CHAPTER X
A VISIT TO HOG CANON
Half an hour later the girls saw Annette’s brother returning, leading the faithful old pack animal who had evidently forgotten his former fear and was plodding along with his usual lack of interest in all about him, until, as they neared the mountains a breeze evidently carried the scent of the creature he so feared.
However the lad had been expecting this very thing to happen and he was on the watch. At the first movement of Old Stoic, Gordon had whirled in his saddle and was holding firmly to the rope by which he was leading the pack animal.
But try as he might to persuade, to assure, to command, the stolid creature would not move. He did not attempt to run away but having planted all four feet squarely in the sand, mule fashion, there he stood and would not budge.
Laughingly Virginia leaped to her horse’s back, and galloped out to lend what assistance she might.
She patted Old Stoic, assured him that it was only a tame bear and was not in any way a creature to be feared, but the stubborn animal blinked and winked his expressionless eyes and just stood.
“I’ll tell you what,” Virg suggested. “Let’s lead him away from your camp. There’s a trail up to the Wallace cabin from beyond that jutting out rock. It’s about an eighth of a mile from here and as the wind is not blowing in that direction, I believe Old Stoic will soon again forget the near presence of a bear.” This was done. The small horse began to walk when Gordon pulled him in another direction. When the watching girl observed that the pack animal was willing to be led to the point she had indicated, she said that she would ride back to the covered wagon and tell the girls to accompany her. Although Gordon had recently visited the cabin in the canon in search of water, he had seen no one but the boy Peter who had gloomily told him that they didn’t have any to spare.
The lad having always had a secret desire to be an inventor, and having, in fact, won the admiration of his boy friends by fashioning all kinds of mechanical devices for toys in his own shop, was very eager to see the man who had a vision which he could not fulfill.
“May Annette and I go with you?” he asked eagerly.
“Why, of course, you may. We’ll be glad to have you. You will like poor Mr. Wallace. He is very lovable in spite of his queerness.”
Meanwhile Betsy having been permitted to peep at the tame bear (which to her thought had growled at her in a manner most untame) was glad indeed when Virg rode up and told them all to accompany her. Single file they rode up the narrow rugged trail, Virg in the lead and Gordon last that he might still hold the guiding rope attached to Old Stoic not knowing at what minute the wind might change and startle the pack animal into flight.
As they neared the shack-like cabin, half hidden by overhanging boulders, Virg gave a call with which she always heralded her approach. Instantly three children ran pell mell to the top of the trail, their homely freckled faces shining with their joy at seeing the good angel friend whom they had so missed.
Little Jane, aged six, hopped up and down so fast (clapping her hands all the time) that her two braids bobbed merrily.
Thoughtful eyed Sara, who was so like her faithful mother, smiled too, but made no move of welcome although her heart was just as glad. Twelve year old Peter raced to meet them down the trail and catching Virginia’s bridle, he looked up with adoration in his red-brown eyes. “Oh, Miss Virgie,” he cried, “Ma’s been that eager to have you come home from the East. Often I’ve heard her say, ‘Somehow things will be better when Miss Virginia comes’.”
There were sudden tears in the eyes of the girl, and reaching down she put her hand over the small brown one on her horse’s head.
“I’m glad to get home, Peter. How are your mother and dad?”
There was a shade of anxiety on the boy’s freckled face. “Pa’s been took queer this very day,” he said looking up toward the cabin as though he feared he might be overheard, “and Ma says now with the water most gone, she just doesn’t know what we are to do. There weren’t any late rains and the cistern’s most empty.”
“Dear boy, your mother must not worry about that. There’s plenty of water at V. M. and you are welcome to all you can carry.” But the girl’s heart was heavy for even as she made the offer, she knew that there would be no convenient way of packing water so many miles across the desert.
Having dismounted on the small flat space which served as a dooryard, the others turned anxiously to Virg. “Ought we to remain,” Annette Traylor inquired. “If the Wallaces have this new trouble, we might be intruding.”
But Gordon stepped forward and said earnestly, “Miss Virginia, I would like to meet Mr. Wallace. I believe that I can be of service to him.”
Mrs. Wallace, more pale and fragile than when Virg had gone east to school, appeared in the doorway and Virginia went forward to greet her. The girls saw her bend and kiss the sunken cheek and were touched at the light of tenderness in the face of the older woman.
It was evident that the girl was inquiring about poor Mr. Wallace. “I don’t know what has happened exactly. Something that discouraged him so much that he just gave up and ever since he’s sat there in his chair around on the north side of the cabin and staring into space, though once in a while he does say something, but it’s about his instrument and I don’t understand.”
Meanwhile Gordon had seen the listless figure of the man, and, with an earnest desire to be of service, he had walked toward him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wallace,” the boy said, hoping to attract the attention of the inventor, but the dreamy grey-blue eyes of the thin, kindly-faced man did not move from what seemed to be one definite spot farther up the canon.
The boy, noting that the girls had gone in the cabin with the mother, sat on a rock near to wait until a more opportune moment to again address the man who seemed deep in thought.
At last, in a voice that seemed infinitely sad, the inventor spoke. “I’ve failed! I was so sure it could be done, but now, I know the truth. I’ve failed!”
“In what way have you failed, Mr. Wallace?” Again hopefully the boy ventured a remark.
This time the dreamy grey-blue eyes turned toward him. “I was sure there was a hidden spring up there,” he said more to himself than to a listener. “But the instrument doesn’t show water and I won’t dynamite until it does.”
Gordon, more interested than he thought wise to show, asked, “Mr. Wallace, may I see your instrument?”
The older man nodded and pointed toward a long narrow wooden box on the ground near.
Reverentially the lad knelt and lifted the cover. There lay an instrument of delicate mechanism. At the sight of it, the inventor’s eyes burned and leaning forward he said, Gordon thought almost angrily, “Give it to me! I’ll break it into a thousand pieces. I’ve given my life’s blood to try to perfect it, I’ve caused untold suffering to my wife and children, but, God knows, I meant no harm. I had faith in it. I dreamed that a fortune would be theirs, everything, everything, schooling for the kiddies, Peter was to go to Yale where I went.”
Gordon was on his feet at once, and, grasping the thin hand of the man, he cried in boyish glee, “I say, Mr. Wallace, I’m bully glad that you went to Yale. And don’t you worry. It’s always darkest before the dawn, you know that. Peter’ll make college. Everything will turn out all right. You see if it doesn’t. Don’t give up. Keep your faith.”
The dreamy eyes had turned toward the boy when he began this enthusiastic outburst, and in them there gradually dawned a light of understanding.
“Who are you?” the man inquired as one awakening from a sleep. “I haven’t seen you before, have I?”
“No, Mr. Wallace. I’m just passing this way, but I’m ever so interested in your invention. Won’t you come up to the spot where you are sure there is water, or ought to be, and show me how it works.”
There was a sudden renewed eagerness in the eyes of the poor man who had been so scoffed and laughed at. “Why, would you really like to see it work?” he asked as though hardly able to believe his ears.
“Wouldn’t I though,” the lad had hold of the man’s hand and was firmly lifting him to his feet. Then he added confidentially, “I’m something of an inventor myself in a small way. I say, Mr. Wallace, I’ll bet you have a good thing there. May be it needs a little different adjusting. Let’s try it out.”
It was pitiful to see the joy in the dim eyes of the man who had failed. Here was someone, what if only a boy, someone who had faith in him. With shaking hands he lifted the instrument he had a moment before threatened to break into a thousand pieces, and with an eagerness he had never again expected to feel, he led the way up, up the canon with a sureness of step that amazed the lad who had such a brief time before pitied his weakness.
“Are you good for a stiff climb?” the man turned to call. “There’s a wall of rock ahead that’s as perpendicular as a barn door, but there’s no way but to go up over it to reach the spot which I am sure long years ago was the source of a water way. See! See!” he cried excitedly. “Now, you know why I am so sure there has been water here.”
The lad, looking ahead at the huge boulder, saw on its surface a smooth, many-colored groove which could only have been made by running water. “It wasn’t much of a volume, I’ll agree, but there was water, but where is it now?” Then again inquiringly, “Do you think you can climb it?”
“Certainly, sir, if you can,” the boy replied, amazed though that the man so recently weak, could even think of making the attempt.
“Well, then, follow me closely. I’ve been up so many times, I know just where the indentures in the rock will serve for steps.”
The lad inwardly confessed that it was an almost impossible feat, but if one Yale man could accomplish it, he assured himself, then so too could another.
At length they stood above the boulder and saw that the canon had narrowed until the rocks overhanging on one side often touched the opposite wall.
“There’s a hidden spring, I am convinced, somewhere about here,” the man’s eyes were no longer dreamy but shining with the light of rekindled faith.
“I believe you are right, Mr. Wallace.” The lad leaped to a spot where he saw another of the smoothed grooves in the rocks. “Let’s try it here,” he suggested. The instrument was set up, and Mr. Wallace explained that if there were water, it was his hope that the sensitized swinging needle would dip and point toward it, but it made no movement at all.
The lad on his knees was watching it intently. Looking up he saw the old expression of despair returning to the ashen face of the man. That would never do. Hope must be kept alive.
“I say, Mr. Wallace, don’t you think maybe that needle’s held too tight? Have you ever tried loosening that minute screw there? Gee, but I’d jolly like to try that experiment.”
Almost mechanically the inventor put his hand in a large leather pocket and drew out an infinitesimally small screw driver. “Do what you wish,” he said as he sat upon a flat rock and leaned his head on his hands. “I’ve failed. Not that I have any reason to be sure that there is water here, but it did not move over at Slaters and there was water.”
While the man talked, the boy, with heart beating like a trip-hammer, was actually praying for inspiration while he loosened ever so little the tiny screw that held the sensitive needle. But even then, it did not stir.
“I say, Mr. Wallace, may I take it higher up? Way to the very top of the canon?”
The older man shook his head. “No use, son. There aren’t any watermarks farther up and it’s almost impassible.”
“But, may I try?”
A silent, resigned nod was the only answer and so securing the instrument, the lad carefully climbed over boulders, higher and higher. At last he stopped. Mr. Wallace had spoken truly, there were no signs of the water marks that had been made, no one knew how many years before. Retracing his steps, he turned a little to the right. Something seemed to impell him to stoop and look into a fissure where a boulder, perhaps ages before, had been rent asunder by some tremendous power, an earth-quake, without doubt.
It was an almost impossible feat to hold himself so that he could thrust the instrument into the fissure, but he did it, and with a startling suddenness, the sensitive needle dipped straight down.
“Mr. Wallace! Mr. Wallace! Come quick! I’ve found the spring.”
The boy’s triumphant cry rang out, reverberating down the canon and penetrating even the again dulled senses of the inventor. Not for one moment did the boy doubt that the needle was telling the truth.
Unable to wait for the older man to climb to him, Gordon fairly leaped down from rock to rock, though he wondered afterwards at the sureness with which he had stepped, and catching the man’s hand, he dragged him up, up until the fissure was seen in a perilous place beyond and below.
“Why son, you couldn’t get down there. No one could,” the man said.
“But I did! See! I just chanced to find the way. I guess my guardian angel showed it to me. The instrument’s in that fissure and the needle dipped. Mr. Wallace, it dipped straight down. Oh, if only we had some dynamite.”
The boy’s faith was just the spur the older man needed. “There’s dynamite in a cavern just below here,” he said. “Wait, we’ll bring a stick and shoot it off.”
The boy secured the instrument and took it to a place of safety.
“We’ll have to make a long fuse,” the man told the lad. “We don’t want to take any chances with flying rock.” Then he looked at the sun. “We ought to get back to the cabin in half an hour. I’ll time it for about then.”
This was done and then the two scrambled back down the rocks. How Gordon hoped the fire of the fuse would not be extinguished. Too, he hoped the explosion would not take place before they reached the girls lest they should be too greatly frightened.
During the absence of the man and boy, Virginia glanced often at her watch. She did want to see Gordon before she left to thank him for having procured her pack animal and to urge him to bring his sister to V. M. before returning to Douglas. She was sure that Malcolm would wish her to do so. But the afternoon was wearing away and, as they did not return, the girl at last arose saying: “I fear that we cannot wait longer.” Then to the little mother, whose expression was much happier than when the visitors had arrived, she said, “Tell Mr. Wallace how sorry I am, not to have seen him this time, but I shall come again and often, and do remember, dear Mrs. Wallace, the V. M. Ranch house is large and if you run out of water in a few days, as you fear, I want you all to come to us until your cistern can be refilled.”
There were tears of gratitude in the eyes of the frail woman. “I don’t understand why it is,” she said, “but now that you are here, Miss Virgie, I feel confident that all will be well, somehow.”
They were out in the plateau-like dooryard and each girl had a horse by the bridle which was lucky when a deafening report like thunder boomed through the mountains.
“W-what was that?” Betsy cried in alarm, but Mrs. Wallace at once quieted their fears, for it was a sound she had often heard. “It’s my Peter dynamiting for water,” she said sadly. “But he won’t find it. He never has.” But little Peter whose eyes had been afire with enthusiasm had raced toward the canon bed and was seen waving and beckoning frantically. “Ma,” he shouted, “I hear it. I’m as sure as anything that I hear water.”
The girls listened and far up in the canon they heard a rushing sound that came nearer and nearer, then they heard something else. A shout of triumph, then a man and boy appeared and in the face of the inventor was light, an inner radiance of great joy.
He seemed to see no one but the wife he loved. Going straight toward her, with arms outstretched, he cried, “Molly, Molly, little girl! We’ve succeeded at last, you and I! Thank God your days of privation are over.” Then turning to the lad he said, “But I can’t call it all my invention. It was your thought that perfected it. I’ll share with you.” But the boy exclaimed, “Mr. Wallace, you alone are the inventor of that instrument. It would have been only a matter of time before you thought to make the slight change that I suggested.”
Then, although it seemed as though they just must stay to rejoice with their friends, Virginia was reminded by the lowness of the sun that she must start on the homeward way.
Annette and Gordon decided to remain in their present camp until the morrow. Then, although they would like nothing better than to visit V. M., the lad decided that he did not care to chance being stuck again in the sand and so he accepted Virginia’s advice that he start out for Slater’s Ranch early the next day.
“Mr. Slater is the richest man on the desert. You will have no trouble reaching his place,” the girl assured him, “and from there into town is one of the best roads anywhere to be found as he keeps it up himself, or rather he has the peons in his employ constantly working on it.” Then, holding out her hand to Annette, Virg said, “If your father is not ready to return East, we shall be glad to have you and Gordon visit us. If you will send us word, we will come for you in our car.”
Two hours later, when the girls were dismounting near the corral at V. M., Betsy said, “Well, wasn’t that all just like a story book adventure?” Then going to the pack horse, she patted him as she laughingly said, “And, although he doesn’t know it, Old Stoic was the hero.”