Books: The Long Chance
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Peter B. Kyne >> The Long Chance
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"Of course, I seen right off that Miss Pickett had her suspicions an'
had sicked this stranger onto me; so when he informed me that he'd been
told I knew the name o' the little hoss' owner, I told him I did--that
the little roan hoss belonged to a Mexican friend o' mine by the name
o' Enrique Maria Jose Sanchez Flavio Domingo Miramontes.
"He give me a sour look at that. 'Well, that don't correspond none with
the initials on the saddle' he says.
"'Shucks,' I says,'that don't signify nothin'. Mexicans is the biggest
hoss thieves living besides, I ain't feelin' disputatious to-night, so
I'll just close up my game an' go get my scoffin's.'
"'But I must find this man' he says, 'It means a great deal to him--an'
me.'
"'What do you call a great deal?'
"'Money' he says.
"I says: 'See here, pardner, don't you go givin' no money to no
Mexican, because he'll only gamble it away on three-card monte.'
"'I don't mean your Mexican friend,' he says, like a snappin' turtle,
'I'm after a man named Robert McGraw,'
"'Oh,' I says, 'you mean that red-headed outlaw from up country? Why I
didn't know he was wanted. What's it this time? He ain't got himself
mixed up in more trouble, has he?'
"'I prefer to refrain from discussin' the details,' says this wealthy
gent, 'with a perfect stranger.'
"'Oh, very well' I says. 'I didn't seek this interview, but when you
mentioned the hoss I could tell by the look in your eye that McGraw's
been robbin' you o' somethin'. Well, you might own that hoss, but
you've got to prove property. McGraw sold the hoss to Enrique an' lit
out for Bakersfield, an' I won the hoss from Enrique at faro. I been
keepin' him in the corral in order to give the Mexican a chance to buy
him back. But McGraw's not in town. He won't be here for a week or two
yet.'
"'Thank you, my man,' says he, an' pulls a card, just about the time I
was gettin' ready to pull his nose. 'If you should see Mr. McGraw, you
might be good enough, to tell him he can learn of somethin' to his
advantage by communicatin' with me right away.'
"'Well, my man,' I says, 'I do hope it's an alibi,' an' I took the card
an' he went back to Miss Pickett. I want to tell you, children, that
any time Miss Molly thinks she can spring a secret out o' me she's got
to go some."
Mr. Hennage chuckled, produced a white square of cardboard and handed
it to Bob. Donna, leaning over his shoulder, read:
MR. T. MORGAN CAREY PRESIDENT INYO LAND & IRRIGATION COMPANY, 414-422
SOUTHERN TRUST BUILDING, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
"I've heard of that fellow before," mused Bob, "and it strikes me his
name is associated with some unpleasant memory, but I can't recall just
what it is. However, I can hazard a good guess as to what he desires to
see me about. I'm glad you didn't tell him where I might be found,
Hennage. It was thoughtful of you. I do not care to meet T. Morgan
Carey--yet."
"Well," said Mr. Hennage, "he's a smart man an' smells o' ready money.
However, I wasn't goin' to give him no information until I'd talked
with you first, although my main idea was to throw Miss Pickett off the
scent. I'm goin' up to Bakersfield to-night, Bob, and just to keep up
appearances, you give me an order for that registered letter, datin'
the order from Bakersfield, to-morrow, an' I'll mail that order from
Bakersfield to myself in San Pasqual. Then to-morrow night when I get
back I'll go to the post-office for my mail. I ain't had a letter come
to me in ten years. Miss Pickett'll give me the letter, I'll open it
right in front o' her an' flash the order for the registered letter,
an' the old gossip'll be annoyed to death to think she's lost the
trail."
When presently Bob went into the house to write the desired order for
Harley P., Donna and the gambler were left alone for a few minutes.
Instantly Mr. Hennage became serious.
"Looky here. Miss Donnie," he said, "Bob McGraw's free, white an'
twenty-one an' he can play his own hand. I ain't one of the presumin'
kind an' I hate to tell any man his own business, but if twenty years
o' gamblin' an' meetin' all kinds an' conditions o' men ain't made me as
fly as a road-runner, then that there artesian well is spoutin' mint
juleps. Say, Miss Donnie, if ever I see a cold-blooded, fishy, snaky,
ornery man, it's this T. Morgan Carey--an' at that he's a dead ringer
for a church deacon. That Carey man would steal a hot stove without
burnin' himself. Now, this young Bob is an impulsive cuss, an' if he
has any dealin's of a money nature with this sweet-scented porch-
climber that's on his trail, you take a tip from Harley P. Hennage,
Miss Donnie, an' act as lookout on Bob's game. Miss Donnie, I can tell
a crook in the dark. Let a crook try to buck my game an' I have him
spotted in a minute. I just _feel_ 'em."
"Thank you, Mr. Hennage. I have great faith in your judgment."
"Well, generally speakin', I call the turn, if I do say so myself."
He sat there, his bow-legs spread apart, his hands folded across his
ample abdomen, staring thoughtfully at the little white cross down at
the end of the garden.
"You're a heap like your mother" he said presently, and sighed.
When Bob returned with the order for the registered letter, Mr. Hennage
tucked it carefully in his side coat pocket; then from his rear hip
pocket he produced Bob McGraw's automatic gun.
"I took charge o' this the night o' the mix-up" he explained as he
returned it. He looked hard at Bob. "When you're ready to toddle about"
he added, with a lightning wink and a slight movement of his fat thumb
and forefinger, as if counting a stack of imaginary bills, "send Sam
Singer up to let me know. _Comprende, amigo?"_
Bob smiled at this sinful philanthropist. "Not necessary, old man--
if you'll drop in at the Kern County Bank and Trust Company in
Bakersfield to-morrow and get me a check-book. I have owed you fifty
for three years and I'd like to square up."
"Sure you ain't bluffin' on no pair?"
"Thank you, Harley. I have a small stake."
"Well, holler when you're hit." He waved his hand and departed with a
"_Buenas noches,_ children."
Scarcely had the gate slammed behind him when Bob turned to Donna with
beaming face.
"They're after my water-right, sweetheart--they're after it already!"
His exultant laugh rang through the patio, "I knew I was treading on
somebody's toes when I filed on that water, Donna. By George, I must
investigate T. Morgan Carey and ascertain the kind of man I have to
fight."
"He came here looking for you a week after you arrived. Doesn't that
seem strange? How did he discover you had a water-right, investigate
it, ascertain its value and then, come seeking you, all in the course
of one week?"
"That is very easily explained, Donna. It merely verifies my suspicions
that there is a ring of land-grabbers operating in this state, which
ring controls some official of the State Land Office and keeps on its
pay-roll an employee in every United States land office in California.
The moment I filed on that water, T. Morgan Carey was notified by his
tool in the State Land Office that Robert McGraw (I gave my address as
Independence, Inyo county) had filed on one hundred thousand
miners' inches of water for power and irrigation. Now, there isn't that
much non-alkaline water available anywhere in the valley--at least
under the control of one man or one corporation, and of course it
frightened Carey. He wired his field engineer, who was probably in Inyo
county at the time, to investigate. The engineer found my location
notices tacked to a cottonwood tree right where I'm going to drive my
tunnel, and he immediately reported to Carey that the location was very
valuable. Also he wired my name and general description and probably
stated that the last seen of me I was headed south for the railroad on
a roan bronco. They've traced me by my horse to San Pasqual, and now
they're trying to find me with a registered letter; very probably
acting under the advice of Miss Pickett, who, apparently, is an elderly
bird and not to be caught with Harley P. Hennage's chaff.
"It's absurdly simple, dear. They want my water, for they must
eliminate competition, and they want to tie me up before I have an
opportunity to sell to somebody who realizes the value of my holdings.
Up Inyo way they know me for a range rider, a desert rat, a ne'er-do-
well, and it may be they are under the impression that I am like most
of my kind--that I can be mesmerized by the sight of four or five
thousand dollars."
"Harley P. will give me your letter to-morrow night and I'll bring it
home with me. We'll know definitely, then, what to expect. In the
meantime, Bob, I think you've dreamed enough for one night. You've been
up all day and you've talked and it's time you went to bed."
"'Talk'" he echoed, "talk! That's what. I've been talking--talk. But
when I clash with T. Morgan Carey's company I'll talk--turkey. If
you'll kiss me good-night, Donna, I think I can manage to last until
morning."
Late the following afternoon Harley P. Hennage returned from
Bakersfield and at once went to the post-office and secured Bob's
registered letter. He brought it over to Donna at the eating-house,
delivering with it a pantomime of the inquisitive Miss Pickett when she
discovered that the order for delivery of the registered letter to the
gambler was dated and mailed from Bakersfield.
At dinner Bob read the letter and silently handed it over to Donna. It
was from T. Morgan Carey. On behalf of the Inyo Land & Irrigation
Company Carey requested the favor of an interview at an early date to
take up with Bob the matter of purchasing his newly acquired water-
right on Cottonwood lake, or submitting a proposition for consolidation
with, certain rights held by his company. He begged for an early reply.
"Will you reply to his letter?" Donna queried.
"Yes. I shall write him that my location is not for sale."
"Then write it from Bakersfield" Donna suggested. "Harley P.'s
reputation is bad enough, but you mustn't convict him of lying."
Three days later Bob's strength had so far returned that Doc Taylor
told him he might leave San Pasqual whenever he pleased. Bob realized
that a longer stay at the Hat Ranch, while inviting enough, would
nevertheless prove expensive, by reason of the retention of his nurse,
for Donna could not continue to entertain him unchaperoned, even in
such a free-and-easy town as San Pasqual, and he was fearful that a
longer stay, even under the prevailing conditions, might prove
embarrassing to Donna, in case interest in his affairs should revive;
hence he announced his determination of going up to San Francisco to
recuperate and complete his plans for the acquisition of thirty-two
thousand acres of the public domain in the desert of Owens river
valley.
Donna did not endeavor to dissuade him. She realized that a longer stay
was impossible, much as both desired it, and Bob had his work to do and
not a great deal of time in which to do it. Accordingly Bob issued a
check to Doc Taylor that evening in payment of his fee, dismissed his
nurse and paid her off, and left with Donna another check, to be cashed
by Harley P. Hennage and the proceeds applied to the care and
maintenance of Friar Tuck until Bob's return to San Pasqual.
During the afternoon Bob dispatched Sam Singer to Harley P. Hennage
with a request for a shaving outfit, a shirt, underwear, a necktie and
a new suit of khaki. Armed with information respecting the physical
dimensions of Mr. McGraw, the gambler had attended to Bob's shopping,
and upon Donna's return to the Hat Ranch that night she discovered that
during her absence a transformation had taken place. Bob was arrayed in
his new habiliments, and paraded up and down the patio for the
inspection of Donna and the nurse.
"Well, Donna" he called to her, "how do I look? Presentable? I know I'm
feeling clean and respectable again, at any rate, and I've asked Sam
Singer to bury that ruin of rags I wore into town."
"Your gun hangs below the tail of your khaki coat."
"Then I'll tuck it up under my arm."
Donna helped him remove the coat, after which he buckled the belt over
his right shoulder, permitting the gun to hang securely in the holster
under his left arm.
"Now, I don't look so confoundedly woolly and western" he said. "I do
hate to go about looking like the hero of a dime novel. I suppose if a
tourist saw that gun hanging down he'd think I was bloodthirsty. It
would never occur to him that a gun comes in handy in the wilderness."
"Why not leave it here until your return?"
Bob grinned. "It's a good gun, Donna. I might be able to pawn it for
enough to help out on my return trip. Of course I have a watch, but its
hockable value is negative. When I was very young I was foolish enough
to have my initials engraved on the case, but of course I know better
now--by George, Donna girl, I haven't any hat!"
She flashed him one of her rare wonderful smiles. "I was waiting for
you to make that discovery" she said. "You lost your hat the night you
arrived in San Pasqual, but I haven't worried about it. I've been
saving a splendid big sombrero for you, Bob."
She went to her room, returning presently with a "cowboy" hat that must
have been the joy and pride of the tourist who sacrificed it to the San
Pasqual zephyr. She pinched it to a peak and set it jauntily on his
auburn head, then stood off and surveyed him critically.
"It's a dear" she announced.
"Looks dear, too" he replied whimsically. "Must have cost the original
owner a month's board. Whew! That's a bird of a hat, Donna girl. Thank
you. It's as good a hat as I'll ever own."
He sat down forthwith, turned back the sweat-band, moistened it
slightly and with the stub of an indelible pencil wrote his name in
full. He had ridden range long enough to acquire the habit of branding
his property, and in that land of breeze and sunshine he knew the
dangers that beset a maverick hat.
That night they walked together in the patio for the last time. Neither
felt inclined to conversation, for the thoughts of each were occupied
with dreams of the future, and the tragedy of that farewell lay heavy
upon them. Lover-like, each exacted from the other a promise to write
every day, and that important detail finally settled, Donna found it
easy enough to be brave and let him go.
At eleven o'clock Sam Singer appeared in the patio to announce his
willingness to trundle Bob up to San Pasqual on the same trackwalker's
velocipede upon which Bob had arrived at the Hat Ranch. The nurse was
not to leave until the next day, and being a discreet woman, and kindly
withal, she had had the delicacy to bid her patient farewell in the
patio. Donna accompanied him to the front gate, and there Bob with many
a fervent promise to take good care of himself--and not to forget to
write every day, took her in his arms, kissed her quickly before the
tears should have a chance to rise, and was gone.
She watched him stride slowly through the gloom to the velocipede
waiting on the tracks; she saw him climb aboard. Then the Indian's body
bent over the levers and the machine glided away into the night. She
stood at the gate and watched it until it vanished; she waited until
Twenty-six came thundering by at eleven-thirty-five and heard the grind
of the brakes as the long train pulled up at the station. Five minutes
later she heard it pull out of San Pasqual, with many a short and
labored gasp, casting a lurid gleam across the desert as it sped
northward into Tehachapi Pass, carrying Bob McGraw forth to battle, to
fight for his land and his Pagans.
When the last dim flicker of the green tail lights had disappeared
Donna retired to her room and cried herself to sleep. Once more she was
left to battle alone with the world, and the days would be long until
Bob McGraw came back.
Three hours after leaving Donna Corblay at the Hat Ranch, Bob McGraw
alighted from the train at Bakersfield and went at once to a hotel. He
arose late the next morning, breakfasted in the most appalling
loneliness and later wended his way weakly to the bank where his meager
funds were on deposit. Here he had his account balanced and discovered
that his total fortune amounted to a trifle over sixteen hundred
dollars, so he closed out his account and purchased a draft on San
Francisco for the amount of his balance, less sufficient money to pay
his current expenses.
This detail attended to, Mr. McGraw next proceeded to do what he had
always done when in a civilized community--spend his money recklessly.
He went back to the hotel, called Donna on the long-distance phone and
frittered away two dollars in inconsequential conversation. However, he
felt amply rewarded for the extravagance when Donna's voice--deep,
throaty, almost a baritone--came to him over the wire; the delighted,
almost childish cry of amazement which greeted his "Hello, Donna girl"
was music to his soul.
Bob was the kind of man who always thinks of the little things. He knew
Donna had gone to work that morning feeling blue and lonely, and the
substitution of that mood for one of genuine happiness for the rest of
the day Mr. McGraw would have considered cheap at the price of his
great toe or a hastily plucked handful of his auburn locks. As for
money--bah! Had it been his last two dollars it would have made no
difference. He would have telephoned just the same and trusted to
heaven to rain manna for his next meal.
But Bob McGraw was nothing if not an impetuous lover. Even in the case
of one who, like himself, had plans afoot where every dollar counted,
we might pardon readily the expenditure of two dollars on conversation,
in view of the extraordinary circumstances; but Mr. McGraw's next move
savors so strongly of the veal period of his existence that no amount
of extenuating circumstances may be adduced in defense of it. While the
promoter of Donnaville was a true son of the desert, he was college-
bred, and with the sight now, for the first time in several years, of
trolley cars, automobiles and people wearing clean linen, old memories
surged up in Mr. McGraw's damaged breast, and despite the fact that his
long legs were now weak and wobbly from the premature strain of his
journey from the hotel to the bank and back again, he fared forth once
more and pursued the uneven tenor of his way until he found himself in
a florist's shop.
Here no less than six dozen red carnations caught Mr. McGraw's fancy,
the purchase price of which, in addition to the express charges prepaid
to San Pasqual, further denuded him of ten dollars. Into the heart of
this cluster of fragrance he caused to be secreted a tiny envelope
enclosing a card, upon which he had drawn a heart with a feathered
arrow sticking through it; and for fear this symbolic declaration of
undying devotion might not be sufficient, he scrawled beneath it: "Love
from Bob."
Ah, if he could only have seen Donna's face when the express messenger
next door brought that votive offering in to her! Red carnations were
not frequent in San Pasqual. It was the first lover's bouquet Donna had
ever received and she bent low behind the cash register and kissed the
foolish little card, for the hand of her Bob had touched it! The
carnations she bore home to the Hat Ranch in triumph, and two weeks
later when Soft Wind, a stranger to romance, threw them out, Donna
wept.
His mission of love finally accomplished, Bob returned to his hotel and
went to bed. Late that afternoon he arose, much refreshed, dined and
waited around the lobby until it was time for the bus to leave for the
north-bound train.
By nine o'clock next morning he was in San Francisco. He found frugal
lodgings in a third-class hotel, and after writing a letter to Donna,
he went down town, purchased a suit of "store" clothes, and spent the
balance of the day in the public law library.
By nightfall Bob had saturated his brain with legal lore bearing on
every feature of the laws governing the acquisition of lands in the
public domain, and was satisfied that the hazy plan which he had
outlined was not only within the law, but really did have some vague
elements of feasibility. The beauty of Bob's plan, however--the part
that appealed to the sporting instinct in his ultra-sporty soul--lay
in the fact that it would cost him only fifteen hundred dollars to try!
Twelve hundred and seventy-five in preliminary payments, filing fees
and notary's fees, and the balance in hotel bills, traveling expenses,
etc.; but as an offset to his comparatively brilliant prospects of
going hungry and ragged there was the dim, long chance that he
_might_ win millions, provided his venture should be attended with
a fair percentage of supernatural luck. That was all Bob McGraw had to
cheer him on to victory--a million-to-one chance; yet, such was his
peculiar mental make-up, the terrific odds only proved an added
attraction.
CHAPTER X
Now; in order to insure even perfunctory understanding of the procedure
under which Bob McGraw planned to acquire his lands, and to give an
inkling of the difficulties confronting him, it is necessary that the
reader take a five-minute course in land law. This is regrettable, for
it is a dry subject, even in the matter of swamp and overflow lands, so
we shall endeavor to make the course as brief as possible.
Section sixteen and thirty-six in each township throughout the United
States are commonly designated as "school lands," for the reason that
the Federal government has ceded them to the various states, to be sold
by the states for the use and benefit of their public school funds.
School lands are open to purchase by any citizen of the United States,
and in the case of California school lands the statutory price is one
dollar and twenty-five cents per acre.
Now, frequently it happens that by reason of the inclusion of certain
of these "school lands" in a Forest Reserve, a Reclamation District, an
Indian Reservation, a National Park, a Government Military Reservation
or an old Mexican grant (which latter condition obtains very frequently
in California, where the titles to many huge grants still hold since
the days of the Mexican occupation) they are lost to the state. In such
cases, the Federal government reimburses the state suffering such loss
of school lands, by extending to the state the privilege of selecting
from the public lands within its borders an acreage corresponding to
the acreage thus lost by reason of inclusion in a restricted area.
The lands thus selected from the public domain in exchange for school
lands lost to the state, having been taken in lieu, thereof, are known
as "state lieu lands," and the lands which were originally state school
lands and which have been lost to the state by reason of their
inclusion in some restricted area, are spoken of as the "basis" for the
exchange.
If a citizen of the United States, duly qualified, desires to purchase
state school lands at the statutory price of one dollar and twenty-five
cents per acre, he must file his application for a section, or such
fraction thereof as he may desire, or be entitled to purchase, with the
surveyor-general of the state, who is also ex-officio registrar of the
State Land Office. If there are no school lands open for purchase at
the time, naturally they cannot be purchased; but if, on the contrary,
the state owns many sections of school lands which have been included
in restricted areas, the surveyor-general will select for the applicant
from the public domain such state lieu lands as the purchaser may
desire. However, no such selection of lieu lands can be made by the
surveyor-general unless there is a corresponding loss of school lands
_as the basis for the selection._
Now, this basis constituted the horns of a dilemma upon which Bob
McGraw had once found himself impaled in an attempt to purchase three
hundred and twenty acres of timbered land in the public domain--land
which he knew would, in the course of a few years, become very
valuable. Bob's restless nature would not permit of his taking up the
claim under the homestead law, for that would entail residence on the
property for more years than Bob could afford to remain away from his
beloved desert; hence he decided to acquire it by purchase as state
lieu land at a time when he knew there were no available school lands
lying outside restricted areas. Mr. McGraw saw an attractive profit in
purchasing at one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre three hundred
and twenty acres of timber worth fully fifty dollars per acre.
Thrilled, therefore, with most pleasurable anticipations, Mr. McGraw
had duly filed his application for purchase of this particular half-
section, under Section 3495 of the Political Code of the State of
California. He knew that, owing to the recent extension of the Forest
Reserve policy, thousands of acres of school lands had recently been
lost to the state, and that therefore, under the law, there could be no
legal hindrance to his purchase of lieu lands--particularly in view of
the fact that there were several hundred thousand acres of government
lands within the state from which to make his selection!
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