Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1904-03-17

n ~ ollOlc odI III IHc up VI d Splu-
II ding bull-pine and sang his heart
out to the light June breeze; but to
Larkin, walking doggedly down the
Kings river trail, the song, if it meant
to anything, meant an added irritation.
March, April, May, and over half
Of June" he fretted, to the river that
boOT.ed and bawled away below him.
Nearly four months work gone in a
turn Of your wrist! All the field notes,
the contour map of the flooded area of
the dam, the free-hand drawings of
the reservoir basin, all the details of
the cross-section, a $500 transit, a
$40 level, a 5000 plane table, the work
of eve men, and God knows what be-
side--$3,0 900 at the very least-chucked
into the river like an old sack. And
l can't do it over again. simply
can't"
The mule had gone over the bank
in A shaley place, and had made a
clean drop of nearly 1000 feet into
the river. Larkin had counted on his
su~rs-footedness. He was the best ami
NAL in the outfit. That was the rea-
o why he had been entrusted with
the precious load. Judd, Schafer and
the rest of the men had left him and
gone over the ridge early in the norm
ing. They had gone singing and yell
ing, glad to be free after the long,
heavy, hot work in the canon. They
had left him behind to pack his deli
cate instruments carefully upon the
back of the mule-a task he would
have trusted to no man on earth. He
was to have followed yer the ridge,
down to Presley's flat, and on to the
railroad. But now he was striding
along a side trail that led another
way. There was a black set of certi-
tude about his mouth when he took
that trail. 1t led to Squaw Valley, the
nearest place where there was 'some-
thing to drink"
The young surveyor knew what 60
ing to Squaw Valley meant. 1t would
be a week Of oblivion, so far as the
things that now depressed and nearly
craZed him were concerned. He knew
that at Squaw Valley he would get
stupidity, soddenly, blindly drunk-one
of those old heavy states of doubtful
delight into which he had confidently
counted himself free for the rest of
his life. He remembered the last time
he had emerged from one of those
states, and he had recalled most vivid
ly the words of Muriel Coe, spoken in
that sharp, little staccato which char
acterized that young woman's most
determined delivery: Gray Larkin,
I'll never speak to you again until you
stop drinking for good. If you can
show at the end of a year that you
are free from that vile habit, l shall
be ready to marry you, as I promised,
but-oh, Gray, oh, Gray!" and she ran
away, sobbing.
He had secured the contract for the
survey of the dam site for the electri-
cal power company, and, after much
delay, during which the whole scheme
had seemed very dubious at times, had
gone to work with his men. Muriel's
year was up on the Sd of June, but he
could not get away for two weeks
more. He had written to her on the
Sd that he would be in Fresno on the
Goth, his contract filled, and the So
900 check in his pocket. But now
nearly everything he had in the world,
except Muriel, had seen fit to leave
him alone on the brink of a 1,000-foot
cliff, and go dashing down a mad can
OH. 1t was too much for mortal man
to bear. Nothing but drink could
drown the memory of that. The SOON
er the better, too. AS for Muriel, she
need never know. She was a woman
She could not understand. She would
have sat down and cried. But he could
not cry. All he could do was to-
Here the trail dipped into the stage
road, and down there, right at the
watering-place, stood the stage itself.
The trail to Squaw Valley led across
the road and down the gulch, but by
taking the stage and going with it
up the ridge and down on the other
side, he would reach the place almost
as soon, though by a longer route. He
was hot and tired, and the outside seat
looked inviting. So he climbed up to
the side of the driver-stout, red-faced
Jim Aiken-who was listlessly watch
ing his horses drink the gulch water.
Gray Larkin knew Jim, and knew that
he was proud Of his team, six rather
rough-looking mustangs from the ia
nous Snowden ranch; and each with
a great ugly "S-bar" brand on his
right flank. Jim was generally talk
alive enough, but now he said little,
giving Gray a stupid, non-committal
greeting, and looking DULY at him
through bleared eyes. The team
swished out Of the water and up the
rutty road, the driver swaying in his
seat and looking as though a fall in
to the dust would be an easy matter.
But Gray was not thinking of him.
He was thinking Of his desperate luck
and what it meant to him. A rude
wind blew down the gulch, and Gray's
eye took in a hawk that was breast
ing the breeze bravely. The soaring