. It was no time for half measures. He leapt into his racer and burned up the road to Vegas. Three days later he returned with an old gas engine that he had salvaged from an abandoned mine and by the end of the week, by working day and night, he had the pumps lifting water. And then again he remembered Virginia.

He had thought of her, of course, when he was speeding to and fro, but he was hardly in the mood for sentiment. There were more things to go wrong than he had thought humanly possible in the management of a mine, and between ordering his machinery and taking on new men he had had scant leisure for affairs of the heart. He was young and inexperienced and the dealers took advantage of it to foist off old stock and odd parts, and then his engineers became fractious and disgruntled because he expected quick results. It was all very different from what he had expected when he had taken over the Paymaster lease, and yet it had to be endured and muddled through somehow until the mine was safely his own. Then out would come the engines, and all second-hand machinery and makeshift parts, and with a superintendent who knew his job he would lean back in comfort and learn the mining business by proxy.

Wiley shaved that evening and went down through the town, but when he put his hand on the Widow’s gate his resolution failed him. He had placed her under bonds to keep the peace, and she had lived up to the undertaking scrupulously, but within her own house she had certain rights and privileges which even he dared not invade. If he stepped in that doorway she would order him out; and unquestionably she would be within her rights, since every man’s house is his castle. So, on the very threshold of Virginia’s retreat, he drew back and went to see Death Valley Charley.

Death Valley was drunk, but his conscience was still active and he burst into a voluble explanation.

“No, I gave her that stock,” he protested earnestly, “but she made me take it back.

“‘It ain’t mine,’ she says, ‘and I’ll work my hands off before I’ll take charity from anybody.’

“‘No, you keep it,’ I says, just exactly like you tole me, ‘because I’m your guardian, and all; and Wiley he says that I’m a hell of a poor one, because I sold him that stock for nothing. No,’ I says, just exactly like you tole me, ‘I want you to keep this stock.’”

“Well?” inquired Wiley, as Charley paused to take a drink, “and what did Virginia say, then?”

“Oh, I couldn’t repeat it,” answered Death Valley virtuously. “She don’t seem to like you now. She says you stole her mine.”

“Huh!” grunted Wiley, and looked about the cabin which was littered with bottles and flasks. “Well, where’ve youbeen?” he went on at last, the better to change the subject, and Charley leered at him shrewdly.

“Over across Death Valley,” he chanted drunkenly, “–on the east side, in the Funeral Range. But they put me to work on the graveyard shift so I quit and come back to town.”

“Ye-es,” jeered Wiley, “you’ve been on a big drunk. What are you doing with this demijohn of whiskey?”

“Why, I got it for the Colonel,” replied Charley, laughing childishly, “and I started to take it over to him, but my burros got away at Daylight Springs, so I made camp and drunk it all up.”

“But it’s full!” objected Wiley.

“Yes, I refilled it,” answered Charley and helped himself to another nip. “Thas second time now I took that whiskey to the Colonel and both times I drunk it up. Thas bad–the Colonel will kill me.”

“Yes, and do a danged good job,” grumbled Wiley morosely. “You sure got me in Dutch with Virginia.”

“She says you stole her mine,” defended Charley stoutly. “And don’t you say nothing against Virginia. She’s noblest girl the sun ever shined. I’ll killany man that says different!”

“Oh yes, sure,” agreed Wiley, “I’d do that myself. But Charley, I didn’t steal her mine. I got it from Blount, and if she wants it back–say, Charley, you tell her I want to see her!”

He leaned over eagerly and laid his hand on Charley’s shoulder, but Death Valley shook him off.

“No!” he declaimed. “The Huffs are poor but proud–they don’t take charity from no one!”

“Aw, but, Charley,” he argued, “this isn’t charity. We’ll get it away from Blount!”

“You’re drunk!” declared Charley and turned sternly to the demijohn which was rapidly going down.

“Well, maybe I am,” admitted Wiley craftily, “but that’s all right, isn’t it, between friends?”

“Sure thing–have another!” responded Charley cordially, and Wiley poured out a generous portion.

“Here’s to you,” he said, “Old Chuckawalla Charley–the man that put the Death in Death Valley. You’re some desert rat, now ain’t you, Charley? You helped pack the mud to build the butte and stoped out the guest chamber down in hell! Well, here’s luck!” and he nodded his health.

“Yes, you bet I’m an old-timer,” boasted Death Valley vaingloriously. “I was at Panamint and Ballarat, and all them camps. Me and old Shorty Harris–we used to lead every rush–we was first at Greenwater and Skidoo. But these damned lizzies can beat us to it now–the old burro-man is too slow.”

“But crossing the sand, Charley, you’ve got us there; and climbing up these rocky washes. I’ve got a good machine–it’ll take me most anywhere–but when it comes to crossing Death Valley, give me some burros and old Uncle Charley.” He slapped him on the back and Uncle Charley smiled doubtfully and took another drink. “You bet,” went on Wiley, with method in his madness. “I’d like nothing better, when I get a little time, than to have you take me out across Death Valley. What’s it like, over there, Charley? Is it very far to water? But I’ll bet you know every trail!”

“I know ’em all,” announced Charley proudly, “but here’s one that nobody knows. It’s the trail to the Ube-Hebes. First you go from here to Daylight Springs, but they ain’t no feed around there, so you go over the divide and down six miles and camp at Hole-in-the-Rock. And there they’s good feed and plenty of good water and a tin house where the freighters used to camp; and then you fill your tanks and the next day you follow the wash till it takes you down to Stovepipe Wells. That water is bad but the burros will drink it if you bail the hole out first, and the next day you cross the sand-hills and the Death Valley Sink and head for Cottonwood wash. Many is the man that has started for that gateway and died before he reached the water, but the Colonel─”

Charley stopped abruptly and looked around for Heine and then he poured out a drink.

“He’s dead now,” he concluded, but Wiley caught his eye and shook his head disapprovingly.

“Not between friends,” he said. “Ain’t we drunk here together? Well, tell me the truth now–where is he? And listen here, Charley; I’ll tell you something first that will make it all right with the Colonel. All he has to do is to come back to Keno and I’ll give him his share in the mine. Then we can throw in together, and, when we get through, old Blount will be left holding the sack. Do you get the idea? I’m trying to be friends, but you’ve got to take me over to the Colonel!”

“The Colonel is dead!” repeated Charley doggedly and then he cocked his head to one side. “Don’t you hear ’em?” he asked, “it’s them Germans or something─”

“Never mind!” said Wiley sharply. “I’m talking about the Colonel, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I can’t give the mine to Virginia because she won’t take it; but the Colonel is a gentleman. He’s reasonable, Charley, and I’d get along with him fine; so come on, now–go over and tell him!”

He patted him on the back and a look of indecision crept into Charley’s drink-dimmed eyes, but in the end he shook his head.

“Nope,” he muttered, “the Colonel is dead!” And Wiley threw up his hands.

“Well, then here,” he ran on, “you know me Charley; and you know I’m not trying to steal that mine. Now here’s what I want you to do. You tell Virginia I want to see her; and then some night you bring her over and–well, maybe that will do just as well.”

“Will you give her back her mine?” inquired Charley pointedly, and Wiley rose up in a rage.

“Yes!” he yelled, “for cripes’ sake, what’s the matter with you? You talk like everybody was a crook. Didn’t I give her back her stock? Well then, I’ll give her back her mine! But she’s got to accept it, hasn’t she?”

“That was her I heard coming,” answered Charley simply, but when Wiley looked out she was gone.