The Argosy, December 1905 — page 152: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

130 time. Somehow he felt that he wanted the girl to fit back into her old sur- roundings before he saw her. Ardsley had found old Gregory Carter a ranch king. He was helping to make him a plains autocrat, for it was Ardsley who had suggested building irrigation ditches between the two rivers, turning the desert into a paradise. Carter had been content before that with large profits from his cattle inter- ests. Now, as a reward for opening up new avenues of money-making, he had placed Ardsley in complete control of the cattle business and was devoting his ewn energies to ditch building. A Denver syndicate had bought and stolen and sent down fake claim-takers to absorb miles and miles of alkali- cursed land to the south, and Carter was under contract to turn water upon it by the first of the month. An army of Mexicans, under half a dozen fore- men, were working like beavers td com- plete the work on time. Carter had said that when he made his pile—the amount being rather vague in the mind of the money-loving plains- man—he would retire, leaving com- petent managers on the ground, and take his daughter East to live as his means justified. That was why she had taken this prelimmary canter among thoroughbreds, as her father expressed it; and further, that was why Ham Ardsley sat at two a. Mm. by the San Jacinto creek, thinking that it did not matter much, after all, if old man Carter did leave him as one of the managers of his many interests. He lighted a fresh cigarette and rolled over, propping himself on one elbow. Then suddenly he sat erect. The steady pung-pung of pony hoofs eame to his well-trained ear. An odd premonition of trouble brought him to his feet in a tense, waiting attitude. Then Bill Lampton, Carter’s body- servant, as a plainsman might call the favorite employee on his ranch, swung, panting and red-eyed, from his steaming pony. “ Get your horse up an’ hot-foot it fur the ranch,” he said huskily to Ardsley. “Th”? old man’s hed a spell. Seemed like he’d just toppled over with th’ joy THE ARGOSY. of seeing his girl back, though he’s been ridin’ like the devil the past few days, tryin’ to straighten out trouble among them darned Greasers. An’ now hell’s broke loose for sure. They won’t work —an’ Neva, she says you ain’t to waste no time” Ardsley was already out of sight issu- ing orders. Shorty Crane was put in command of the outfit until Ardsley could rejoin them. Another man was bringing up Ardsley’s pony, resentful and heavy-eyed. “Don’t try to make it baek before morning, Bill,” said Ardsley to the ranch hand, as he swung into his saddle. “ Your horse would drop if you tried to keep up with me—for I’m going to ride like hell!” _ Five hours later he jerked his stagger- ing pony to a standstill before the porch of the Carter ranch-house and stumbled, a gray-white figure, panting and quiver- ing, into the living-room. There, at the table, he and the old man had figured out the whole irriga- tion scheme. There, on the top of the piano, was the picture of Neva which had seemed to watch them with ap- proving eyes. And there, in the door- way leading to the old man’s room, was Neva herself, big-eyed and colorless, though her shoulders did not droop nor her hand tremble. Travel and cultured companionship had done their work. She was a girl no longer, but a charming woman. “Is he alive? ” * ‘Yes—he will not die—but Ardsley gripped the table’s edge, = the girl stopped abruptly. “You riust have something to ‘eat and drink and a wash before we talk *” In her old, imperative way she was pushing him toward the kitchen, but he withdrew from her grasp. “No, no! I want to know it all— now!” She pulled a chair up to the table, and he sat down opposite her. “It is paralysis. The left side—and his brain. He may live for years.” Her voice sounded oddly dry and emotion- less. “ But I did not send for you to help me bear this.” Ardsley felt a sudden glow that did CORMICLOOOKS (C@