Sally put a swift hand on his arm.
“No, George,” she said; “if Uncle Bob says it’s fool’s gold, that’s what it is.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. There was a funny expression in them.
“Then,” she said, “we violated your instructions all for nothing. There’s been a fight. Men have been killed. We risked your life and I risked George’s life, all for a lot of fool’s gold.”
I shook my head, smiling down at her.
“No,” I said, “you’re only looking at the debit side of the ledger. There’s a credit side.”
“What?” she asked in a tone that was too innocent.
I nodded my head toward George Ringley.
“Do you realize the vein of gold that you’ve uncovered?” I asked her. “You’ve uncovered a fighting character that is going to go far in the world. This boy managed, with your assistance, to beat off Big Bill Ordway’s whole gang. They were experienced desert fighters. They’ve been notorious claim jumpers for the past ten years, and you and George broke up the entire gang. You’ll be given the thanks of every miner between here and Mojave. Moreover, you’ve accomplished something that a great deal of money had never been able to accomplish.”
She looked from me to George Ringley.
“Sand blast?” she asked, and her smile was enigmatical.
I nodded.
“Exactly,” I said.
“How about the Chuckwalla claims?”
“There’s nothing to keep us from locating them,” I said. “Ordway’s gang is all busted up.”
She nodded slowly. “Just as you say, Uncle Bob,” she told me.
I held her eye.
“Sally Ehlers,” I said, “have you lived in the desert all your life and been fooled by fool’s gold?”
She smiled.
“George found it,” she said.
The plane slanted down from the cloudless blue of the California sky, to drop to a three-point landing as gracefully as a seagull dropping to a sand bar.
Pete Ringley was the first one out of the plane. He ran across the cement and grabbed his boy by the arms. They looked in each other’s eyes for a moment and then started pumping hands up and down. Sally Ehlers came over and Pete Ringley threw an arm around her. I walked up and caught the glint in Pete’s eyes.
“You damned old pirate,” he said. “I should have you arrested.”
“Remember the woodwork in your study, Pete?” I asked.
He looked at me, wondering if perhaps I had gone entirely crazy.
I nodded toward the boy.
“Take another look at him, Pete,” I said.
Sally Elders burst into rapid-fire conversation.
“You’d ought to be proud of your son, Uncle Pete,” she said. “Do you know what he did single-handed and unaided? He busted up the Bill Ordway gang of claim jumpers. Here it is in the paper. Take a look for yourself.”
She whipped a copy of the Los Angeles Times from under her arm, snapped the paper open, and let Pete Ringley look at the big headlines which streamed across the front of the page with a picture of George Ringley occupying a prominent position in top center of the page.
Pete’s eyes lit with a sudden glow of pride. He grabbed the paper.
“Humph!” he said at last, when he had read the account. “And where was Bob Zane all that time?”
“I couldn’t get there, Pete,” I said. “I heard the firing, but there was nothing I could do. By the time I got started they had the place surrounded and I couldn’t get through them.”
Slowly the gleam of hostility faded from Pete Ringley’s eyes.
“I think,” he said, “I’m commencing to see.”
“Aw, it was Sally that worked the whole thing for me,” George said. “I’d never have had the courage to do it. She showed me how to build the fort and all of that stuff.”
“Who showed you how to bust out of the fort and lick Bill Ordway in a hand-to-hand battle, kid?” I asked.
He shuffled his feet and hung his head in embarrassment.
Pete Ringley looked at me and sighed.
“Well, Bob,” he said. “We’re starting all over again.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“That big business deal I had on,” he said, “turned out to be a skin-game. I was the one who got skinned.”
“You mean you’ve lost money, Dad?” asked George Ringley.
“Lost money?” he said. “I’ve lost everything. I been cleaned out, lock, stock and barrel. I had enough money in my pocket to buy an airplane ticket when I got Bob Zane’s wire, and that’s about all.”
“Your wife?” I asked.
A look of pain clouded his eyes for a moment, then he shrugged his shoulders and made a spreading gesture with his hands.
“She was a city woman,” he said, as though by way of extenuation.
Sally Ehlers gripped his arm.
“But,” she said, “you’ve got the Chuckwalla claims. Bob Zane located them in your joint names.”
Pete Ringley looked at me.
I managed to look glum.
“Yes, Pete,” I said, “I located them, but they didn’t look so good when I made a second survey of the property. I’m afraid that ore doesn’t run uniform.”
Sally Ehlers gave a gasp.
“Why, Uncle Bob,” she said, “I thought the claims were going to be bonanzas.”
“You never can tell about gold, Sally,” I told her.
“Well,” Pete said, “let’s get started somewhere. We can’t stick around here, and I don’t like the noise of civilization. I want to get out in the desert where it’s silent.”
The two young folks walked on ahead. Pete Ringley fell into step beside me.
“Listen, you old sidewinder,” he said, “what the hell’s the idea about that second survey of the claims? We made a complete survey that first time.”
I grinned at him.
“You know, Pete,” I said, “I think when she comes to think it over, Sally Ehlers might feel a little embarrassed if the son of a millionaire should propose to her to-night. She’d probably turn him down just to make sure that she wasn’t marrying for money. But if she thought that he was the son of a poor desert prospector...”
I broke off and shrugged my shoulders.
Pete looked over at me and a slow grin came over his face.
“And those claims are just as good as they ever were?” he asked.
I gripped his arm.
“A damn sight better,” I told him.
He heaved a deep sigh.
“All right,” he said, “let’s get out of these damn dude duds and get out in the desert where we can hear the silence.”
I nodded toward the couple on ahead.
“Why the devil do you suppose we filled the gas tank before we drove up to the airport?” I asked. “You bet your life we’re headed for the desert.”
Law of the Rope
I
Desert Death
Little things count for a good deal in the desert. The man who lives in the desert must observe everything, no matter how small, otherwise he won’t live long.
The desert is the crudest mother a man ever had, and therefore the kindest. Man develops through his sufferings. The pleasures which come in between are the mental bromides which enable us to carry on. Our only real progress is made through overcoming suffering or hardship.
If I hadn’t lived so long in the desert I wouldn’t have investigated the moving speck. We were approaching the end of the road, and my roan was tired. He was still full of spirit and stamina, but he was tired. The moving speck caught my eye and held my attention.
It wasn’t a deer; it wasn’t an antelope, and it wasn’t a man. It looked something like a burro, and yet it seemed to be too high in the back for a burro.