The Desert Fiddler Part 18

"I reckon that'll be satisfactory," agreed Noah. "But any Sat.u.r.day night you find yourself a little short on net profits, you can buy my share for about twenty dollars in real money."

As they crossed the line Noah Ezekiel inquired:

"But if me and the Chinaman raise your cotton, what are you goin' to do?"

"Raise more cotton," Bob answered. "You know," he spoke what had been in his mind all the time, "I never saw anything I wanted as much as that Red b.u.t.te Ranch. It is on that Dillenbeck System and its water costs about twice as much as on the regular ca.n.a.ls, but it is rich enough to make up the difference."

"Well, why don't you get it?" asked Noah. "Reedy Jenkins is goin' to lose all his leases inside of a month if he doesn't sell 'em; and with cotton at six cents, they ain't shovin' each other off of Reedy's stairway tryin' to get to him first. It's my idea that a fellow could buy out the Red b.u.t.te for a song, and hire a parrot to sing it for a cracker."

"But that is the smallest part of it," said Bob. "To farm that five thousand acres in cotton this season would take round a hundred thousand dollars, and," he laughed, "I lack considerable over ninety-nine thousand of having that much."

"Lend it to yourself out of money you are lending for old Crill,"

suggested Noah.

After Bob dropped Noah at the Greek restaurant--"Open Day and Night--Waffles"--he drove down the street, stopped in front of an office building, and went up to see a lawyer that he knew.

"T. J.," he began at once, "I want you to see what is the lowest dollar that will buy the Red b.u.t.te Ranch and its equipment. Reedy Jenkins can't farm it, and he can't afford to pay $15,000 rent and let it lie idle. You ought to be able to get it cheap. Get a rock-bottom offer, but don't by any means let him know who wants it."

As Bob went down the stairs his head was fairly whizzing with plans.

This thing had taken strong hold of him. He had longed for many months to get possession of that ranch but had never seriously thought of it as a possibility. But if Jim Crill would risk the money, it would be the great opportunity. Five thousand acres of cotton might make a big fortune in one year.

"Of course"--doubt had its inning as he drove north toward El Centro--"if he failed it would mean, instead of a fortune, a lifetime debt." Yet he was so feverishly hopeful he let out the little machine a few notches beyond the speed limit. At El Centro he went direct to the Crill bungalow.

Mrs. Barnett opened the door when he knocked, opened it about fourteen inches, and stood looking at him as though he were a leper and had eaten onions besides.

"Is Mr. Crill in?" Bob asked.

"Mr. Crill is not in." She bit off each word with the finality of a closed argument and shut the door with a whack so decisive it was almost a slam.

Bob found Jim Crill in the lobby of the hotel, smoking; he sat down by him, and concentrated for a moment on the line of argument he had thought out.

"Mr. Crill, cotton is selling at six cents now. It won't go any lower."

"It doesn't need to as far as I'm concerned." The old gentleman puffed his pipe vigorously.

"It will be at least ten cents this fall." Bob was figuring on the back of an old envelope. "Much more next year."

Then he opened up on the Red b.u.t.te Ranch. Bob never did such talking in his life. He knew every step of his plan, for he had thought out fifty times just what he would do with that ranch if he had it. He outlined this plan clearly and definitely to Jim Crill. He carefully estimated every expense, and allowed liberally for incidentals. He figured the lowest probable price for cotton, and in addition discussed the possibilities of failure.

"I feel sure," he concluded, definitely, "that I can put it through, that I can make from fifty to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in profits on one crop. If you want to risk it and stake me, I'll go fifty-fifty on the profits."

"No partnership for me," Crill shook his head vigorously. He had made some figures on an envelope and sat scowling at them. He had a good deal of idle money. It this crop paid out--and he felt reasonably sure Bob would make it go--it would give him $10,000 interest on the $100,000; and his half of the cotton seed would be worth at least $10,000 more. Twenty thousand returns against nothing was worth some risk.

"Besides," added Bob, "the lease itself, if cotton goes up, will be worth fifty thousand next year."

"That's what Reedy Jenkins said," remarked the old gentleman, dryly.

"Just left here an hour ago--wanted to borrow money to pay the rent this year and let the land lie idle."

Bob's heart beat uneasily. "Did you lend it to him?"

"No!" The old man almost spat the word out. "He owes me too much already."

For two minutes, three, four, Jim Crill smoked and Bob waited, counting the thump of his heartbeats in his temple.

"I'll let you have the hundred thousand," he said directly. "I've watched you; I know an honest man when I see one."

Bob's spirits went up like a rocket; but his mind quickly veered round to Reedy Jenkins.

"This will make Reedy Jenkins about the maddest man in America," he remarked. He knew now that Reedy would fight him to the bitterest end.

Jim Crill grinned. "So'll Evy be mad. You fight Reedy, and I'll--run."

CHAPTER XIX

Imogene Chandler was washing the breakfast dishes out under the canopy of arrow-weed roof, where they ate summer and winter. The job was quickly done, for the breakfast service was very abbreviated. She took a broad-brimmed straw hat from a nail on the corner post, and swinging it in her hand, for the sun was yet scarcely over the rim of the Red b.u.t.tes far to the east, went out across the field to where her father was already at work.

March is the middle of spring in the Imperial Valley and already the gra.s.s grew thick beside the water ditches, and leaves were full grown on the cottonwood trees. The sunlight, soft through the dewy early morning, filled the whole valley with a yellow radiance. And out along the water course a meadowlark sang.

The girl threw up her arm swinging the hat over her head. She wanted to shout. She felt the sweeping surge of spring, the call of the wind, the glow of the sunlight, the boundless freedom of the desert. She had never felt so abounding in exuberant hope. It had been hard work to hold on to this lease, a fight for bread at times. But wealth was here in this soil and in this sun. And more than wealth. There was health and liberty in it. No heckling social restrictions, no vapid idle piffle at dull teas; no lugubrious pretence of burdensome duties. Here one slept and ate and worked and watched the changing light, and breathed the desert air and lived. It was a good world.

The girl stopped and crumbled some of the newly plowed earth under the toe of a trim shoe. How queer that after all these hundreds and thousands of years the stored chemicals of this land should be released, and turned by those streams of water into streams of wealth--fleecy cotton, luscious fruit and melons, food and clothes.

And what nice people lived out here. The Chinamen who worked in the field, quaint and friendly and faithful. Even the Mexicans with their less industrious and more tricky habits were warm hearted and courteous. That serenading Madrigal was very interesting--and handsome. He had fire in him; perhaps dangerous fire, but what a contrast to the vapid white-collared clerks or professors in the prim little eastern town she had known.

Of course Bob Rogeen did not like him. Imogene instinctively put up her hand and brushed the wind-blown hair from her forehead, and smiled.

Bob was jealous.

But what a man Rogeen was! She had believed there were such men so un.o.btrusively generous and chivalrous. But no one she had ever known before was quite like Bob Rogeen. She remembered the black hair that cl.u.s.tered thickly over his temples, and the whimsical twist of his mouth, and the reticent but unafraid brown eyes.

She had thought many, many times of Rogeen, and always it seemed that he filled in just what was wanting in this desert--warmth of human fellowship. Always she thought of him just north over there--out of sight but very near. True he came very rarely. She wrinkled her forehead and rubbed the end of her nose with a forefinger. Why was that? Why didn't he come oftener? Wasn't she interesting? Didn't he approve of her?

A rea.s.suring warmth came up to her face and neck. Yes, she believed he did. His eyes looked it when he thought she was not noticing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Holy Joe shanghaies Imogene's ranchmen and discovers Percy--a willing ally.]

She reached down and picked up a stick and threw it with a quick, impulsive gesture into the water and watched it float on down the ditch. Yes, she was pretty sure Rogeen liked her--but how much? Oh, well--she took a dozen girlish skips along the path, her hair flying about her face, and her heart dancing with the early sun on the green fields before her and the brown desert beyond--oh, well, time would tell.

"Daddy," she had come up to where the little bald-headed man was plowing--throwing up the ridges, "don't you like spring?"

The ex-professor stopped the team, looked at her through his gla.s.ses, then glanced around the field at the gra.s.s and weeds and early plants that were up.

"I believe," he said, mildly, "that we are approaching the vernal equinox. But I had not observed before the gradual unfoldment of vegetation which we have come to a.s.sociate in our minds with spring."

"Oh, daddy, daddy," she laughed deliciously, and leaned over the handle of the plow and pulled his ear. "You funny, funny man. Why, it's spring, it's spring! Don't you feel it in your bones? Don't you love the whole world and everybody?"

Professor Chandler seriously contemplated the skyline, where the sunlight showed red on the distant b.u.t.tes. "I should say, daughter, that it does give one a feeling of kinship with nature. I fancy the early Greeks felt it."