The Cross-Cut Part 10

But it was a slow job. Morning found the distance to the water lengthened by twenty or thirty feet, and the bucket brigades nearly at the end of their ropes. Men trudged down the hills to breakfast, sending others in their places. Fairchild stayed on to meet Mother Howard and a.s.suage her nervousness as best he could, dividing his time between her and the task before him. Noon found more water than ever tumbling down the hills--the smaller pumps were working now in unison with the larger one--for Sam Herbenfelder had not missed a single possible outlet of aid in his campaign; every man in Ohadi with an obligation to pay, with back interest due, or with a bill yet unaccounted for was on his staff, to say nothing of those who had volunteered simply to still the tearful remonstrances of the hand-wringing, diamond-less, little jeweler. Afternoon--and most of Ohadi was there. Fairchild could distinguish the form of Anita Richmond in the hundreds of women and men cl.u.s.tered about the opening of the tunnel, and for once she was not in the company of Maurice Rodaine. He hurried to her and she smiled at his approach.

"Have they found anything yet?"

"Nothing--so far. Except that there is plenty of water in the shaft.

I 'm trying not to believe it."

"I hope it is n't true." Her voice was low and serious. "Father was talking to me--about you. And we hoped you two would succeed--this time."

Evidently her father had told her more than she cared to relate.

Fairchild caught the inflection in her voice but disregarded it.

"I owe you an apology," he said bluntly.

"For what?"

"Last night. I could n't resist it--I forgot for a moment that you were there. But I--I hope that you 'll believe me to be a gentleman, in spite of it."

She smiled up at him quickly.

"I already have had proof of that. I--I am only hoping that you will believe me--well, that you 'll forget something."

"You mean--"

"Yes," she countered quickly, as though to cut off his explanation.

"It seemed like a great deal. Yet it was nothing at all. I would feel much happier if I were sure you had disregarded it."

Fairchild looked at her for a long time, studying her with his serious, blue eyes, wondering about many things, wis.h.i.+ng that he knew more of women and their ways. At last he said the thing that he felt, the straightforward outburst of a straightforward man:

"You 're not going to be offended if I tell you something?"

"Certainly not."

"The sheriff came along just after you had made the turn. He was looking for an auto bandit."

"A what?" She stared at him with wide-open, almost laughing eyes.

"But you don't believe--"

"He was looking for a man," said Fairchild quietly. "I--I told him that I had n't seen anything but--a boy. I was willing to do that then--because I could n't believe that a girl like you would--" Then he stumbled and halted. A moment he sought speech while she smiled up at him. Then out it came: "I--I don't care what it was. I--I like you. Honest, I do. I liked you so much when I was changing that tire that I did n't even notice it when you put the money in my hand.

I--well, you 're not the kind of a girl who would do anything really wrong. It might be a prank--or something like that--but it would n't be wrong. So--so there 's an end to it."

Again she laughed softly, in a way tantalizing to Robert Fairchild, as though she were making game of him.

"What do you know about women?" she asked finally, and Fairchild told the truth:

"Nothing."

"Then--" the laugh grew heartier, finally, however, to die away. The girl put forth her hand. "But I won't say what I was going to. It would n't sound right. I hope that I--I live up to your estimation of me. At least--I 'm thankful to you for being the man you are. And I won't forget!"

And once more her hand had rested in his,--a small, warm, caressing thing in spite of the purely casual grasp of an impersonal action.

Again Robert Fairchild felt a thrill that was new to him, and he stood watching her until she had reached the motor car which had brought her to the big curve, and had faded down the hill. Then he went back to a.s.sist the sweating workmen and the anxious-faced Sam Herbenfelder.

The water was down seventy feet.

That night Robert Fairchild sought a few hours' sleep. Two days after, the town still divided its attention between preparations for the Old Times Dance and the progress in the dewatering of the Blue Poppy shaft.

Now and then the long hose was withdrawn, and dynamite lowered on floats to the surface of the water, far below, a copper wire trailing it. A push of the plunger, a detonation, and a wait of long moments; it accomplished nothing, and the pumping went on. If the earthly remains of Harry Harkins were below, they steadfastly refused to come to the surface.

The volunteers had thinned now to only a few men at the pumps and the gasoline engine, and Sam Herbenfelder was taking turns with Fairchild in overseeing the job. Spectators were not as frequent either; they came and went,--all except Mother Howard, who was silently constant.

The water had fallen to the level of the drift, two hundred feet down; the pumps now were working on the main flood which still lay below, while outside the townspeople came and went, and twice daily the owner and proprietor and general a.s.signment reporter of the _Daily Bugle_ called at the mouth of the tunnel for news of progress. But there was no news, save that the water was lower. The excitement of it began to dim. Besides, the night of the dance was approaching, and there were other calls for volunteers, for men to set up the old-time bar in the lodge rooms of the Elks Club; for others to dig out ancient roulette wheels and oil them in preparation for a busy play at a ten-cent limit instead of the sky-high boundaries of a day gone by; for some one to go to Denver and raid the costume shops, to say nothing of buying the innumerable paddles which must accompany any old-time game of keno.

But Sam stayed on--and Fairchild with him--and the loiterers, who would refuse to work at anything else for less than six dollars a day, freely giving their services at the pumps and the engines in return for a share of Sam's good will and their names in the papers.

A day more and a day after that. Through town a new interest spread.

The water was now only a few feet high in the shaft; it meant that the whole great opening, together with the drift tunnel, soon would be dewatered to an extent sufficient to permit of exploration. Again the motor cars ground up the narrow roadway. Outside the tunnel the crowds gathered. Fairchild saw Anita Richmond and gritted his teeth at the fact that young Rodaine accompanied her. Farther in the background, narrow eyes watching him closely, was Squint Rodaine. And still farther--

Fairchild gasped as he noticed the figure plodding down the mountain side. He put out a hand, then, seizing the nervous Herbenfelder by the shoulder, whirled him around.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "Look there! Did n't I tell you! Did n't I have a hunch?"

For, coming toward them jauntily, slowly, was a figure in beaming blue, a Fedora on his head now, but with the rest of his wardrobe intact, yellow, b.u.mp-toed shoes and all. Some one shouted. Everybody turned.

And as they did so, the figure hastened its pace. A moment later, a booming voice sounded, the unmistakable voice of Harry Harkins:

"I sye! What's the matter over there? Did somebody fall in?"

The puffing of gasoline engines ceased. A moment more and the gurgling cough of the pumps was stilled, while the shouting and laughter of a great crowd sounded through the hills. A leaping form went forward, Sam Herbenfelder, to seize Harry, to pat him and paw him, as though in a.s.surance that he really was alive, then to grasp wildly at the ring on his finger. But Harry waved him aside.

"Ain't I paid the installment on it?" he remonstrated. "What's the rumpus?"

Fairchild, with Mother Howard, both laughing happily, was just behind Herbenfelder. And behind them was thronging half of Ohadi.

"We thought you were drowned!"

"Me?" Harry's laughter boomed again, in a way that was infectious.

"Me drowned, just because I let out a 'oller and dropped my 'at?"

"You did it on purpose?" Sam Herbenfelder shook a scrawny fist under Harry's nose. The big Cornishman waved it aside as one would brush away an obnoxious fly. Then he grinned at the townspeople about him.

"Well," he confessed, "there was an un'oly lot of water in there, and I didn't 'ave any money. What else was I to do?"

"You--!" A pumpman had picked up a piece of heavy timbering and thrown it at him in mock ferocity. "Work us to death and then come back and give us the laugh! Where you been at?"

"Center City," confessed Harry cheerily.

"And you knew all the time?" Mother Howard wagged a finger under his nose.

"Well," and the Cornishman chuckled, "I did n't 'ave any money. I 'ad to get that shaft unwatered, did n't I?"

"Get a rail!" Another irate--but laughing--pumpman had come forward.

"Think you can pull that on us? Get a rail!"

Some one seized a small, dead pine which lay on the ground near by.

Others helped to strip it of the scraggly limbs which still clung to it. Harry watched them and chuckled--for he knew that in none was there malice. He had played his joke and won. It was their turn now.