B. M. Bower

“ Peter snapped the verbal whip again. His eyes turned briefly toward Rawley. “What’s been let out, you did yourself, dad.” (Rawley thought that Peter hesitated over the last word.) “I have never breathed one word of our plan. Slave? What have I been slaving for, all these years? Do you think I have not endured everything but dishonor, for the sake of the millions we plan to get? And Nevada—what about her? Hasn’t she done the work of a man and slaved over her studies, so that she could help, too? It’s you, letting go your tongue and raving like a fool, that has betrayed the secret. ”

“ Rawley wished that he could be with him longer and oftener, but that was not possible unless he were willing to sacrifice the work he loved. Even if he could bring himself to that, Johnny Buffalo would not permit it. It would break his heart to feel that he had hindered his sergeant’s grandson.
“Your work,” said Johnny Buffalo, almost as if he had been reading Rawley’s thoughts, “is better than the gold. A man is great within himself, or he is nothing. The full pocket makes the empty head. It is greater fortune that you have honor and youth and work to perform. So my sergeant would tell you.” ”

“ Anita came to the door, looked out and nodded with an imperturbable gravity that always disconcerted Rawley. He asked for Peter and Nevada. Peter was at work, Gladys told him vaguely. And the clicking of a typewriter in the rock dugout told him where Nevada might be found.
Rawley was amazed, almost appalled at the agitation with which he faced her. In the press of his work, of meeting strange people and seeing strange places, he had thought the image of Nevada was blurred; a charming personality dimmed by distance and the urge of other thoughts, other interests. ”

“ He turned without speaking and opened the door, waiting for Rawley to pass. Still dumb with astonishment, a bit awed, Rawley crossed the threshold and for the first time in his life stood in the presence of his grandfather.
A powerful figure the old man must have been in his youth. Old age had shrunk him, had sagged his shoulders and dried the flesh upon his bones; but years could not hide the breadth of those shoulders or change the length of those arms. His eyes were piercingly blue and his lips were firm under the drooping white mustache. ”

“ By his silence he was unconsciously bringing himself close to the soul of the Indian, the traditions of whose race forbade hasty speech.
Half a pipe Rawley smoked, staring meditatively into the dusk. In that time Johnny Buffalo had moved no more than if he were a statue of brown stone. Then Rawley tipped his head sidewise and looked up at him.
“Sit down, Johnny. I want to talk.”
“Talk is useless when the heart is dead,” said Johnny Buffalo after a long pause. But he came down two steps and seated himself, straight-backed, head up, beside Rawley.
“The man I love is cold. His spirit has gone. ”

“ Even the greatest grief of his life could not bow the shoulders of Johnny Buffalo. With no definite purpose, drawn only by the kinship of their loss, Rawley rose, crossed the grass plot by the syringas and sat down on the top step of the west porch.
Johnny Buffalo stood with his arms folded, the fringe on his buckskin sleeves whipping gently in the soft breeze that rose when the sun went down. He was staring straight out at nothing,—the nothingness that epitomized his future. Rawley slanted a glance up at him and began thoughtfully refilling his pipe. ”

“ Peter’s dream was very like Nevada’s. Peter, as Rawley knew, exulted over the achievement itself; the constructive thinking that left the beaten path of thought and plunged boldly into the realm of unguessed possibilities. The taming of a river that called itself untamable meant more to Peter than to Nevada, even. The gold would be his just reward for having dared to achieve the improbable. ”

“ Nevada fled from the sound of his cracked voice shrieking maniacal threats and maledictions. He shook his fist under Rawley’s nose and stamped his feet and raved. Young Jess was over-ridden, silenced by the old man’s insane outburst.
As once before, Peter said absolutely nothing until Old Jess had reached the zenith of his rage. Then he rose deliberately and without excitement, took the old man by the collar and headed him toward the door.
“Go and cool off,” he advised dispassionately. “You old vulture, you can’t scream any louder than the Eagle. ”

“ Rawley’s boot toe struck against something in the loose gravel,—a child’s shoe with the toe worn to a gaping mouth, the heel worn down to the last on the outer edge: dry as a bleached bone, warped by many a storm, blackened, doleful. Even a young man setting out in quest of his fortune, with a picturesque secret code in his pocket, may be forgiven for sending a thought after the child who had scuffed that coarse little shoe down here in El Dorado. ”

“ The long days when Rawley was away with Peter were lonesome. There was nothing to do but to seek sedulously after comfort, which is so rare a thing in a camp beside the Colorado in summer that every little whiff of cool breeze is prized, every little change in the monotonous diet makes an impromptu banquet. Sometimes Nevada walked down to camp with things she herself had cooked; but Johnny Buffalo had taken care to insult Gladys and Anita so definitely that they refused to come near him. ”

“ The first twelve years of his life had thoroughly accustomed Rawley to the sight of the fierce old man with long hair and his legs cut off at his knees, who sometimes appeared in a wheel chair on a porch of the west wing, attended by an Indian who looked savage enough to scalp a little boy if he ventured too close; a ferocious Indian who scowled and wore his hair parted from forehead to neck and braided in two long braids over his shoulder, and who padded stealthily about the place in beautifully beaded moccasins and fringed buckskin leggings. ”

“ It interested Rawley in his days of helplessness to observe the reactions of that dream upon the diverse natures that dwelt within the basin. Old Jess Cramer had become a vulture in human form, his whole soul enslaved by the greed fostered by his individual conception of the vision. Rawley could look at the river and picture Old Jess down in its slimy bed of mud bars, rocks and groping streamlets, wildly scrabbling amongst the gravel and stones for the gold his insatiable soul craved. ”

“ Old Jess got to thinking how much gold must lie at the bottom of the river, washed down through all the centuries of time, through Colorado, even through Wyoming, where its main tributaries rise. When you think of it, the thing gets hold of you. And the more you think, the stronger it holds. He thought how tremendously rich and powerful he’d be if he could just get at that gold out there. But you see the old river; she holds what she’s got. ”

“ The river was too swift, its currents too treacherous. I used to watch the steamboats warp up against the sweep of that current, to make the landing at El Dorado. That gave me an idea of the giant strength we should have to combat, to conquer. No one ever suspected the purpose that grew within the minds of the ‘squaw man’ Cramer and his breed boys, mining at Black Canyon. Deliberately we fostered the belief in our commonplace lives, our lack of ambition, our ignorance. That belief, gentlemen, was a necessary factor in our ultimate success. ”

“ At least, men of the desert do not get it. His hands, as he shuffled a few slips of paper, showed how hardly they had been used. They were the hands of a laborer, scrubbed meticulously clean, the nails trimmed painstakingly,—with a pocket-knife, one could guess. So there he stood, towering above them all, with pre-War clothes, the hands of a laborer, the eyes of a thinker.
The car became very still. Every man there looked at Peter. And one man’s eyes held love, sympathy and a shade of anxiety. To this moment, Rawley King could only guess at what his Uncle Peter was going to say. ”

“ Rawley protested. “I am not responsible because the undertaking is so stupendous that it is beyond any private enterprise. You can’t shoot a lot of rock into the river and call that a dam. And if you could, you must not. Don’t you see? The welfare of too many thousands of people are involved. It’s a job for the government. You can’t take it for granted that, just because you have lived beside it all your lives, and because it doesn’t seem to belong to anybody, any more than the clouds belong, that you can claim it, or even claim the right to do as you please with it. ”

“ Why, every old prospector who follows a burro along the desert trail has his visions. The dim distances promise him heart’s desire. Why else would he keep going? He’s a millionaire—in his dreams. The next gulch may change his vision to reality. Think how the Spaniards came dreaming up this very river, as long ago as when Washington was praying for boots at Valley Forge! ”

“ He isn’t a ghost! Whatever made you think of such a thing? He doesn’t mean to harm you—no, he is not a spirit. He merely fell down hill, and he wants to help you up. Are you hurt—Grandmother?” Her clear, gray-brown eyes went quickly, defiantly to Rawley’s face.
That young man could not repress a startled look, which traveled from the slim girl, indubitably white, to the squaw whimpering in the trail. She must be trying her own hand at a joke, he thought, just to break even with his fancied presumption in halting their leisurely progress down the trail.
From up on the ridge a rifle cracked. ”

“ What a to-do about building a dam they make! They must have government backing, and political wirepulling, and they must fiddle around for years with hundreds of men building a dam up from bedrock, with cement and stone! Wait until I show you what we mean to do! Simplest thing in the world—since we don’t want canals for irrigation and only want to get at the river below. Even if we did want to divert the water, instead of restraining it only, we could build our canals just the same, and at our leisure. ”

“ On the hillside which is upon the bank of the river in the wilderness, there shall the vultures also be gathered. Ye shall find him that is mine enemy. His mouth is full of cursing, under his tongue is mischief and vanity. Be watchful—the heart is desperately wicked.
“He that keepeth his mouth, keepeth his life. I put my trust in thee. Now, my son, the Lord be with thee and prosper thou.”
Rawley folded the paper, looking up under his bandaged brows at Uncle Peter, and sending a glance past him to the unreadable face of Johnny Buffalo. ”

“ Through a split in the huge wall so narrow as to be almost a crevice, the trail led him quite suddenly to a narrow shelf set sheer above the river. Crude steps cut in the rock went down the cliff at a slant. He heard the water worrying over something unseen at the bottom, and began to descend, his right hand steadying himself against the granite wall. He was curious, somewhat mystified. Neither Peter nor Nevada had mentioned any possibility of reaching the water’s edge in the canyon. ”

“ Yes, I’ve got your home name on my tongue—from Johnny Buffalo, I suppose. Well, you have grown. I don’t mean your body alone, though you have filled out and your shoulders look broader and stronger, somehow, even though you may not weigh a pound more. But you’ve grown mentally. There’s a strength in your face—an added strength. And your eyes are so much different. You keep me wondering, in between our talk, what is in your mind—back of those eyes. That’s a sure sign that a great, strong soul is looking out. ”

“ On the hillside, a very great heap of stones joined to a dry tree. Go into the clefts of the rocks, into the tops of the jagged rocks, to the sides of the pit. Take heed, now—that is exceeding deep. It is hid from the eyes of all living. Creep into the midst thereof, eastward, two hundred and fourscore feet. Ye shall find a pure river of water. Proceed no further. There is gold heavier than the sand; pure gold upon the sand. And all the gold thou shalt take up. Then shalt thou prosper if thou takest heed. I know thy poverty, but thou art rich. ”