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Amy caught eagerly at the last sentence of Mrs. MacGregor's words. The more eagerly, because they were the only words that had to her the slightest meaning.
"I have sacrificed myself and I have never complained once. Not even when we were traveling around from place to place in a covered wagon, and sleeping on the ground, and when we had only oatmeal to eat day in and day out; not even when our babies were sick and we had no money to pay a doctor. I was afraid they were going to die, but Elijah did not know; he was busy with his work. That was after we came here, and I never told him." Amy did not look up, but Mrs. MacGregor was watching her. From under the veiling lids, she saw the tears gather, roll across the pink cheeks and fall on the work in her lap. Mrs. MacGregor did not know, perhaps Amy did not, whether the tears were for the past she was reciting, or for the future which she was fearing. Without looking up, she drew her hand across her eyes. "I don't know why I am telling you all this. I have never told any one before; not even my mother."
Unflinchingly Mrs. MacGregor turned to Amy.
"I have no doubt that you have done your duty so far as you have seen it; but here is the point. Are you willing to make further sacrifices, from your standpoint, the supreme sacrifice?"
Amy's mind had been overstrained in an effort to follow even the small part of Mrs. MacGregor's words that was at all intelligible to her; there was a suggestion of petulance in her reply.
"There is no need of any more sacrifice. Just see." She pointed through the roses to the dark green orange trees full of golden fruit which covered the hillside below them. "Elijah has no need to do more. He has enough for us all now. Even if he should leave the Water Company, he would have enough. When that is done, he will come home to me and I shall have him all to myself; I and the children."
"Elijah's work is only begun. What he has done, is only a preparation for the work that is to be done, that he alone can do. Nothing must stand in his way, not even wife and children."
Amy answered passionately.
"He has done enough!"
Mrs. MacGregor's eyes were cold and merciless as those of a snake watching its victim. She thought long before speaking. She was conscious that there was danger in handling for one's own purposes a mind so feeble and hesitating as Amy's, but she must make the attempt. Should she rest content with having instilled the subtle poison in Amy's mind, leaving it to work slowly to a doubtful end? Could she be sure that it would do its work? On the other hand, to one of Amy's mental caliber, would the plain, brutal statement, stripped of ambiguity, be more than a suggestion? In this latter course there lay the danger that Amy would grasp the full import of her words and that in the mental agony that would surely follow, she would go to Elijah at once. Would she go to Elijah? Mrs. MacGregor felt sure that she would not. Weak as Amy was, she would intuitively feel the hopelessness of an appeal to him. Already she was vaguely conscious that her hold upon him was slight, how slight she would not dare to put to the test. She would not openly acknowledge this fear to herself, much less to others, least of all to Elijah. She had a fixed purpose in her mind, to fit herself to take Helen's place and upon its success she had staked all. To abandon her secret efforts would leave her again wandering, wavering, to go over the whole weary ground again. Mrs. MacGregor made her decision. Her voice was modulated, almost sympathetic, but it was firm and decided.
"No, Amy, he has not done enough. You have not done enough. He must go on. He must give you up. You must give him up."
Amy sprang from her chair. Her work slipped from her lap and lay huddled at her feet. Slowly, painfully, the meaning of Mrs. MacGregor's words was boring into her brain. Her eyes were wide open, pitifully pleading, like the eyes of a shrinking victim in the clutch of a beast of prey. Then they changed to a look as hard and resolute as her eyes were capable of expressing.
"Give up Elijah! I'll never give up Elijah. Never! Never! Never!" Then she fled through the open door.
Mrs. MacGregor smiled complacently. "Never," was a long time. She had steered close to the line, but she felt that she had won. As it happened, chance aided her. Had Elijah been at home, in her first agony, Amy would doubtless have gone to him and have risked all in a frantic appeal. But Elijah was away and it was late before he returned. In her room, Amy sat with the dumb misery of a suffering animal. It did not occur to her to rise up in righteous wrath against the brutal woman who had inflicted this torture upon her, much less against her husband. She was thinking of herself, of her happiness that had been, of the awful fear that was consuming her. Justice or injustice was far from her thoughts. In bitter desperation she clung to the feeble purpose that she had fashioned for her salvation. Gradually this purpose regained its hold upon her. She was wasting time and there was none to lose. Trembling in every nerve she hastened from her room, from their room, and with trembling fingers turned the pages of "A & B's Elements" and bent herself to her all but hopeless task. With quivering lips and hard, dry eyes she wrote and rewrote the problems of the book and strove to master them. She was unconscious of time, only that it was long and bitter. The magnitude of her task appalled her, the hopelessness of it overwhelmed her, she tried to hold herself to it; but in vain. With a wailing cry she buried her head in her arms and gave way to the tears that at last came to her relief.
It was late that night when Elijah returned. He gave his horses in charge of the sleepy Mexican and entered the house. He went directly to their room, but Amy was not there. The bed was undisturbed. Elijah passed quietly to the next room. It was Amy's own. A light softly glowing beneath the door-sill told him that the room was occupied. He opened the door gently and stood stiffened, immovable, at the sight before him. Amy was seated at her little work-table. A shaded lamp threw its full light upon her head, resting upon her outstretched arms. Her face was turned toward him; the light showed lids, red and tear-stained. Near one outstretched hand was a pencil, fallen from the sleep-loosened fingers. There was a worn book lying open, surrounded by loose papers. Elijah moved softly toward the table. He picked up the book. It was "A & B's Elements." The tear-blotched papers were covered with figures. Elijah replaced the book and papers. Like a flash the whole explanation of the open book, and the figure-covered papers came to him. His eyes were upon the bowed head, upon the baby lips moving pathetically in their troubled sleep. His guardian angel was pleading hard within him. With wide-open, motionless eyes he bent forward, his hands outstretched, his foot lifted to take the step that would redeem him. Then his hands fell slowly to his side; he straightened and turned away abruptly. As softly as he had entered the room, so softly he left it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Elijah had no difficulty in securing options on the land which he and Mrs. MacGregor had selected. They had, however, underestimated the apathy of the Mexican owners, who, while perfectly willing to give options with no preliminary payments, were adamant as to the length of time to which the options should be extended.
Mrs. MacGregor smiled reassuringly upon Elijah when he had stated his difficulty.
"The time is ample. I have some means at my command."
Elijah asked no questions and she tendered no explanations. When, however, the time passed by and the deeds came to be actually transferred, his unasked questions were answered. Not a cent of the money, not a single negotiable paper which went into the preliminary payments, was in Eunice MacGregor's name, except that as by power of attorney, she had acted for her absent ward. Elijah, remembering his transactions with the Pacific bank, could say nothing.
Mrs. MacGregor had only one more obstacle to overcome. At first, as guardian, later as trusted financial agent, with full power of attorney, she could manage her ward's fortune as she would; but at any time this power might be dissolved and she be called to a full accounting. This done, and it was a continual menace, Mrs. MacGregor would be in no position either to take or to demand a share in her ward's investments. She proposed to remain in this doubtful position just as short a time as possible. A deed to a property bought with her ward's money, would leave no scattering crumbs which she could gather for herself. With the deed made over to a company, the case would be different. Her ward's money would in this case, lose its identity. A ten per cent interest in a capitalization of two millions, could be balanced with two hundred thousand of its stock at par, and leave Elijah and Mrs. MacGregor to repay themselves for their efforts. This was earnestly talked over between the two. Elijah was not at all easy in his mind; but he could say nothing. He had tried; but he was no match for Mrs. MacGregor's polished logic.
Mrs. MacGregor not only made no objections to including Helen Lonsdale in their arrangements, but had on the contrary, kept her interests a prominent figure in their transactions. She had no question but that in this way she would bind Helen closely to herself.
"Look at the facts squarely," said Mrs. MacGregor to Elijah. "Your supply of water is almost here. There is only a small hill between the main canal of the Las Cruces and us. A few thousand dollars will tunnel the mountain. A few thousand more will take the water within reach of every hundred acres. We have given three hundred thousand dollars for this land. Even at fifty dollars an acre, it is worth ten million dollars. My ward's two hundred thousand dollars will grow to one million dollars. Isn't that a justification for you and me as well?"
Elijah shook his head.
"If it should fail?"
"If," Mrs. MacGregor emphasized the conjunction, "is one of the first steps toward failure. You could go to Ysleta tomorrow, and sell this whole property, as it stands, for twice the amount we have paid down for it, even including the mortgage of one hundred thousand."
Elijah was thinking aloud.
"With your four hundred thousand, you could repay your ward in full. You and I would then have one hundred thousand each. I could, – " he paused and then the words shot forth, "replace the fifty thousand I borrowed, and be a free man."
Elijah and Mrs. MacGregor were being enlightened as to each other. Mrs. MacGregor had not thought to have Elijah lean so heavily upon her; he had never supposed her to be so cold and heartlessly unprincipled.
"We are coming to no conclusion as to our next move." Mrs. MacGregor spoke with polite impatience.
"What do you propose?"
"We must organize a company."
"But we have no charter."
"We can get one."
"It will take time."
"We can make it as short as possible."
The matter of the charter was dropped for a time, to be discussed at intervals during the days that followed; but no conclusion was reached. Mrs. MacGregor was scheming; Elijah waiting for guidance. The guidance came, though not in the way Elijah would have chosen; but he was yet to learn that when we make our conditions, guidance is certain to come in the form of a dilemma with an imperative choice.
As Mrs. MacGregor and Elijah were again seated on the verandah and again discussing ways and means, a wagon stopped at the door, and from it alighted a brisk, self-sure man. He walked up the path, with a jaunty air and stopped at the foot of the verandah steps.
"Hello, Berl," he called out. "Fine place, this."
Elijah felt an involuntary tightening around his heart as he recognized Mellin, the ex-cashier of the Pacific bank. He returned the greeting, at the same time rising.
"Come up and have a chair."
Mellin tipped his hat back on his head, strode up the steps, and seating himself, spread his legs wide apart, and leaning forward with hands loosely clasped, rested his elbows on his knees.
"Mrs. MacGregor, Mr. Mellin," Elijah waved his hand from one to the other.
"Pleased to know you, Mrs. MacGregor. From the East, I take it?" Mr. Mellin revolved his head jerkily toward his newly made acquaintance, ending with a decided bob.
Mrs. MacGregor bowed slightly in return, but vouchsafed no word.
Mellin revolved his head toward Elijah, at the same time glancing at his watch which he clicked together and returned to his pocket.
"I came to see you on a little business matter, Berl; can I have a few minutes?"
Upon this blunt hint that she was not wanted, Mrs. MacGregor rose calmly and swept through the open door.
Mr. Mellin drew a huge, black cigar from his pocket, and between initial puffs, outlined his business.
"Hear you've been taking up a little land deal on your own account?" The cigar was well under way now and Mr. Mellin braced himself upright with one hand on the arm of his chair. His face was full on Elijah with a cunning look.
"Yes," Elijah answered briefly.
"You ain't going to swing it alone, I take it?"
"I haven't thought so far as that."
Mellin wasted no words.
"It takes time and money to get a charter just now. The less money, the more time; the less time, the more money." He tipped Elijah a knowing wink.
Elijah made no reply and Mellin resumed briskly.
"I've got just what you want. An omnibus charter that'll allow you to do anything from a straight deal to skinning suckers. I had a chance to get it cheap and I'll let you off easy."
"I don't know that I want it." Elijah spoke with deliberation; but his mind was working rapidly.
"Better take it; I can make it worth your while – either way," he added with a cunning leer.
Elijah felt a cold sinking of the heart. His chickens were coming home to roost sooner than he had expected. He recognized the fact that his note to the Las Cruces, secured by his interest in the company, was in the nature of a forced loan, after all; that it would sooner or later compel him to answer some ugly questions to some men in an ugly mood. The iron-gray face of Seymour rose uppermost in his mind.
"What do you want for your charter?" He steadied his voice with an effort.
"I'm not going to squeeze you, just because I've got you cinched. That isn't T. J. Mellin, Esq. 'Live and let live'; that's my motto; only live well while you're at it. We're a long time dead."
"What do you want for your charter?" Elijah repeated.
"Well," Mellin looked meditatively at the burning end of his cigar which he turned toward himself, – "I'm in need of a little cash just now. A matter of five thousand. One hundred thousand on time, in addition, will do."
"You won't get it. I'm not obliged to take your charter." Elijah's jaws snapped together, his eyes were narrowed to a slit.
"Just as you say, Berl. There are worse places than San Quentin. You and I would be taken care of there, at no expense to ourselves."
The state penitentiary had never seemed a reality to Elijah before. His face paled. Mellin noted the look with evident satisfaction.
"It's nothing to get white over. There's a heap more money near the doors of San Quentin than anywhere else. The closer the doors, the larger the heap. It takes a little more courage to grab it and run, that's all. I've tried it before."
"Will you take the one hundred thousand in stock?"
"That would be easy; too easy for me. No stock, thanks. Five thousand cash, one hundred thousand in a six months, ten per cent note. First mortgage note. I'm prepared to deliver the goods." He drew a large envelope from his pocket, pulled out the charter and held it open before Elijah. "Omnibus goods. A license to pick the gilt knobs off'n the doors."
"Suppose I take your offer, what certainty have I that this will end your demands?"
"My word, Berl. 'Honor among, etc.' You know. Besides, the cinch isn't going to last always. You're going to be able to square yourself with the Las Cruces. That'll end me. I could make it unpleasant, but what's the use? Every one goes in sight of the doors sometimes; but it's only fools who get inside. I know."
Elijah rose slowly and went into the house. A little later, he returned and handed some papers to Mellin. They were a note for one hundred thousand dollars and a draft on a San Francisco bank for five thousand. In the note was this condition. It would be payable three months after the water should be turned into the main canal of the Las Cruces company.
Mellin read the note.
"I object to the conditional payment. The water may never be turned on."
"Then you are welcome to the land."
Mellin thought a moment.
"There's something in that."
"Everything," returned Elijah abruptly. "The company has nothing to do with this business. They will get the water as soon as possible."
Mellin again looked the papers over.
"Keno. Here's your license. It's worth more; but I told you I would be easy. So long." He shoved the papers into his pocket and started for the waiting wagon.
Elijah listened in a dazed dream to the crunch of the retreating wheels. He was not thinking of his crime nor of his temporary escape from its penalty. He was thinking of Helen Lonsdale, and of the effect of the knowledge upon her, should this ever come to her.
Mrs. MacGregor reappeared upon the verandah. Elijah handed the charter to her.
"We have six months in which to redeem ourselves." He offered no explanation; she asked none. There was no need. The walls of the house were thin, and moreover the windows were open.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In the transaction with Mellin, there was one thing that cut Elijah more deeply than all others. Mellin had insisted that the mortgage be registered. He was too shrewd to let this pass by. He had a hold upon Elijah and he had no intention of loosening it without a consideration. The registration was a public recognition of the fact that Elijah had dealings with Mellin and on a large scale. There was no use in requesting that the transaction be kept in obscurity. The object of registration was publicity, and publicity was not confined to those concerned in knowing; the books were open to inspection by the busiest gossip as well as by the most earnest business man.
For the first time in his life, Elijah was learning the bitter lesson, that even divine guidance does not release the guided from responsibility for his actions. There was bitterness in his heart, the feeling that he had been betrayed.
Ysleta lived on sensations, and it was a dainty morsel, when the news of Elijah's connection with Mellin became known. Yet it had no malice toward Elijah, it simply welcomed him as one of themselves and this was what cut. He could no longer conceal from himself that he had fallen.
The news of course reached Uncle Sid and Winston. Winston was shocked, yet after the first effects had passed away, he recognized the fact, that after all, he was not surprised. Absorbed in his field duties, he had put from him for the time his feeling that Elijah was not wholly to be trusted, that for all his vaunted beliefs, he yet lacked the subtle sense of honor that would keep him true to himself and to his fellows. Winston did not know, nor did Uncle Sid, of the darker stain that was on Elijah's soul.
"Perhaps it ain't as bad as it looks," the old seaman remarked when he had broken the news to Winston.
"Perhaps not," Winston replied, "but I have been in pretty close touch with Elijah since he has been in California, and I know he's sailed close to the wind, mighty close," he added decisively.
Uncle Sid looked thoughtful.
"Where'd he get money to start with?"
Winston waited a long time before replying. He was turning over in his mind the best thing to be done. He felt that he could trust the old man.
"You remember the Pacific failure?"
"I reckon I do, young man. I have cause to. I lost fifteen dollars and sixty-five cents in that failure."
Winston smiled at Uncle Sid's earnestness.
"The Las Cruces lost more than that. An even fifty thousand. At least our books show that."
Uncle Sid started. He looked at Winston with wide-open eyes, every line of his wrinkled face drawn tense.
"I declare, Ralph, if I ever thought the Lord would lead 'Lige quite so far as that!"
"I guess, Uncle Sid, that you and I think alike about the Almighty's share in this transaction. If this isn't the devil's work, I don't know the gentleman."
Uncle Sid made no immediate reply. A little later they entered the Las Cruces office. Helen looked up as the door opened. A frank cordial smile illumined her face as she recognized her callers.
"Hello, Ralph! It's about time you came in. If you'd waited much longer, I'd have asked for a letter of introduction." She turned to Uncle Sid with the same cordial smile. "Well Captain, I see you aren't dry-docked yet."
"No. My seams ain't started yet. What water there is in these parts is just as wet as any."
"Oh we've got plenty of water here and we're going to have more."
"Yes, I guess you have, such as 'tis. Good enough for old-fashioned sailin' craft. But when folks ain't satisfied with goin' as fast as God's wind blows 'em, an' they put in engines an' boilers, the dum water's liable to eat holes in their boilers an' blow 'em up." He looked around the room curiously. "There's a power o' steam escapin' around here. Where's 'Lige? Look's as if 'Lige had got a hole eat in his boilers, an' me an' Ralph's come in to see if we can help patch 'em up."
Helen noted the keen, old eyes and the humorous wrinkles that for all their humor were yet hard.
"He hasn't been in this morning; I expect him every moment."
Uncle Sid turned to Winston.
"It's your watch, Ralph. You take the wheel."
Winston felt reassured to a certain extent, by Helen's perfectly natural manner. There were the same frank eyes, the same friendly smile that he knew so well. Did she know all that they wished to know or was she as ignorant as they of all but public gossip? He was going to find out.
"I suppose you know, Helen," he began soberly, "that there are some pretty ugly rumors about Elijah flying around Ysleta?"
"Yes, I do know." Helen's face grew hard.
"How much truth is there in them?"
Helen met Winston's piercing look squarely.
"I don't know any more than you know." There was no apparent hesitation in her manner, but her thoughts were busy anticipating what was to come.
Ralph made an impatient gesture.
"We can talk till doomsday, Helen, and you can answer and tell us nothing, if you choose. You know we are not gossips, and you know that we are Elijah's friends."
"Why didn't you say that to start with?" Helen flashed back. "You began asking me questions and I answered your questions truthfully."
Uncle Sid noted the strained situation.
"She's laid you broadside on there, Ralph; that gun is out o' action. You'll have to limber up another battery."
Winston and Helen both turned to Uncle Sid; then, smiling, their eyes met and the threatened storm passed by.
"Just what is it, Ralph?"
"We want to know the whole business, Helen, so far as you know."
Uncle Sid again broke in.
"When a bell rattles, we want to know whether its cracked, or whether there's just something on it that can be got off."
"I don't think Elijah's cracked, Uncle Sid." She grew very sober as she turned once more to Winston.
"The rumor that Mellin holds Elijah's note for one hundred thousand dollars, that the note is secured by a mortgage on the Palm Wells tract, is true. These facts are recorded. I have seen the records. Further than that, I know nothing."
"Ur-r-rh!" grunted Uncle Sid, whose thoughts suddenly reverted to Eunice MacGregor. "I guess I know the tree to smoke that coon out of."
Helen shot an intelligent glance at Uncle Sid, her lips parted, then she thought better of her impulse and remained silent.
Winston again turned to Helen.
"I shall have to ask you another direct question, Helen. Did the company get their deposit from the Pacific?"
Helen looked squarely at Winston.
"I don't know."
"Perhaps you don't know, Helen, but you are in a better position to guess than we are. There's no use playing with words. That Palm Wells business called for ready money. I know as well as you do that Elijah had no such amount. The question is, where did he get it?"