Overland Red Part 47

"Yes."

"Well, I found it all. Since the company is workin' the claim now and I didn't have so much to do, I got to thinkin' of them papers. I went out there, paced her off down the track, guessed at about where it was, and found 'em."

"Found them?"

"Yes, sir. There was that little bag almost atop of the sand, account of wind and rain. Then there was a record of the claim, our claim. It's been filed on before. We made a mistake and filed on the wrong section.

When me and Billy went to file, I noticed the clerk said something about havin' neighbors on the claim next, but I was scared of answerin' too many questions, so I give him some cigars and beat it."

"Who owns our claim, then?"

"That's the queer part of it. You know the guy we give the water to--the one that died out there. _He_ owns the claim, or he did. It belongs by rights to his girl now. His name was Andre Lacharme."

"Lacharme!"

"Yes, Louise's pa. Recollect your boss tellin' us as how the Rose Girl's daddy was missin' out in the Mojave? Then they was a letter--old and 'most wore out--from Walter Stone himself. It was to him--her pa--tellin' him about the little Louise baby and askin' him to come to the Moonstone and take a job and quit prospectin'. That's where we stand."

Louise, breathless, listened and could not believe that she was real, that this was not a dream. Andre Lacharme! Her father!

"I seen a lawyer about it," resumed Overland. "He said it was plain enough that the claim belonged to the dead prospector or his girl, now.

You see, we worked the claim and kep' up the work accordin' to law. What we made ain't ours, but I'm mighty glad it's hers. 'Course, we earned what dust we dug, all right. Now I'm leavin' it up to you. Do we tell her or do we say nothin', and go on gettin' rich?"

"Why do you put it up to me?" asked Collie.

"Because, kid, you got the most to lose. Your chance is about gone with the Rose Girl if you let go the gold. Sabe? The little Rose Girl is wise. She don't give two cents for money--but she ain't foolish enough to marry a puncher that's workin' for wages on her uncle's ranch. And when she gets all me and Billy made and your share, she'll be rich. That won't be no time for you to go courtin' _her_. It ain't that you ain't good enough for any girl. But now'days things is different. You got to have money."

"Do you think Louise would take the money?" asked Collie.

"I don't know. But that ain't it. We either give it up--or we don't.

What do you say?"

"Why--to tell Louise, of course. I meant that right along. You ought to know that."

"You givin' it up because you had some fuss with her, or anything like that?"

"No, Red. I say tell her, because it's square. Did she stop to ask questions when I was in trouble? No. She went to work to help me, quick.

I guess we care more for her than a whole carload of gold."

"Well, I guess. Once I wouldn't 'a' stopped to worry about whose gold it was. But knowin' the Rose Girl,--knowin' what she _is_,--why, it's makin' me soft in me morals."

"What do we do now, Red?"

"I'm goin' to beat it. Back to the dusty for mine."

"You don't have to do that, Red."

"That's just why I'm a-doin' it. I like to do what I like."

"Quitting now seems like saying, 'I'm whipped,'" said Collie. "Quitting after giving up our money to her looks like we were sore--even if we do it and smile. She would feel bad, Red. She'd think she drove us off."

"No, I reckon not. She'll see that I always been a good daddy to you and put you right in this case. It was all right when you had a chance. It ain't now. It ain't fair to her, neither, because she's like to stick to any promises she might 'a' made you."

"Why don't you ask Stone for a job?" said Collie.

"What? Me? After bein' President of the Rose Girl Mining Company, in--Say! They's no halfway house for me. It's all or nothin'. Why, I don't even own the Guzzuh. Could you stand it to see her every day, and you just a puncher workin' for the Moonstone. She would smile and treat you _fine_, and you'd be eatin' your own heart out for her."

"No, I couldn't," said Collie slowly. "Red, I guess you're right."

Collie's perspective was distorted through sudden disappointment. The old life of the road ... the vague to-morrows of indolence ... the sprightly companions.h.i.+p of Overland Red, inventive, eloquent....

"Red, if I come with you, it's because I can't stand seeing her--after everything that has happened. It is square to her, too, I guess."

"I ain't askin' you, Collie, but there's nothin' like ramblin' to make you forget. It's got hard work beat to a mush, because when you're ramblin' you're 'most always hungry. Listen! Love is when you ain't satisfied. So is a empty stomach. A fella's got to eat. Do you get that?"

"Yes. But, Red, you said you loved a woman once. You didn't forget."

"No, kid. I didn't. Once I didn't do nothin' else but remember. I got over that. It's only accidental to circ.u.mstances pertainin' to the fact that I remember now. You never seen _me_ cry in my soup, did you?"

"But you're different."

"That's the blat every yearlin' makes till he grows up and finds out he's a cow jest like his ma. I ain't different inside. And bleedin'

inside is dangerouser than bleedin' outside. Listen! Remember the little fire beside the track, when we was 'way up in the big hills? Remember the curve, like a snake unwindin' where she run round the hill, and nothin' beyond but s.p.a.ce and the sun drippin' red in the ocean? Remember the chicken we swiped and et that night? And then the smokes and lookin'

up at the stars? Remember that? Listen!

"It's beat it, bo, while your feet are mates, And we'll see the whole United States.

With a smoke and a pal and a fire at night, And up again in the mornin' bright, With nothin' but road and sky in sight And nothin' to do but go.

"Then, beat it, bo, while the walkin' 's good; And the birds on the wires is sawin' wood.

If to-day ain't the finest for you and me, There's always to-morrow, that's goin' to be.

And the day after that is a-comin'. See!

And nothin' to do but go.

"I'm the ramblin' son with the nervous feet, That never was made for a steady beat.

I had many a job for a little spell; I been on the b.u.m, and I've hit it swell.

But there's only one road to Fare-ye-well, And nothin' to do but go."

"With nothing to do but go," whispered Collie. "Red, we've always been friends?"

"You bet your return ticket!"

"And we are always going to be," said Collie. "I guess that settles it.

I--I wish Saunders--had--finished me."

Louise, numb from sitting still so long, moved slightly.

"What's that?" exclaimed Collie.

"Jest some of your little old ideas changin' cars," replied Overland.

"You'll get used to it."