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Peter B. Kyne >> The Long Chance
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THE LONG CHANCE
[Illustration: IT WAS THE DESERT CALL FOR HELP; THREE FIRES IN A ROW
BY NIGHT. THREE COLUMNS OF SMOKE AGAINST THE HORIZON BY DAY.]
THE LONG CHANCE
BY
PETER B. KYNE
ILLUSTRATED BY
FRANK TENNY JOHNSON
1914
PRINTED AT GARDEN CITY, N. Y., U. S. A.
THE LONG CHANCE
CHAPTER I
It was sunrise on the Colorado desert.
As the advance guard of dawn emerged from behind the serrated peaks to
the east and paused on their snow-encrusted summits before charging
down the slopes into the open desert to rout the lingering shadows of
the night, a coyote came out of his den in the tumbled _malpais_
at the foot of the range, pointed his nose skyward and voiced his
matutinal salute to the Hosts of Light.
Presently, far in the distant waste, seven dark objects detached
themselves from the shadows and crawled toward the mountains. Like
motes swimming in a beam of light, they came out of the Land of
Nowhere, in the dim shimmering vistas over west, where the gray line of
grease-wood met the blue of the horizon. Slowly they assumed definite
shape; and the coyote ceased his orisons to speculate upon the ultimate
possibility of breakfast and this motley trio of "desert rats" with
their burro train, who dared invade his desolate waterless kingdom.
For, with the exception of the four burros, the three men who followed
in their wake did, indeed, offer the rare spectacle of variety in this
land of superlative monotony. One of the men wore a peaked Mexican
straw hat, a dirty white cotton undershirt, faded blue denim overalls
and a pair of shoes much too large for him; this latter item indicating
a desire to get the most for his money, after the invariable custom of
a primitive people. He carried a peeled catclaw gad in his right hand,
and with this gad he continually urged to a shuffling half-trot some
one of the four burros. This man was a Cahuilla Indian.
His two companions were white men. The younger of the pair was a man
under thirty years of age, with kind bright eyes and the drawn but
ruddy face of one whose strength seems to have been acquired more from
athletic sports than by hard work. He was tall, broad-shouldered, slim-
waisted, big-hipped and handsome; he stepped along through the clinging
sand with the lithe careless grace of a mountain lion. An old greasy
wide-brimmed gray felt hat, pinched to a "Montana peak," was shoved
back on his curly black head; his shirt, of light gray wool, had the
sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing powerful forearms tanned to the
complexion of those of the Indian. He seemed to revel in the airy
freedom of a pair of dirty old white canvas trousers, and despite the
presence of a long-barreled blue gun swinging at his hip he would have
impressed an observer as the embodiment of kindly good nature and
careless indifference to convention, provided his own personal comfort
was assured.
The other white man was plainly an alien in the desert. He was slight,
blonde, pale--a city man--with hard blue eyes set so close together
that one understood instantly something of the nature of the man as
well as the urgent necessity for his thick-lensed, gold-rimmed
spectacles. He wore a new Panama hat, corded riding breeches and
leggings. He was clean-shaven and sinfully neat. He wore no side-arms
and appeared as much out of harmony with his surroundings as might a
South American patriot at a Peace Conference.
"I say," he began presently, "how much further is it to this prospect
hole of yours, if, indeed, you have a prospect as you represented to me
a week ago?" His tone was fretful, peevish, complaining. One would
readily have diagnosed the seat of his trouble. He had come prepared to
ride--and he had been forced to walk.
The young man frowned. He seemed on the point of swearing, but
appearing to think better of it, he replied banteringly, "_Por ahi.
Por ahi._"
"What in blazes does that mean?"
"Oh, I was just talking the language of the country--a language, by
the way, toward which you seem most indifferently inclined. '_Por
ahi_' means 'a considerable way,' 'a right smart piece, I reckon,'
and conveys about the same relative amount of definite information as
_manana._ Never having measured the distance to my prospect, I
have tried for the past two days to give you an approximate idea. But
in this country you must know that distance is a deceptive, 'find X'
sort of proposition--so please refrain from asking me that same
question every two miles. If the water holds out we'll get there; and
when we get there we'll find more water, and then you may shave three
times a day if you feel so inclined, I'm sorry you have a blister on
your off heel, and I sympathize with you because of your prickly-heat.
But it's all in the day's work and you'll survive. In the meantime,
however, I suggest that you compose your restless New England soul in
patience, old man, and enjoy with our uncommunicative Cahuilla friend
and myself the glories of a sunrise on the Colorado desert."
"Damn the sunrise," the other retorted. He would have damned his
tormentor had he dared. "I do not wish to be insulted."
"Listen to that coyote," replied the careless one, ignoring his
companion's rising anger. "Listen to him yip-yapping over there on the
ridge. There sits a shining example of bucolic joy and indifference to
local annoyances. Consider the humble coyote, Boston, and learn wisdom.
Of course, a coyote doesn't know a whole lot, but he does recognize a
good thing when he sees it. His appreciation of a sunrise is always
exuberant. Ever since that coyote's been big enough to rustle his own
jack-rabbits he's howled at a lovely full moon, and if he's ever missed
his sun-up cheer it's because something he ate the night before didn't
agree with him."
"Sir," snapped the irascible one, "you're a trifler. You're--you're
--a--"
"Say it," soothed the student of nature.
"Oh, damn it," rasped his victim, "talk business. This is a business
trip, not a rehearsal for a comic opera. Talk sense."
"Well, all right--since you insist," drawled the other, smiling
brightly. "In the first place, after this morning you will permit your
whiskers to grow. Out here water is too precious to waste it shaving
every morning. I suggested that point last night, but you ignored my
polite hint. I hate to appear boorish, but I must remind you that these
jacks are mine, that the four little kegs of water that they're
carrying are mine, that this _mozo_--I beg your pardon--that this
Indian is mine, and lastly--forgive me if I ascend once more into the
realm of romance and improbability--this country is mine, and I love
it, and I won't have it profaned by any growling, dyspeptic little
squirt from a land where they have pie for breakfast. I positively
forbid you to touch that water without my permission. I forbid you to
cuss my mozo without my permission, and I forbid you to damn this
country in my hearing. Just at this particular moment, Boston, the only
things which you have and which you can call your own, and do what you
please with, are your soul, your prickly-heat and your blistered heel.
I'm fully convinced that you're quite a little man back in Boston for
the reason that you're one hell of a small man out here, even if you do
wear a string of letters after your name like the tail on a comet.
"You were swelling around in San Berdoo, talking big and hollering for
an investment. I showed you samples of ore from my desert prospect and
you got excited. You wanted to examine my claim, you said, and if you
liked it you would engage to bring it to the attention of 'your
associates' and pay me my price. I offered to bring you in here as my
guest, and ever since you got off the train at Salton you've snarled
and snapped and beefed and imposed on my hospitality, and it's got
to stop. I don't need you; I don't care for you; I think you're a
renegade four-flusher, bluffing on no pair, and if I had known what a
nasty little old woman you are I'd never have opened negotiations with
you. Now, you chirk up, Boston, and smile and try to be a good sport,
or I'll work you over and make a man out of you. Savvy?"
Thoroughly squelched, the malingerer flushed, mumbled an apology and
held out his hand. The Desert Rat took it, a little sorry that he had
not been more temperate in his language.
"All right, we'll bury the hatchet" he said generously. "Maybe I'm a
little too exacting and hard to get along with. I've got more on my
brain than this prospect hole, and I'm worried. When I left the wife at
San Berdoo we were expecting an arrival in camp, and--well, we were
right down to bed-rock, and as it was a case of go now or never with
you, I had to bring you in here or perhaps lose the opportunity for a
fortune. She wanted me to go. She's a mighty brave little woman. You
don't happen to be a married man, do you? With kids? I've got--"
The Indian had paused and was pointing with his gad to the south. Miles
and miles away a great yellow cloud was gathering on the horizon,
shutting out the sunlight and advancing with incredible speed.
"Sandstorm" warned the Desert Rat, and spoke quickly to the mozo in
Spanish. The latter at once turned the cavalcade of burros toward the
hills, less than a mile distant; shouting and beating the heavily laden
little beasts into a trot, the party scurried for the shelter of a
rocky draw before the sandstorm should be upon them.
They won. Throughout that day and night they camped up the draw, safe
from the sand blast. Early next morning the wind had subsided and with
the exception of some slight changes in topography due to the
sandstorm, the desert was the same old silent pulseless mystery.
The party resumed its journey. While the Easterner remained with the
Indian, the Desert Rat circled out into the open, heading for a little
backbone of quartz which rose out of the sand. He had not noticed this
exposed ledge during their flight into the draw, and it was evident
that the sandstorm had exposed it.
Suddenly the mozo uttered a low "Whoa," and the burros halted. Off in
the sage and sand the Desert Rat was standing with upraised arm, as a
signal for them to halt and wait for him. For nearly half an hour he
circled around, stepping off distances and building monuments.
Presently, apparently having completed his investigations, he beckoned
the rest of his party to approach.
"What's up?" demanded the Boston man the moment he and the Indian
arrived.
"I've just found Jake Revenner's lost claim. It's one of these
marvelously rich ledges that have been discovered and located and lost
and found and lost again, and cost scores of human lives. The
sandstorms expose them and cover them up again, and after a storm--as
now--the contour of the desert is so changed that a man, having staked
his claim and gone out for grub, can't find the claim when he comes
back. It was that way with the Nigger Ben placer. It's been found and
lost half a dozen times. There was a claim discovered out here by a man
named Jake Revenner, but he lost it and blew out his brains in sheer
disgust. I have just stumbled across one of his monuments with his old
location notices buried in a can. The late sandstorm uncovered the
ledge, and it looks 'fat' enough for yours truly. _Mira?_"
He tossed a sample to the Indian, and another of about the same size to
the white man. The latter lifted it, examined it closely and sat down.
He was quite excited.
"By thunder!" he managed to say. "We're in luck."
A slight smile flickered across the face of the Desert Rat, but his
voice was as calm and grave as usual.
"Yes, it's rich--very rich. There's a comfortable fortune lying
exposed on the surface. By the way, I think I shall pay you a liberal
fee for your lost time and abandon that prospect I was taking you in to
see. Compared with this, it's not worth considering."
"I should say you should abandon it" the other exulted. "You'd have a
fine time trying to get me away from this ledge now. Why, there's
millions in it, and I suggest we stake it out at once. Let's get busy."
He jumped up eagerly--from force of habit dusting the seat of his
riding breeches--and turned peremptorily to the mozo.
"Get those packs off, Joe, or Jim or whatever your name is, and be
quick--"
"You forget, old man," interjected the Desert Rat gently. "He doesn't
speak English, and if he did he wouldn't obey you. You see," he added
naively, "I've told him not to."
"Oh, well, I didn't mean anything. Don't be so touchy. Let's get busy,
for heaven's sake, and stake this claim."
The Desert Rat stretched himself with feline grace. "I'm sorry" he
replied with his tantalizing good-natured smile, "to be forced to
object to your use of the plural pronoun in conjunction with that
certain tract, piece and parcel of land known and described as the Baby
Mine claim. The fact of the matter is, I have already staked it. You
see, I was thinking of the little one that will be waiting for me in
San Berdoo when I get back. See the point? My baby--Baby Mine--rather a
neat play on words, don't you think?"
"Do you mean to say that I'm not in on this find?" demanded the man
from Boston.
"Your penetration is remarkable. I do."
"But such a course is outrageous. It's opposed--"
"Please do not argue with me. I found it. Naturally I claim it. I could
quote you verbatim the section of the mining law under which I am
entitled to maintain this high-handed--er--outrage; but why indulge in
such a dry subject? I found this claim, and since I don't feel
generously disposed this morning, I'm going to keep it."
"But I'm in the party with you. It seems to me that common justice--"
"For goodness' sake, Boston, don't throw up to me the sins of my past.
Of course you're in my party. That's my misfortune, not my fault. I
observed this little backbone of quartz and asked you to walk over here
with me for a look at it. You wouldn't come. You said your foot hurt
you. So I came alone. If you had been with me at the time, now, of
course that would have been different. But--"
"But I--well, in a measure--why, we're out here together, sort of
partners as it were, and--"
"The Lord forgive you, Boston. My partner! You never were and never
could be. I'm particular in the matter of partners. All Desert Rats in
good standing are. You're the last man on earth I'd have for my
partner. A partner shares the expenses of a trip and bears the
hardships without letting out a roar every half mile. A partner
_sticks,_ Boston. He shares his grub and his money and his last
drop of water, and when that's gone he'll die with you like a
gentleman. That's what a partner does, but you wouldn't do it."
"Well, I'm entitled to a half interest and I'll see that I get it,"
shrilled the other furiously. "I'll sue you--"
"How about the Indian?"
"Why, he--he's--"
"Only an Indian, eh? Well, you're entitled to your point of view. Only
that mozo and I have slept under the same blanket so often--"
"You can't stop me from staking this claim, too" shouted the Boston
man, and shook his skinny little fist under the Desert Rat's nose. The
latter slapped him across the wrist.
"Pesky fly" he said.
"You can't stop me, I tell you."
"I can. But I won't. I'm not a bully."
"You think you can beat me out of my rights, do you? I'll show you.
I'll beat you out of your half before I'm through with you."
"On whose water!"
The bantering smile broadened to a grin--the graceless young desert
wanderer threw back his head and laughed.
"You're such a card, Boston" he chortled. "Such exquisite notions of
social usage I have never observed outside the peerage. Really, you
shouldn't be allowed to go visiting. You're unmannerly enough to ask
for a third helping to cake."
"I insist that I am entitled to a half interest in this claim. As you
decline to recognize my rights, I must take the matter in my own hands.
I, too, shall stake the claim and endeavor to get my location notice
filed in the land office before yours. If you haven't any sense of
justice and decency, I have."
"Oh, all right, fire away. I'll take you back to civilization and see
that you don't starve or die of thirst on the way. I'm not entirely
heartless, Boston. In the meantime, however, while you're staking the
claim, it occurs to me that I can gather together a very snug fortune
in the next day or two. There appears to be more gold than quartz in
this rock--some indeed, is the pure quill. All hands, including the
jacks, will go on a short ration of water from now on. Of course we're
taking chances with our lives, but what's life if a fellow can't take a
chance for a fortune like this? I'd sooner die and be done with, it
than live my life without a thrill. That's why I've degenerated from a
perfectly matriculated mining engineer into a wandering desert rat.
Would you believe it, Boston, I lived in your town once. Graduated from
the Tech. Why, I once made love to a Boston girl in a conservatory. I
remember her very well. She spilled pink lemonade over my dress shirt.
I took a long chance that time; but out here, even if the chances are
longer, when you win--"
He kissed his grimy paw airily and flung it into space.
"'The Lord is my shepherd,' he quoted, 'I shall not want.' This morning
He left the door opened and I wandered into His Treasure House, so I
guess I'll get busy and grab what I can before the Night Watchman comes
around. Ever see the Night Watchman, Boston? I have. He's a grave old
party with a long beard, and he carries a scythe. You see him when
you're thirsty, and--well, in the pursuit of my inborn hobby for taking
chances, I'll introduce you to him this trip. Permit me to remind you
once more of the consequences if you help yourself to the water without
consulting me. It'll militate against your chances of getting to the
land office first."
The Desert Rat helped the mozo unpack the burros, while the man from
Boston tore some pages from his notebook and proceeded to write out his
location notices and cache them in monuments which he built beside
those of his predecessors. He even copied the exact wording on the
Desert Rat's notices. He forgot his blistered heel and worked with
prodigious energy and interest, receiving with dogged silent disdain
the humorous sallies of the Desert Rat, to whom the other's sudden
industry was a source of infinite amusement. The Desert Rat and the
Indian were busy with pans and prospector's picks gouging out
"stringers" and crevices and picking up scattered pieces of "jewelry"
rock. When all the "color" in sight had been cleaned up, the Desert
Rat produced a drill and a stick of dynamite from the pack, put in a
"shot" and uncovered a pocket of such richness that even the stolid
Cahuilla could not forbear indulgence in one of his infrequent Spanish
expletives. It was a deposit of rotten honeycombed rock that was nine-
tenths pure gold--what is known in the parlance of the prospector as a
"kidney."
The disgruntled claimant to a half interest in the Baby Mine reached
into the hole and seized a nugget worth fully a thousand dollars. The
Desert Rat tapped him smartly across the knuckles with the handle of
his prospector's pick and made him drop it.
"If you please, Boston" he said gently. "You're welcome to share my
grub, and I'll whack up even with you on the water, and I'll cook for
you and wait on you, but I'll be doggoned if it isn't up to you to
furnish your own dynamite. There was ten thousand in loose stuff lying,
on the surface, and you might have been pardoned for helping yourself
to as much of it as you could carry personally, but you elected to
restake the claim and now all that easy picking belongs to the Indian
and me. He's a good Indian and I'm going to let him have some of it. He
won't take much because he's fond of me. I saved him from being lynched
for killing a white man who deserved it. But for years he's just
hungered for a top-buggy, with side bars and piano box and the whole
blamed rig painted bright red, so he can take his squaw out in style;
and I'm going to see that he gets it. However, that's neither here nor
there. You keep your fingers out of the sugar bowl, old sport. It's a
lovely sight and hard to resist, I know, but do be careful."
All that day the Desert Rat and his Indian retainer worked through the
stringers and pockets of the Baby Mine, while the man from Boston sat
looking at them, or, when the spirit moved him, casting about in the
adjacent sand for stray "specimens" of which he managed to secure quite
a number. The next morning, as soon as it was light enough to see, the
work was commenced again, and by noon the last piece of rotten
honeycombed rock with its streaks and wens of dull virgin gold had been
cleaned up. The Desert Rat used the last of his dynamite in a vain
endeavor to unearth another "kidney," and finally decided to call it
quits.
"They took eighty-two thousand dollars out of one little carload of ore
in the Delhi mine in Nevada county" he announced, "but the Baby Mine
makes that record look amateurish. It's the richest strike I have ever
heard of, with the exception, possibly, of the big strike at Antelope
Peak. They took out nearly three hundred thousand there in less than
three days, just scratching it out of stringers and crevices with their
jack-knives. Boston, my dear man, I have more than three hundred pounds
of gold with, as I said before, some quartz, but not enough to bother.
At twelve ounces to the pound, twenty dollars to the ounce, I'm going
back to San Bernardino and buy a bath, a new suit of store clothes and
a fifty-dollar baby carriage for my expected heir. With my dear little
wife and the baby and all this _oro,_ I'll manage to be quite
happy.
"However, just to show you that there isn't a mean bone in my body, I'm
going to withdraw my claim to the Baby Mine. My mozo and I are about to
load this magnificent bunch of untainted wealth into the kyacks, and
hit for civilization, and while we're getting ready to break camp you
run out and destroy my location notices. I leave the whole works to
you. I do this for a number of reasons--the first being that you will
thus be induced to return to this section of California. Not knowing
the country, you will doubtless perish, and thus from the placid bosom
of society a thorn will be removed. Secondly, if you should survive
long enough to get in, you could never find your way out without me for
a guide--and it wouldn't be safe to hire this Indian. He dislikes you.
The third reason is that I believe this is just a phenomenally rich
pocket and that I have about cleaned it out. The fourth reason is that
another sandstorm will probably cover the Baby Mine before long, and
the fifth reason is: 'What's the use going desert-ratting until your
money's all gone!'"
"Well, I'll see that I get my share of that plunder" snapped the
unhappy tenderfoot. "Of course, right now, it may seem perfectly proper
from your point of view to take advantage of certain adventitious
circumstances, but--"
"Yes, the humble little jackass is really an adventitious circumstance.
By jingo, that hadn't occurred to me at all. I guess you're right,
Boston. I'll have to give you half the plunder. Now that we've settled
that point, let's divide the adventitious circumstances. I have four of
them and I'll sell you two for your half of the gold. No? Price too
high? All right! I'll agree to freight your share in for you, only I'm
afraid transportation rates are so high in the desert that the freight
will about eat up all the profit. I'm afraid that the best I can do for
you is to give you your half and let you carry it yourself. If you want
to tote it out on your back, Boston, help yourself. No! Well, well!"
"We'll not discuss the matter further, if you please. At another time
and place, perhaps--"
"Perhaps? Perhaps! Well, I'm stripping down our food supply to the bare
necessities in order to make room for this gold, and the water is
pretty low. If we don't strike water at Chuckwalla Tanks there'll be
real eloquence to that word 'perhaps.' However, that discussion can
wait. Everything appears to be propitious for an immediate start, so
let's defer the argument and _vamoose._ Giddap, you hairy little
desert birds. Crack along out o' this."
But following the dictates of his nature, when Fortune smiled and bade
him "take a chance," the Desert Rat had already delayed too long his
departure from the Baby Mine. The supply of water still left in the
kegs was so meager that with any other man the situation would have
given rise to grave concern. As it was, however, all that troubled the
Desert Rat was what he was going to do with the man from Boston when
that inconsistent and avaricious individual should "peter out." More
than once, in his pursuit of the rainbow, the Desert Rat had known what
it was to travel until he couldn't travel another yard; then to jump up
and travel ten miles more--to water! He did not know the extent of his
own strength, but whatever might be its limitations he knew that the
Cahuilla was good for an equal demonstration of endurance. But the man
from Boston! He was quickly read. The Desert Rat gave him until
midnight that night, but he wilted at ten o'clock.
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