It was three o’clock in the afternoon of a sultry July Sunday when a big red roadster drew up all but noiselessly and, with an instinct common to all motorists, a heritage from an equine age past, stopped at the nose of the hitching-post in front of the Gleason cottage. In it the single occupant throttled down the engine until it barely throbbed. Alighting, goggles on forehead, he passed up the walk toward the house. Not until he was fairly at the steps did he apparently notice his surroundings. Then, unexpectedly, he bared his head.

“Be not surprised, it is I,” he said. “Not in the spirit alone but in the flesh.” Equally without warning he smiled. “Needless to say I’m glad to see you again, Elice,” as he took the girl’s offered hand. Then deliberately releasing it: “and you too, Armstrong,” extending his own. 218

Precisely as, with his companion of the shady porch, he had risen upon the newcomer’s advent, the other man stood there. If possible his face, already unnaturally pale for a torrid afternoon, shaded whiter as an instant passed without his making a motion in response.

“And you too, Armstrong,” Roberts repeated, the smile still on his face, the hand still extended; then, when there still came no response, the voice lowered until it was just audible, but nevertheless significant in its curt brevity: “Shake whether you want to or not. There are seven pairs of eyes watching from behind that trellis across the street.”

Armstrong obeyed as though moved by a wire.

“Speak loud, so they can all hear. They’re listening too,” directed the low-voiced mentor.

Armstrong, red in the face now, formulated the conventional.

“Thanks.” Roberts sat down on the top step, his big-boned body at ease, his great bushy head, in which the gray was beginning to sprinkle thick, a contrast to the dark pillar of the porch. “I just returned an hour ago,” he added as casually as though food for gossip had not been avoided by a hair’s breadth and 219 was not still imminent. “It’s good, unqualifiedly, to be back.”

Armstrong returned to his seat, a bit uncertainly. His hands were trembling uncontrollably; in self-defence he thrust them deep into his pockets.

“Have you been out of town?” he asked.

“Yes, for over a month.” No affectation in that even friendliness. He laughed suddenly in tolerant, all but impersonal, self-analysis. “And I’m tired—tired until the marrow of my bones aches.” He laughed again. “It seems as though I never was so tired in my life.”

Armstrong looked at him, in a sudden flash of the old confidence and admiration.

“I beg your pardon, then,” he said hurriedly. “I didn’t know that you had been away, of course, and rather fancied, from your coming so unexpected—And that again after two years almost—You can understand how it was possible, can’t you? I’m ashamed.”

“Certainly I can understand,” easily. “Let’s all forget it. I have already.” He smiled an instant comprehensively fair into the blue eyes, then characteristically abruptly he digressed. “By the way, Elice,” he said, “can’t we have 220 some of those cookies of yours? I’ve dreamed of them, along with other things, until—Do, please, if they’re in stock. I mean it. Still down at Phelps’s are you?” he asked the other directly when the girl had gone.

“No.” A long pause wherein Armstrong did not look up. “I—left there a couple of weeks ago. I’m not doing anything in particular just now.”

The cookies, far-famed and seemingly always available, were on hand, and Roberts relapsed into silence. From her own seat behind them Elice Gleason sat looking at the two men, precisely as she had looked that first evening they had called in company.

“That’s a new motor out there, isn’t it?” she asked at last.

“Yes.” Roberts roused and shook the scattered crumbs off his khaki coat. “It came while I was away. This is the first try-out.”

Miss Gleason was examining the big machine with a critical eye. “This is a six-cylinder, I judge. What’s become of the old four, Old—”

“Reliable?”

“Yes.”

“Disgraced its name.” Roberts smiled peculiarly. “I took it along with me when I went 221 West. It’s scrapped out there on the Nevada desert, God knows where, thirty miles from nowhere. I fancy the vultures are wondering right now what in the world it is.”

“You had an accident?”

“Rather.” Roberts got to his feet deliberately. “Some other time I’ll tell you the story, if you wish. It would take too long now, and it’s entirely too hot here.” He looked at his two listeners impartially. “Besides, there’s other business more urgent. I have a curiosity to see how quickly the six-eighty out there will eat up thirty miles. It’s guaranteed to do it in twenty-five minutes. Won’t you come along?

“I’ll take the rumble and you two sit forward,” he added as they hesitated. “You can drive as well as I can, Elice.”

“Not to-day; some other time,” declined Armstrong, hurriedly. He started up to avoid a change of purpose, and to cover any seeming precipitancy lit a cigarette with deliberation. “I was going, really, anyway.”

Roberts did not insist, nor did he dissimulate.

“As you wish. I meant it or I shouldn’t have made the suggestion. Better glue on your hair if you accept, Elice. I have a presentiment 222 that I’ll let her out to-day.” He started down the walk. “I’m ready when you are.”

Behind him the man and the girl exchanged one look.

“Come, Steve,” said the girl in a low voice. “I ask it.”

“No,” Armstrong’s thin face formed a smile, a forced, crooked smile; “I meant what I said, too, or I wouldn’t have refused. Likewise I also have a presentiment—of a different kind. Good-bye.”

“Steve!”

“No.”

And that was all.

Out in the long street, University Row, glided the big red roadster; slowly through the city limits, more rapidly through the suburbs, then, as the open country beyond came to view, it began gradually to find itself.

“Want to see her go, do you, Elice?” asked Roberts, as the town behind them grew indistinct in a fog of dust.

“Yes, if you wish.”

“If I wish.” Roberts brought the goggles down from his forehead significantly. “If I wish,” he repeated, the inflection peculiar. He looked ahead. The broad prairie road, dust 223 white in its July whiteness, stretched straight out before them, without a turn or a curve, direct as the crow flies for forty miles, and on through two counties, as he knew. A light wind, begot of their motion alone, played on their faces, mingled with the throbbing purr of the engine in their ears. “If I wish,” for the third time; and notch by notch the throttle began to open.

On they went, the self-evolved breeze a gale now, the throb of the big motor a continuous moan, the cloud of dust behind them a dull brown bank against the sky. On they went over convex grades that tilted gently first to the right, then to the left, over culverts that spoke one single note of protest, over tiny bridges that echoed hollow at the impact; past dazzling green cornfields and yellow blocks of ripening grain, through great shadows of homestead groves and clumps of willows that marked the lowest point of swales, on—on—

Roberts leaned over close, but his eyes did not leave the road for the fraction of a second.

“Afraid, girl?” he asked.

“No.”

Again the man looked ahead. They were fair in the open now, already far from the city. It was the heat of a blistering Sunday and not a 224 team or a pedestrian was astir. Ahead, for a mile, for miles perhaps, as far as they could see, not an animate dot marred the surface of the taut, stretched, yellow-white ribbon.

“Shall I let her out, Elice?”

“Yes.”

“Sure you’re not afraid—in the least?”

“Certain.”

Again the throttle lever and its companion spark began to move around the tiny sextant, approaching nearer and nearer. Simultaneously, sympathetic, as though actuated by the same power, the hand of the speedometer on the dash began to crawl up and up. They had been all but racing before; but now—

Behind them the cloud of dust rose higher and higher, and darker and darker as the suction increased. To either side was no longer yellow and green distinct, but a mingling, indistinct, mottled unreality. Ahead the ribbon of yellow and white seemed to rise up and throw itself into their faces; again and again endlessly. The engine no longer moaned. It roared as a fire under draft. The wind was a wall that held them back like a vise in their places. In the flash of a glance the man looked at the face of the dial. The single arm was 225 pasted black over the numeral sixty. Once more the throttle advanced a notch, the spark lever two—and the hand halted at sixty-five. The wind gripped them afresh, and like human fingers grappled with them. Up, fairly level with their eyes, lifted the advancing yellow-white ribbon. By his side, though he did not look, the man knew that the girl had covered her face with her hands, was struggling against the gale to breathe. He was struggling himself, through wide-opened nostrils, his lips locked tight. On his bare hands the sweat gushed forth and, despite the suction, glistened bright. Yet once more, the last time the throttle moved, the spark—and met on the sextant. With its last ounce of power the great car responded, thrilled; one could feel it, a vital thing. Once again the speed-hand on the indicator stirred; but this time the man did not see it, dared not look even for the fraction of a second. Like grim death, grim life, he clung to the wheel; his eyes not on the road beneath but a quarter of a mile ahead. About him the scuttling earth shaded from motley to gray; but he did not see. A solitary tree loomed ahead beside the ribbon, and seemed to crack like a rifle report as they flashed past. At the radiator vent a 226 tiny cloud of steam arose, caught the gale, and stung damp on his cheeks. Far ahead, then nearer and nearer miraculously, a blot of green that he knew was the tree fringe of a river, took form, swept forward to meet them, came nearer and nearer, arose like a wall—

Back into neutral, separating until they were once more opposite, went the two companions of the sextant. Simultaneously again the speed indicator followed the backward trail. Incredibly swift the gale dwindled, until it barely fanned their cheeks. The roar of the great engine subsided, until once more it was a gentle murmur. The vivid green and the dull yellow of summer took their respective places; and like a live thing, beaten and cowed, the big car drew up at the very edge of the grove, left the yellow road-ribbon, rustled a moment amid the half-parched grass and halted in the shadow blot of a big water maple—thirty miles almost to a rod from the city limits they had left.

A moment the two humans in the seat remained in their places, breathing hard. Deliberately, almost methodically, Roberts wiped the sweat from his face.

“Thirty-two minutes, the clock says,” he commented. “We dawdled though at first. At 227 the finish—” He looked at the indicator peculiarly. “I’d really like to have known, for sure.”

The girl stood up. She trembled a little.

“Would you really? Perhaps—”

“You looked, Elice? I fancied you shut your eyes.”

“I did—only for a second. It read seventy-two.”

Roberts turned a switch and the last faint purr ceased.

“I imagined, almost, you’d be afraid,” he said evenly.

“I was—horribly,” simply.

“You were; and still—I won’t do it again, Elice.”

Without a word the girl stepped to the ground. In equal silence the man followed. Taking off the long khaki coat he spread it on the ground amid the shadow and indicated his handiwork with a nod. For a half-minute perhaps he himself remained standing, however, his great shoulders squared, his big fingers twitching unconsciously. Recollecting, he dropped on the grass beside her.

“Pardon me, Elice,” he apologized bluntly, “for frightening you.” He smiled, the infrequent, 228 tolerant, self-analytic smile. “I somehow couldn’t help doing what I did. I knew it would break out sometime soon. I couldn’t help it.”

For a moment the girl inspected him, her head, just lifted, resting on her locked arms, her eyelids half closed.

“You knew—what? Something’s happened I know; something unusual, very. I never saw you before as you are to-day. I’d almost say you had nerves. Do you care to tell me?”

Roberts was still smiling.

“Do you care to have me tell you?” he countered.

“Yes, if you wish.”

“If I wish—if I wish—you told me that once before, you recall.”

“Yes.”

“And I proceeded to frighten you—horribly. You said so.”

“Yes,” again.

“Does that mean you wish to be frightened again? Do you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy it? I don’t know. I’m curious to listen, if you care to tell me.”

Roberts had stretched himself luxuriously on 229 the cool sod. He looked up steadily, through the tangled leaves, at the dotted blue beyond.

“There’s nothing to frighten you this time,” he said. “Nothing to tell much, just—money.”

“I gathered as much.”

“And why, Elice?”

“Several reasons. First of all, a practical man doesn’t carry an automobile half across the continent by express without a definite stake involved. Later he doesn’t ‘scrap,’ as you say, that same machine without regret unless the stake was big—and won.”

“You think I won, then?”

“I know.”

“And again, why?”

The girl flashed a glance, but he was not looking at her.

“Because you always win,” she said simply.

“Always?” A pause. “Always, Elice?”

“Always in matters of—money.”

The man lay there still, looking up. Barely a leaf in the big maple was astir, not a single sensate thing. Had they been the only two people alive on a desert expanse they could not have been more isolated, more completely alone. Yet he pursued the lead no further, neither by word nor suggestion. Creeping through a tiny gap 230 a ray of sunlight glared in his eyes, and he shifted enough to avoid it. That was all.

In her place the girl too shifted, just so she could see him more distinctly.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “I’m listening.”

“You’re really interested? I don’t care to bore you.”

“Yes, really. I never pretend with you.”

Slowly Roberts sat up, his head bare, his fingers locked over his knees.

“Very well. I ’phoned, you remember, that I was going West to look at a mining claim.”

“Yes.”

“What I should have said, to be exact, was that I was going to file on one, if it wasn’t too late. I’d already seen it, on paper, and ore from it; had it assayed myself. It ran above two hundred dollars. It was one of those things that happen outside of novels oftener than people imagine. The man who furnished the specimens was named Evans,—a big, raw-boned cowboy I met down in the Southwest, where I’ve got an interest in a silver mine. He’d contracted the fever and worked for our company for a time. When the Nevada craze came on he got restless and wanted to go too. 231 He hadn’t a second shirt to his back so I grub-staked him. Nothing came of it and I staked him again. This time he came here personally to report. He had some ore with him and a map; just that and nothing more. Whether he’d found anything worth while he didn’t know, didn’t imagine he had, as it was a new section that hadn’t produced as yet. He hadn’t even taken the trouble to secure his claim. What he wanted was more money, grub money; and he had brought the specimen along as a teaser. He swore he hadn’t mentioned the matter to a soul except me. There wasn’t any hurry either, he said, or danger. The prospect was forty miles out on the desert from Tonopah, no railroad nearer, and no one was interested there much as yet. If I’d advance him another thousand, though—I’d been backing him a thousand dollars at a time—he’d go back and file regular, and when I’d had an assay made, if the thing looked good, he’d sell to me outright for five thousand cash.”

For the first time the speaker halted, looked at the listener directly.

“Still interested, are you?” he queried. “It’s all money, money from first to last.”

“Yes, go on. I think I saw this man 232 Evans, didn’t I, around with you for several days?”

“Possibly. I kept him here while I was getting a report. I’d seen some ore before and the scent looked warm to me. Besides, I knew Evans, and under the circumstances I felt better to keep him in sight. I did for a week, night and day. He never left me for an hour. He’d been eating my bread and salt for a year, had every reason to be under obligation and loyal, was so tentatively, his coming proved that; but, while one has to trust others up to a certain point in this world, beyond that—I’ve found beyond that it’s better not to take chances, even on obligation.... Have you ever known anything of the kind yourself?”

The girl was not looking at him now. “I’ve had little experience with people,” she evaded, “very little. Go on, please. I’m interested.”

“Well, the report came the day I ’phoned you, on the last delivery. Evans was killing time, as usual, about the office and I called him into my private room and locked the door. I read it through to him aloud, every word; and, he didn’t seem to take it all in at first, again. All at once the thing came over him, the full 233 meaning of that assay of two hundred dollars to the ton—and he went to pieces, like a fly-wheel that’s turned too fast. He simply caved. For ten years he’d been chasing the rainbow of chance, and now all at once, when he’d fairly given up hope, he’d stumbled upon it and the pot of gold together. It was too much for him.

“This was at five o’clock in the afternoon, I say. At six o’clock I unlocked the door and things began to move definitely. What happened in that hour doesn’t matter. It wasn’t pleasant, and under the circumstances no one would believe me if I told; for I had his written promise to show me the ledge he’d found and to sell whatever right he had to the claim himself to me for twenty-five thousand dollars.... I found it, I have an incontestable title to it, and I refused a million dollars flat for it less than three days ago!”

In her place the girl half raised, met the speaker eye to eye.

“And still, knowing in advance it was worth a fortune, Evans sold to you.”

“Yes, voluntarily; begged it of me. I said no one would believe me now, even you—I don’t care for the opinion of any one else.” 234

“I don’t doubt you, not for a second.” The brown eyes had dropped now. “But I can’t quite understand.”

“No, I repeat once more, no one can understand who wasn’t there. He was crazy, avariciously crazy. He wanted the money then, then; wanted to see it, to feel it, that minute. It was his and he wanted it; not the five thousand he’d promised, but five times that. He wouldn’t wait. He would have it.

“I tried to reason with him, to argue with him, offered him his own terms if he’d let me develop it; but he wouldn’t listen. If I wouldn’t accept he’d throw me over entirely, notwithstanding the fact that I’d made the find possible, and sell to some one else—sell something he didn’t have; for at last it all came out, why he’d gone crazy and wouldn’t wait. He’d lied to me previously. Before he’d left Tonopah he’d talked, told of his find to a half-dozen of his friends, and left them specimens of the same ore he’d brought me. He’d told them everything, in fact, except the location. It developed that he had retained judgment enough to keep back even a hint of that; and they were waiting for him there,—he knew it and I knew it,—waiting his return, waiting to learn the 235 location, and to steal his claim before he could stake it himself.”

“And still, feeling certain of that in your own mind, you paid him his price!”

“Every dollar of it—before I took the midnight train West. I raised it after business hours, in a dozen different ways; but I got it. I pooled for security everything I had in the world—except Old Reliable; I kept that free for a purpose,—my house, my library, my stock in the traction company, some real estate I own. I had to give good measure because I had to have the money right then. And I got it. It was a pull but I got it.”

The girl’s head was back on her folded arms once more, the long lashes all but covering her eyes.

“Supposing Evans had been lying to you after all,” she suggested, “in other things besides the one you mentioned.”

Over Roberts’ face flashed a momentary smile.

“I told you we were locked in that room together for an hour. He wasn’t lying to me after that time had passed, rest assured. Besides, I wasn’t entirely helpless or surprised. I’d been out in that country myself and Evans wasn’t the only man I had reporting. I’d been waiting 236 for a chance of this kind from the day the first prospect developed at Goldfield. I knew it would come sometime—if I waited my chance.”

“So you gambled—with every cent you had in the world.”

“Yes. All life is a gamble. If I had lost I was only thirty-five and the earth is big. Besides, to all the world I was still ‘old man’ Roberts, not ‘Darley.’ There was yet plenty of time—if I lost.”

“You went West that same evening, you say.” The long lashes were all but touching now. “What then?”

“Yes, with Evans in the same Pullman section and Old Reliable in the express car forward. I had an idea in my head and followed it out. I felt as certain as I was of my own name that they’d have scouts out to wire ahead when Evans was coming; so it wouldn’t be any use to get off at an obscure place. I also knew that the chances were I couldn’t get a conveyance there at once for love or money; so Old Reliable was already—good and ready. Every tank was full. The tonneau was packed: ten gallons extra gas, five gallons of water, a week’s rations—everything I could think of 237 that we might need. We’d go through to the end of the line, all right, but if I could help it we shouldn’t wait long after we got there. And we didn’t.”

This time the girl did not interrupt, either with comment or gesture; merely lay there listening.

“Ten minutes after we struck town we were away, under our own power. It was night, but we were away just the same. And that’s where we got the lead,—a half hour’s lead. They knew, all right, that we’d come, fancied they knew everything—but they hadn’t planned on Old Reliable. It took them just that long to come to and make readjustment. Then the real fun began. There was no moon, and out on the desert the night was as dark as a pocket. We simply had to have a light even if it gave us away. Evans thought he knew the road; but, if there ever was one, before we’d gone ten miles we’d lost it. After that I drove by compass entirely—and instinct. But I couldn’t go fast. I didn’t dare to. For an hour and a half—the indicator showed we’d gone twenty-four miles—we had everything to ourselves, seemingly the entire world. We hadn’t heard a sound or seen a live thing. Then, as we came 238 up on a rise, Evans looked back and saw a light,—just one light, away, away back like a star. A few seconds afterward it disappeared and we made a couple more miles. We mounted a second rise and—this time Evans swore. He was with me by this time, body and soul, game to the finish; for the light wasn’t starlike now by any means. It didn’t even twinkle. It just simply rose up out of the ground, shone steady, vanished for a time, and rose up anew with the lay of the country. They were on our trail at last, they couldn’t miss it. It was plain as a wagon road, and they were making two miles to our one. They must have had a good car; but anyway everything was with them. They could drive to the limit by our trail; but I couldn’t, for I didn’t know what was ahead. I let her out, though, and Evans watched. He didn’t swear now, he just watched; and every time that light showed it was nearer. At last,—we’d made thirty-two miles by that time,—he saw two lights behind instead of one—and saw them red, I judge, for how he swore! It was then or never and I opened the throttle to the last notch and we flew over everything, through everything until—we stopped.”

“You struck something?” 239

“Yes. I don’t know what nor didn’t stop to see. The transmission went, I knew that. The engine was still threshing and pounding when we took to our heels. We could hear it and see the two lights coming and we ran—Lord, how we ran! It seems humorous now, but it wasn’t humorous then. There was a fortune at stake and a big one; for a claim belongs to the chap who puts up the monuments. We ran straight ahead into the night, until we couldn’t run another foot; and then we walked, walked, ten miles if an inch, until the two lights of Old Reliable became one, and then went out of sight entirely. Then we lay down and panted and waited for daylight.... That’s about all, I guess.”

“They didn’t follow you, then?” The girl was sitting up now, the brown eyes wide open.

“They couldn’t. A hound might have done so, but a human being couldn’t that night.” Roberts dropped back to the grass, again avoiding the rift of light. “At daylight Evans got his bearings, and that day we found the claim, built our monuments, tacked up the notice and the rest. I learned afterwards there were six men in the machine behind; but I never saw 240 any of them—until the day I left. They made me an offer then.”

“And Old Reliable?”

Roberts hesitated, then he laughed oddly.

“I paid a parting visit there too. The remains weren’t decent junk when the same six got through expressing their feelings that night.”