The Mesa Trail Part 6

Only then, it seemed, a sudden thought shook the man.

"_Dios_-I forgot!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "I forgot to ask her about the permit for the explosives! Well, I warned her in the note. What matter? These incidents of destiny are intended to work out their own effects, and good somehow comes from everything. I am a philosopher!"

Blissfully unconscious whether philosophy might be of aid in running a flivver, Mrs. Crump headed southward over the river road to Albuquerque.

A rough road is that, and well travelled. Mrs. Crump was in some haste to get over this section un.o.bserved, and it was entirely evident that her haste was greater than her caution regarding the jiggling boxes in the rear of the car.

More than once the two men in the tonneau stared quickly at each other's white faces; more than once the boxes and bundles crashed and banged fearsomely, in view of their partial contents; but Mrs. Crump only threw in more gas and plunged ahead. As for Thaddeus Roscius Shea, he stared out upon the pa.s.sing scenery with glazed and lack-l.u.s.tre eyes, and held his peace.

When at last they arrived in the outskirts of Albuquerque, Mrs. Crump paused at a wayside station to fill up with oil and gasoline, also to refill several emptied water bags which formed part of the equipment.

"We ain't goin' into town," she vouchsafed, curtly, to her charges. "And when we gets reaching out over the mesa, you two boys act tender with them boxes! They's two-three places we got to ford cattle runs, and we got to do it sudden to keep out of the quicksands. But don't worry no more, there ain't no special danger."

The advice was entirely superfluous. Gilbert and Lewis could by no means have worried more. They had reached the limit.

Barely skimming the outlying streets of Albuquerque, Mrs. Crump avoided the better-known highway beside the railroad and took the shorter but deserted road that leads south over the mesa to Becker. Most of this was covered before darkness descended upon them.

Then a brief and barren camp was made; it was also a fireless camp, and the "grub" was cold. Stiff and weary though the three pa.s.sengers were, it was clearly impossible that they should prove less tough than a mere woman. So, when after an hour's halt Mrs. Crump grimly cranked up, they piled into the car without protest.

On they went through the darkness. It was well after midnight when the iron nature of Mehitabel Crump acknowledged signs of approaching dissolution in the hand that rocked the steering wheel. Admitting her weakness with a sigh, she turned out of the interminable road and halted. Blanket rolls were unlashed, and sleep descended swiftly upon three members of that quartet.

It must be told that this camp was a milepost in the life of Thaddeus Roscius Shea. He could not sleep. A hundred yards away from the camp he strode up and down under the cold stars, his gaunt body shivering with the chill of the night, his haggard features contorted with the desperate anguish of shattered nerves. All the old impertinences of his soul were risen strong within him; he wanted to run away and end this intolerable situation. He wanted to run away, here and now!

Yet, when at length he clumsily wrapped himself in his blanket and fell asleep, tears beaded his hollow cheeks and reflected the pale starlight above; and like the stars, those tears were cleansing, and serenely sad.

The first tears he had shed in years-the tears of a man, wrung from deep within him; tears of brief conquest over himself. He would stick!

Sunrise found the dust-white flivver once more far afield.

The remaining details of that odyssey have no place here. The dust-white flivver came safely to its destination, and work duly began upon Number Sixteen. Days of hard, back-breaking labour ensued-days in which living quarters had to be erected before the claim could be touched. In those days Thaddeus Roscius Shea became, for good and all, Thady Shea.

Number Sixteen lay among the most desolate of desolate hills, just over the ridge of a long hogback. In the canon below there was a trickle of water from the mountains; beside this _rito_ were erected two rough shacks, and here the dust-white flivver rested peacefully. To the north towered the higher forested ranges whence came the canon-the continental divide, rugged crests leaping at the sky. Below, a few miles distant, stretched the bad lands and the lava beds; a scoriated, blasphemous strip such as is often found in the southwest. Behind this lay scattered ranches and the road into Zacaton City.

Up on that hogback, leaning upon his pick, stood Thady Shea. Gone was the threadbare black raiment, gone and replaced by overalls, high boots, flannel shirt. Shea was less conscious of his changed exterior than were those about him. Lewis and Gilbert, preparing a blasting charge a hundred feet distant, glanced at the great, gaunt figure.

"Bloomed out most amazing, ain't he?" said Lewis. "No tinhorn, neither.

Dead game."

Gilbert, cutting the fuse with deft fingers, wagged his head. "Sure looks that-a-way, partner. Reckon Mis' Crump knew her business, after all, when she tied up with him. Gosh! Ain't she one a-gile critter, though?"

Shea stood rocklike, watching the blast. Even in this short s.p.a.ce of time the swing of axe and pick had hardened him amazingly; his towering figure seemed to move with a more lissome flow of muscles; for the first time in his life, most wonderful of all, his deeply lined features had become centred about one fixed and determined purpose-to keep himself clean of liquor. He had conquered, and with the victory had come a new serenity.

The m.u.f.fled report of the blast echoed dully. From nowhere appeared Mrs.

Crump, hastily coming to the scene. Shea dropped his pick and joined the others. Mrs. Crump, examining the results of the blast, flung out an exultant cry.

"Got it!"

"Ain't much of a vein," observed Gilbert, skeptically. "Veins, rather-looks like a lot of 'em, and they go deep. This here limestone runs clear to Chiny, I reckon."

Mrs. Crump chuckled in a satisfied manner.

"These here veins don't never come big, Gilbert. Who'd think this here greenish-white stuff was better'n a gold seam? But she is. Well, never mind any more work a while, boys. I got a letter already writ, and when I fill in the size o' these here openings, she's ready to mail-and she's got to be sent sudden. These samples likewise.

"Let's see; I ain't goin' to town myself. Mackintavers' men are sure to be watchin' everywhere, and this here location has got to be kept secret if possible. I s'pose the devils will get it from the land office, though. Joe, can you and Al show up in Zacaton City without occasioning no rumpus?"

Gilbert shook his head doubtfully.

"I reckon not, ma'am. We're pretty well known there, and we ain't right sure how things is fixed for us. Still, it won't bother us none; if you say so, we'll go--"

"Nope; can't take no chances with the letter and samples, boys. It's up to Thady. He's learned how to run the car, anyhow. Thady, you got to send them samples and a letter. No one's goin' to suspect you of bein'

partners with me, and be sure to send the samples in your own name, savvy?

"They's enough gas to take you into Zacaton, and ye can bring a fresh supply when ye come back. Then we need more flour an' grub, for which same I got a list made out already. A new axe helve, too. Don't forget that there axe helve, whatever ye do! It ain't on the list-I guess ye can remember it all right. Sure, now! Don't come without it. How soon can ye get going?"

"Now," said Shea, a slight smile curving his wide lips.

CHAPTER V-THE AMBITION OF MACKINTAVERS

It is an established but peculiar trait of human nature, by which most of us desire to be that which we are not, or to do that for which we have no talent. I, who write, may aspire to be a great engineer; you, who read, may aspire to the study of the stars. We reach out toward that which we may never grasp.

Sandy Mackintavers was a wealthy and a powerful man; his hands were gripped hard in both the politics and the mining properties of the state. Self-made and self-educated, he had accomplished a good job of it. He had, of necessity, seen a good deal of those men who were ever radiating out from Santa Fe; those men who, on behalf of many universities and great museums, were ever delving amid the thousands of pre-historic ruins which lay in and between the valleys of the Pecos and the Rio Grande.

Slowly, Sandy had discovered that these men were digging in the earth for science, and that science and the world of letters honoured them. He had learned something of their "patter" and of the things they were seeking; he had studied their work and methods and ideals, and he had found within himself the makings of a scientist. In short, he had formed the stupendous ambition of becoming, at one fell stroke, a renowned ethnologist!

Do not smile. In the course of thirty years a man can pick up a great many divers things, and it was the way of Mackintavers to pick up everything in sight. Sandy knew a great deal more than he appeared to know. He had mining properties all over, and he was a silent partner in a chain of Mormon trading stores that ran north from the Mexican border through three states. His sources of information were varied.

Being unmarried and loving his ease when he was in the city, Mackintavers maintained a suite at the Aztec House. He had entertained many men in that place, some to their eternal sorrow. Never had he entertained a more distinguished visitor, however, than the Smithsonian professor with whom he was speaking on this Sunday morning-a scientist known around the world, and a man of supreme authority in ethnologic circles.

"Now, professor," said Mackintavers, bluntly, "I ain't a college-educated man, but I've knocked around this country for thirty year, and I know a few things. When I die, I aim to be remembered as something more than a mining man, see?"

The other, in puzzled suspense, nodded tacit understanding.

"Now," pursued Sandy, chewing hard on a cigar, "if I had something to give the Smithsonian or some other museum, something that would be a tenstrike for science, something that 'ud make every scientific shark in the country water at the eyes for envy, what 'ud the Smithsonian do for _me_?"

The professor cleared his throat and registered hesitation.

"I-ah-I do not exactly apprehend your meaning, Mr. Mackintavers. You do not speak in a financial sense, I presume?"

"Of course not. I tell you, I want to be known as a scientist! Man, I've got the biggest thing up my sleeve that you ever struck! Can your museum, or any other, make me famous as a scientist? That is, if I turn over a regular tenstrike?"

"Ah-that is exceedingly difficult to answer. A scientific reputation, Mr. Mackintavers, is founded upon solid bases, upon research or discoveries. If your-ah-contribution were a thing of such merit as you say, it would undoubtedly be published far and wide. Your name, naturally, would be attached to it, according as your work justified."

"In other words," amended Sandy, "if I turn over a complete job, I'd get full credit and publicity?"

"Yes."