# The Girl Of Ghost Mountain/Chapter 17

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CHAPTER XVIII
MARY BURROWS
The fire blazed and crackled lustily in the throat of Bonanza Canyon. A scattering of pinyon and cedar, that had practically given up all fight for existence, but which furnished more solid fuel than greasebrush and sage, had been hauled in by Bill in the afternoon. Over this Quong, for all his new-found riches, still only half retrieved, had quietly insisted upon preparing pots of fragrant coffee and broiling steaks. The wounded and the bruised had been looked to, and, with no serious casualties, rescued and rescuers gathered round the fire. Sage cushions, covered with Navajo blankets from the Sheriff's car, made springy couches for those who most needed them. With food and tobacco there came content.
Sheridan's arm was badly bruised but he forgot it. Mary Burrows was beside him as he handled his pipe with his left hand. She was on his right. Since her first rush to him with its unspoken declaration she had insensibly retreated, but he felt that the way was still open and held a welcome at the end. On the other hand, Thora openly appropriated Red with a quaint mixture of materialism and worship of "her man" that might have once embarrassed Red, now too stiff in the neck and shoulders ​to be anything but grateful for her efforts to make him comfortable. Besides, Romance dealt the cards that night. It all fitted in with the roaring fire, the sparks dancing up to where the stars showed in the cleft of the cliffs, the happenings in the cave. No one had talked much while the meal was cooked and eaten, the wounds tended. Sheridan had gathered that they had come from Metzal on short order, with barely gasoline enough in their tanks to reach the Painted Rocks and return. He was satisfied to let the remnant of the tongmen go. But now, with his pipe drawing freely, he asked the question that was rising to the lips of all the defenders of the cave, save Quong the Imperturbable. To watch Quong, cooking, detached from all but his immediate task, made the knife-fight appear like a dream.
"How did you get here, in the nick of time, Mary?" he asked. He called her Mary frankly enough before all of them. Any other title would have seemed inadequate. The fact was patent that he was her lover, equally so that she would not resent it, and he knew that all the group, riders, sheriff, Quong, were gentlemen.
Mary Burrows looked around at the faces turned towards her, thrown into high relief by the flames that fought off the cold of the night. Then, without preamble, she told her story simply.
"Thora and I went into Pioche—to file papers for the Hidden Homestead—and for some other matters." Just a hint of self-consciousness crept into her voice and vanished again as she referred to the papers. "I wanted to get some Mexican lace; ​there is a place near the depot where it is for sale. When I was in that house I saw, through the window, while the woman was getting out her goods, two men talking together. They both seemed to be Mexicans, they were both dressed as Mexicans. One of them was Pedro. The other—was a Chinaman. Under the wide brim of his sombrero it was easy for him to pass as a Mexican. He was bronzed and his features were not very different from Pedro's. They were finer cut, but they were not"—she glanced at Quong—"distinctively Chinese. Only the slant of his eyes really suggested that.
"I knew the combination meant no good. Of course all that you had told me about the trip to the Painted Rocks was fresh in my mind. It flashed across me that this Chinaman was making inquiries for Quong. I thought at first that Pedro would direct him to the Circle S, not knowing about the treasure expedition. And Quong would not be there. So at first I did not worry, except that I did not want to run across Pedro, although Thora wanted to get her hands on him. But she knew as well as I did that it would only start people talking and presently the two went away.
"We started back and took the wagon road. We usually cut off across the prairie for the Homestead about a mile after you cross the bridge over Cedar Creek. We rode off the road at the bridge and down through the willows to water the horses. We didn't get off them, but sat in our saddles while they drank and cooled off their fetlocks.
"Then we heard—the horses first of all, pricking ​up their ears—the sound of an automobile, two as it turned out. They were not sounding their horns and they were coming at high speed, but they slowed up for the bridge. It is none too firm and Pedro must have warned them about it. For Pedro was in the front seat of the first machine. They were not looking for us, knew nothing about us, and they would not have discovered any one unless they had slowed up still more and looked very carefully through the green boughs of the willows.
"But we could see them. It was sunset and they were traveling straight west as the road runs there. The driver of the first car was goggled and wore a cap with a low visor, but he was a Chinaman. Both cars had their tops up and curtains too, but it was still warm and they were in a lonely country with nothing in sight, so they had unbuttoned some of the curtains and those who could were getting the breeze. They were all Chinamen, not the type of the man I had seen talking with Pedro—the man Quong killed—but cruel faces with high cheekbones and slitty, tilted eyes. The second driver was goggled and visored too. If it had not been for the rest I might not have known either of the drivers as Chinese, but I was thinking fast.
"There was deviltry on all of those yellow faces peering out from the car curtains. They passed out of our sight fast enough, but they left a sinister trail behind in my mind. They picked up speed and went sweeping on towards Pioche Gap. I thought of them arriving at the Circle S. Then I thought that Chinamen would hardly dare to attack an ​American ranch in such force. If they were after Quong, they would do what they had come to do by stealth. One man would be better than a dozen. From what I knew, and had read, of tong fights, I fancied they would not attempt open methods in this instance.
"Thora and I argued out why they should have arrived in such force, and the idea came to me that in some way they had heard of the gold cached in the canyon. I could not be sure, but I determined that I would ride to the Circle S and warn Stoney, at least. Then we could come here to make sure you were safe.
"We galloped nearly all of the way to Pioche Gap and through it. The trail of the tires was plain. One of them had a diamond-studded tire on one rear wheel, nearly new, and markings on the other rear wheel that left a series of V's.
"When we got through the gap the two machines left the road and turned west again along the range. They were heading for the Painted Rocks. Pedro was guiding them here. They would take you unawares. It was plain enough, though by this time it was so dark we could barely make out those tracks.
"Both our horses were tired. Thora's was winded. I began to despair of the time it would take them to get to the Circle S, and I knew they would never last to carry us to the Painted Rocks. It would take a frightful time for even the riders to make the desert trip and I knew the machines could plough through at a steady gait. We were about two miles out of Metzal.
​"Then two horsemen came out of the dusk from Metzal way and they drew up and one of them hailed us. It was Stoney. I never felt so glad in my life. I told what was the matter and, it slipped into my mind all of a sudden, I suggested that we might get a car or two at Metzal. He agreed with me it might be possible and that it was the only way to get through. He sent the other man—it was Jim Lund—racing back to bring the boys up to Metzal and we three rode on to Metzal to see what we could do. Stoney was worried, I think, though he tried not to let me see it.
She stopped and glanced at Stoney.
"I was worried stiff," said Stoney. "Figgered they'd git you unawares. I knew Chinks was a cutthroat lot of devils when they got started—beggin' yore pardon, Quong, an' leavin' you out o' this deal. An' they sure had one big start. We'd have to wait until the boys come from the ranch, though I knew they'd come a runnin'. I told Jim to tell 'em to bring their artillery an' spare ammunition. An' I was doubtful about gittin' cars. Metzal ain't Pioche. An', take it after sundown, every one that owns a flivver is out to hit the breeze.
"But, shucks, I didn't have to worry none with a lady like Miss Mary here, runnin' things. She thought of everything. She coaxed Herron, the stage-driver, into lettin' us have his flivver, though she couldn't promise when we'd bring it back. Bought it for five hundred bucks, he to take his chance of hirin' or buyin' another if we didn't come back by his mornin' trip.
​"Herron, he's a wolf on anything that spells cash, an' for a while I thought he was goin' to make a fuss about not gettin' it down on the spot, but Miss Mary she persuaded him she was good for it. An' I suggested I'd sort of back her note. I suspicion he fancied I'd use my gun for a fountain pen, but he comes through agreeable. An' the cuss lied to us after all. Said the tank was filled ready for his trip. Mebbe he forgot he hadn't filled it. But he hadn't.
"One flivver wa'n't goin' to hold the outfit an' I cudn't locate another. Jest before the boys come up, the sheriff here, he shows, an' Miss Mary takes him in tow."
Stoney looked in turn at the sheriff.
"I didn't need much persuadin' when I heard what you might be up against, Sheridan," he said. "I was in Metzal with the Federal officer I told you of. He rounded up Vasquez an' took him back on the train, but I stayed over to chin with some folks, an' mighty glad I was I did. Miss Burrows, if I'm rememberin' right, didn't ask me for my car, she sort of commandeered it. Then the bunch from yore ranch comes up on the run an' we piles in an' on an' starts through the night. Come ten miles an' Herron's flivver goes dead for lack of juice. I had to divvy with 'em. That's why we couldn't chase after the car that got away.
"We shacked along at a lively clip enough. I reckon we made better time than them heavy cars of the Chinks. A flivver is sure a reg'lar sand-flea for cross-country work. An' we hopped fast an' frequent. Well, you know the rest,"
​Thora, silent all this time, ministering to Red, who acted like a great dog having its head scratched, broke into speech.
"By Yiminy," she cried. "I bane forget. Did you bane get the gold?"
"Half of it," said Sheridan. "The rest won't be hard to come at."
Perhaps it was not curious, after all they had gone through, that the gold should have sunk to such insignificance, but it appeared that Mary Burrows had said nothing of the treasure. The sheriff and the riders who had come with Stoney gasped.
"Gold," said the sheriff. "What gold?"
Sheridan told him briefly.
"I've heard of that old yarn," he said. "Never took no stock in it. Three quarters of a million in bars! No wonder they were out for yore scalps." He looked at Quong with a suddenly increased respect.
"You folks are dead where you sit an' lie," he said. "We're fairly fresh, barrin' some stiff from that ride. I'll boss us gang of newcomers. Leave one man on guard, an' to tend the fire, an' the rest of us'll dig out yore gold for you, an' clean up things a bit while you take a snooze."
It suited Sheridan. He was tired and he ached, and he was, with all of it, ineffably comfortable with Mary by his side. Quong voted to go along, wide-awake, the only one of the treasure party actually unscathed. The horses had been found at the head of the canyon, scared by the shots, but ​safe. Barring the dynamite they had used, Hsu Fu's party had not disturbed the camp.
Soon the little camp was quiet. Sheridan drowsed off, conscious of Mary Burrows close beside him. He woke once, to the touch of her fingers. In her sleep they had crept out and found his hand, the hand to his injured arm.
The dawn was rose-red on the rim rock of the main canyon when he awoke, the stars were swiftly vanishing, melting in the blue. For a moment he lazily watched the narrow ribbon of crimson widen as the sun lifted, his senses hazy in sleep, until his brain seemed suddenly to clear. Beside him, curled and tucked up beneath a blanket, lay Mary Burrows, sleeping softly and quietly as a child.
About the glowing fire that sent up a thin column of smoke, steady, intensely blue in the still air of early morning, lay Thora, next to Mary. Then came Jackson and the three riders. All of these slept like logs, though Jackson had a wry neck and two of the riders more serious and painful casualties, in a torn scalp and a riddled arm.
But Sheridan was very wide awake. To banish sleep and find the slimsy lady, the Girl of Ghost Mountain, close beside him, to feel his heart beat swift and strong in the recollection of what her presence meant, of how she had guessed his danger and planned and worked a way to reach him, was a degree of exaltation that Sheridan had never known before. He bent a little towards her, forgetful of his arm, and the sudden anguish that shot through the bruised length of it brought out an involuntary ​exclamation that he stifled with his teeth in his lower lip.
But the girl awakened^ with a little sigh not of discomfort. She gave a deep breath, started a yawn, a demi-yawn that opened her fresh lips, red as the heart of a rose, and then her lashes lifted. Sheridan gazed full into her eyes and watched a glory grow within them. For a moment it seemed as if her soul spoke to him while her body still slumbered. His own eyes answered and the slimsy lady flushed divinely and then sat up with a quick touch to her hair.
"They are still asleep," said Sheridan in a low voice. "The others haven't come back yet."
He felt that there was understanding between them but he wanted words. Now was the opportunity, before the camp buzzed with the return of the Sheriff and Quong with the riders, the bustle of breakfast and of departure.
"Are you going to go back East, Mary?" he asked her.
But she was not to be so easily cornered.
"I may have to, to see about my property," she parried.
Beyond her, Thora, so far placid, a slumbering mountain of a woman, began to stir.
"I may have to go myself," said Sheridan, spurred to boldness. "If only to see that you come back again. Shall we go together—on our honeymoon?"
Like a light through glass, the soul of her seemed to make her flesh transparent, radiant. But she put up a hand.
​"If—if you had not found the gold—would you—knowing I was an heiress—have asked me that question, Peter?"
"No—"
"And then I should have had to go away. I could not have stayed. And, I did not want to go, Peter."
The same impulse came to both of them. Both glanced swiftly round the ring of sleepers. The rider left on guard was up at the head of the little canyon with the horses. They were quite alone for the moment. She lifted her face towards him. It was like a flower, he thought, as he bent his own to meet it, moving his arm painfully.
"Oh, Peter, your poor arm," she said, and then knelt beside him, her arms going about his neck, her lips on hit.
They talked softly together for a little. This was their own short hour and they wanted to make the most of it.
"Peter," he asked, "Will there be enough gold for you to complete the project?"
"Hardly that. But enough to make a good start. To dig the main ditch, to put in the siphon and start the water flowing. The power house must come later, from the sale of shares. I don't know just what the cost will be, Mary. My estimates are all amateur. There is a man I know back East, a young man, comparatively, but a splendid engineer. I think I can persuade him to come out here and superintend the work. We might see him together."
​He liked to watch the responsive flush on her face, the steady light in her eyes that looked so frankly into his for all her blushes.
"There is just one thing that is hard to determine," he went on, "and that is the amount of the supply that flows into Lake of the Woods. One thing we can do to assure water, and that is to afforest the bare slopes of Ghost Mountain and turn them into watershed. That is an extra that may not be necessary now but it is a very vital precaution. And it will all take money."
"We are going to be partners, aren't we, Peter? In everything?"
"In everything."
"Then please don't overlook my little fortune. I should like to put those dollars into trees. Not trees to be cut down, but to grow, to beckon the rain, to live their full lives of beauty and usefulness. Let that be my share, Peter."
The rider, bringing back the horses to the stream for water, broke his answer, roused Thora and Red. Thora's first thought was for Mary, even ahead of Red. She read Mary's eyes instantly before the question formed in her own.
"Oh," she said, "I bane so glad."
"We are going East in a few days, Thora," said Sheridan. "Do you want to come along?"
The clear tan of Thora's skin, from where her neck sprang out of her waist, up to the roots of her flaxen hair, became like the rim rock that Sheridan had noticed in the sunrise, and her clear woman's eyes clouded with a mist of girlish shyness.
​"I dunno," she said slowly. "I t'ink you bane better ask the boss."
Red's look of mingled proudness and surprise was almost ludicrous. If he was the boss of that mating he had not yet acquired confidence. But it was very evident that Thora had capitulated completely. She turned to him for the answer and Red moved his head stiffly.
"Well," he answered slowly. "Now you've got the gold, ha'f of it ennyway, you'll be startin' on that water an' alfalfy scheme. Me, I'm handy with a herd while it rums wild. I can hold down a job as foreman of a cattle ranch, but w'en it comes to tumin' farmer an' feedin' tame steers, I dunno. I ain't much on crops, nor on breedin'. You'll be needin' an expert for that, Sheridan. I—we—was thinkin' of goin' in for bees an' goats. They ain't like range cows but they both trail wild. They's money in goats an'—" He faltered, picked up again, "Thora an' me was figgerin' on askin' you for the lease of the Homestead, Miss Mary," he plunged. "Thora said that mebbe you might be aimin' to not be usin' it for a spell. I've rambled a heap an' I've lived sort of various, but I've allus aimed to settle down some time, w'en—" He looked proudly towards Thora.
"I'm sory, Red,*' said Mary. "But I can't do that."
Jackson looked blank and Thora puzzled.
"We warn't tryin' to horn in on enny plans you might have," he started.
"It isn't that, Red. I don't own the Homestead. ​It belongs to Thorn. She doesn't know it yet, but the papers are all in her name. I did it yesterday in Pioche. So you'll have to look on it as Thora's dowry."
"Gosh!" said Red as Mary turned to hear her lover.
"I hoped they might want it together," she said. "If I went East I wouldn't need it. I was afraid that Thora might not want to leave me and I was sure that she loved Red. And—I thought that if—if you asked me to stay—I might have to live closer to Chico Mesa."
"Red has a share in this gold," said Sherman, "enough to buy them the finest goats and queen bees that leap and fly. Kid meat and honey and music. They'll have an idyllic existence."
"I hope so. I'll have to whistle for you, Peter."
"You'll never find me far away, Mary."
It was all delicious nonsense, but it could not last long and it was the only medium for present love making. The three riders were waking up. They heard voices and the rest appeared, coming in from the main canyon, Quong and the sheriff walking ahead together. Quong's face was serene, unvexed by lack of sleep.
"We've got it," said the sheriff. "Warn't such a hard job. But I'm glad to get shet of that cave with that crowd of seventy-year old mummies. Quong here 'lows he'll get breakfast. An' we sure can do justice to it."
Mary and Thora departed towards the stream and Sheridan and the sheriff strolled towards the mouth of Bonanza Canyon.
​"Don't reckon you'll feel like ridin' yore hawss back," said the sheriff. "Not with yore arm swollen thataway. We can find room for you in my car. Goin' to be a bit crowded, but yore men that came in with me can go back a-saddle. I had the boys bury the Chinamen. Don't see no sense in spendin' the county funds over inquests for a pack like them. Packed that Pedro away with the rest of 'em. Pioche won't be no worse off without him.
"That Quong is different from enny Chink I ever met up with. Sort of noble in his own land, I reckon. Me an' him got right friendly. He aims to go down to the South Seas, he tells me. Knows an island down there that ain't on the charts. Goin' to buy him a ship an' tote along machinery an' stuff with a bunch of coolies. Be a reg'lar king on a mountain. On the wrong side of politics back in Chiny, I understand.
"That Miss Burrows," he continued, "is sure one woman with brains and understandin'. She organized us last night with speed an' dexterity. I'd hate to have her run agen me for sheriff. She's the kind of woman we need out here. I hope she's aimin' to stay?"
His glance was quizzical but not inquisitive.
"She's going to stay, sheriff," replied Sheridan. "She's going to be my partner at Chico Mesa."
"Man to man, Sheridan, I plumb hate to congratulate you. I'm too envious. You'll be spillin' water all over the mesa, now, I reckon. First thing I know you'll be shiftin' the county seat from Pioche to Metzal."
​"If we do, Sheriff, we'll bring you along with your office. There's one thing I want to tell you. Hollister's up there on the side of the cliff. He attempted to abduct Miss Burrows. We found her, but—it might have been too late, if Hollister had not gone blind and then died from Vasquez' liquor. I don't suppose there will be any inquiry but I want to see the future clear. And I don't want to bring her into it."
"Natcher'ly not. Want to avoid enny complications. There won't be none. I understood Hollister had gone on a long journey. I can confirm that rumor from now on. As to Vasquez, the Federal man is goin' to make one bright an' shinin' example out of him. There'll be a fine, but not as an option. Vasquez is goin' to be a gov'mint boarder for quite a spell. As fur as his killin' Hollister is concerned, the prosecution might consider it as mitigatin' circumstances. We'll let her ride as she goes. You got a wagon to tote in the gold, ain't you? Then you an' your fiancee 'll ride with me. There's both the ladies comin' up from the creek. An' I smell coffee."
Red came up and the sheriff strolled off.
"Pete," said Red, "you've got a stiff arm, an' I've got a neck that's all gristle. I can't even wiggle it. But they'll both mend. You an' me, Pete Sheridan, there ain't much the matter with us from now on, I reckon.
"But I've found out one thing," he added whimsically. "Times must have changed, or else the fellers that writ the sayin's was doin' it second-hand. ​I was allus brought up to understand that love spiles the appetite. It don't, Pete, for I'm sure in love an' I'm hungrier than a spring bear."
Late spring on Chico Mesa. A myriad blossom faces pushing up everywhere, even in the desert places. The grass growing and blowing in the wind. But, quilting the level expanse, signs of surer growths, squares of green velvet, vivid, promising. Alfalfa, vigorous under the sun and above the water, sucking up the moisture and transmuting it to lush leaves and stems, presently to purple blossoms that would herald the harvesting of the second crop.
Straight from the foot of Ghost Mountain ran the gleaming line of the main ditch, laterals shining as they stretched east and west. Beef cattle grazing on the spring range or content within fenced pastures. Growth everywhere, regardless of the seasons, laughing at drought. Present growth and steady progress.
Peter and Mary sat in the rocky notch at the edge of the cliff, looking out at the sunset. Below them Lake of the Woods flashed in its tree setting. They could see the foundations of the new power house where the dynamos were to be installed.
On other slopes, that had been barren, little pines were working hard to make a new watershed. Behind them, as they sat silent, in a perfect partnership that did not always need words, the bowl of the Hidden Homestead pitched sharply down ​towards the home of Thora and Red, living their happy pastoral.
In the grove of pines Thora was playing her violin.
"Thurston came in today," said Sheridan. "I forgot to tell you. That means all the crowd that followed his lead, fourteen of them, practically all the cattlemen now, will come under the ditch. We can begin the drainage canal, and we can start to reclaim the outlying lands. It looks as if Chico community is going to be a success, Mary."
She slid her hand into his, breathing in the air deeply.
"To work," she said.
"And to love," said he.
"And to put love into work, Peter."
"Makes for perfect happiness."
"Is your happiness complete, Peter?"
"Why do you ask me that, Mary?"
"Because—because"—the sunset glow was very rosy on her face—"there is something that might make it more complete. Do you know what Thora is playing, and why she is playing it, Peter?"
He listened, wondering. Then he caught the rhythm of the notes. It was the air with which Thora used to play Mary to sleep, the air that she had played when Mary had told of her good fortune.
"It is a lullaby," he said.
"Yes, Peter. I used to whistle it. Soon—I think I shall be humming it, Peter dear."
THE END