2 The Start

Phoenix is a city literally created out of the desert by the hand of man, who has known how to draw the life-giving waters, and spread them where he would, and, like any other oasis, it shines and attracts by contrast with the sands. The burning sunlight of the afternoon had just begun to soften when Charles Wayne approached, and the sight of green grass, fresh foliage, and trees hanging with fruit was like a vision of delight to him. The effect of everything was heightened. How very green the green was! The water in the irrigation ditches actually seemed to him to sparkle in silver, and such oranges as those on the trees never grew before. He sighed in deep content. Phoenix was coming into fame, and to Charles it was all that it had promised.

He went at once to the office of Mr. Gray, the Division Superintendent. Mr. Gray was sorry to lose so capable a lad, and asked him to reconsider; he thought that they could give him a better office in a few months, and while promotion was slow, yet, in a case like his, it was sure. Charles shook his head.

“I thank you, Mr. Gray,” he said; “but I’ve decided to try something else.”

Mr. Gray’s curiosity was aroused, but he would not ask any questions.

“This, you understand, is the middle of the month?” he said.

“I know,” replied Charles, “and I should leave at the end of the month; I don’t ask any salary for the two weeks.”

“I think we will pay you for the full month,” said the Superintendent. “It is not usual in the case of a sudden resignation, but we shall make an exception with you. I hope that the money won’t trouble you.”

The boy was moved by this liberality, and he replied frankly that it would be welcome.

“Do you go east or west?” asked Mr. Gray.

“I think I shall stay in Phoenix a little while.”

“Then come in and see me again, and, if you should change your mind, and wish to return to our service, don’t hesitate to say so.”

When Charles left the office the sun was just sinking in the plain. The great splash of rainbow lights that marked its going lingered for a few moments, and then came the dark. The electric lights flamed out, and the vivid night life of the little city began. The awful feeling of loneliness and desolation swept over Charles again, because he knew no one there, or at least no one to whom he wished to speak just then.

He strolled a little in the streets, keeping as well as he could in the shadow, and he came at last to a hotel with a wide piazza, where people from the east, travelers of wealth and leisure, sat in the evening and talked of wonders, some of those that they were seeing in the west, and others of those that they were leaving in the east.

The group upon the piazza was larger than usual this evening, the last limited having brought many who wished to stop in Phoenix.

Charles saw Herbert Carleton and the elderly cousin among them. Both were in evening dress—the boy wearing a dinner jacket—as were other eastern people. Charles felt again the pang of envy that he sought so quickly to stifle. Everything for the other boy, nothing for him! But he did not succeed in crushing the feeling, and then he felt a little pity, too. This other boy was not in good hands. Charles had lived a rough life long enough to read the human countenance, and he knew that George Carleton was a bad man.

He stood in the grounds awhile and then turned away to seek the obscure little hotel at which he was staying, and to sleep, but when he had gone a hundred yards a small man, with a large head, wonderful white teeth, and a pair of beautiful gold glasses astride his nose, put his hand upon his shoulder.

“Pardon me,” said the stranger in a well-modulated voice, “but can you direct me to the Pacific Hotel?”

“It’s but a short distance,” replied Charles, with the ready comradeship of the border, “but I will not give you any directions. As that is my own destination we can go together.”

The little man, without a word, turned and beckoned violently. A figure of great height, crowned by a small round head, the chief feature of which was a nose of alarming length and thinness, emerged from the dusk, and stood waiting.

“My follower, assistant and friend, Mr. Jedediah Simpson of Lexin’ton, K—y,” said the little man. “Do not say Lexington, Kentucky, but Lexin’ton, K—y, which he thinks is always sufficient.”

The tall fellow grinned good-naturedly, and, when he grinned, his face was cleft from side to side.

“You are very kind,” said the little man trotting by Wayne’s side, while Jedediah Simpson of Lexin’ton, K—y, followed on behind, “but I find most people in the southwest obliging, when you don’t try to mind their business.”

Charles glanced at him again. He wore a hideous pith helmet, like those of the English in India. From one pocket of his gray Norfolk jacket protruded the head of a little hammer.

“You look at me inquiringly, and I suppose you can guess my ocupation from this hammer,” said the little man merrily.

He took it from his pocket and twirled it deftly as a drum major does his baton. Then he laughed again.

“I use this, not for cracking heads, but for cracking rock,” he said, and Wayne almost fancied that he could see his eyes twinkling behind the big glasses. “I am a scientist, a geologist, an archaeologist, and several other things. I am Professor Erasmus Darwin Longworth, at your service. I am from the University of—Sh! but I won’t tell you what university it is; that must remain a secret.”

“Why?” asked Charles, amused at the stranger’s air of importance and intense earnestness.

“Because another man has come to the southwest for the purpose of anticipating me in the discoveries that I hope to make,” replied Professor Longworth venomously, “and I do not wish it to be known yet that my university is represented here.”

Jedediah Simpson of Lexin’ton, K—y, nodded his head violently as if he fully shared the Professor’s feelings.

“Do you mind telling the name of the other man?” asked Charles, still amused. “It may enable me some time, or other to give you warning of his coming.”

“He is Professor Nicholas Humboldt Cruikshank. We are rivals. Mr.—Mr.——”

“Wayne—Charles Wayne.”

“Mr. Wayne. No, Charles, I’ll call you; you’re too young to be ‘Mr.’ Never believe a word that man says! He is no geologist! He is a fraud! I’ve never heard of his boasted books nor of his honorary degrees! He is certainly a beginner, and he is merely following me now for the sake of profiting by the discoveries that I am going to make!”

“I am sure of it, Professor,” said Charles soothingly. “Such conduct is low and base to the last degree.”

“I expect to prove,” continued Professor Longworth, “that Northern Arizona is now the oldest land above water. It is generally thought that the Laurentian Mountains in Canada have that honor, but I assure you, my dear boy, it is a mistake, a terrible mistake. I will prove it by means of geological specimens, but, as surely as I do so, that scoundrel Cruikshank will step in and claim that he, too, has the proof, and that he got it first.”

Jedediah Simpson again nodded his head violently.

“I think not, Professor, I think not,” replied Charles.

These complimentary remarks soothed Professor Longworth, and he gave way to no more outbursts until they reached the hotel. But there, when they entered the lobby, his face turned purple, and he struggled with an inarticulate cry of rage.

Leaning against the clerk’s desk was a tall, thin man, clad just like Professor Longworth; the same enormous pith helmet, the same heavy glasses, and the same Norfolk jacket. Also from the pocket of the Norfolk jacket protruded a little hammer.

“Cruikshank! Cruikshank!” Professor Longworth at last ejaculated.

Walking up to the long man he shook his fist in his face and exclaimed:

“Cruikshank, you have followed me here to profit by my discoveries! I have said to others that you are a fraud, and now I say it to you!”

“Longworth, I should strike you if we did not both wear glasses,” said the thin man. “And your accusation, sir, is as false as your reputation for learning. It is you who have followed me. Keep away, sir! I want no trouble with a man of your caliber, or, rather, lack of it.”

Professor Longworth grew purple again and Jedediah Simpson drew near the threatened conflict, but Charles interfered between the rival scientists.

“Come, come, Professor!” he said to his new friend, “it’s too late to quarrel. Let’s talk.”

Professor Longworth allowed himself to be persuaded, and went with Wayne to the lobby, followed as always by Jedediah Simpson, while Professor Cruikshank remained, leaning scornfully against the desk. They did not stop in the lobby, but passed to a little piazza, where the three sat down, Jedediah Simpson keeping a little in the rear.

“I shall ask your pardon, my lad, for showing passion before you,” said the Professor with much dignity; “but we scientists and students of old things are sometimes stirred deeply by matters which seem trifles to other people, but which, nevertheless, are important to us. It is not alone the rivalry which this man Cruikshank offers, but I have never been able to place him. I thought I knew, by reputation, all the very learned men in America, but he is new to me, and the fact annoys me.”

“Jest say the word, Purfessor, an’ I’ll go in an’ thrash him,” spoke up Jedediah Simpson.

“Good gracious, no, Jedediah!” said the little Professor hastily. “We don’t do things that way in the world of learning. You’ll overlook Jedediah’s violent and primitive ways, Charles. It’s true he was born in Lexin’ton, K—y, but his parents were mountaineers, and he has inherited their instincts.”

“But I was shore born in Lexin’ton, K—y,” said Jedediah Simpson with unction, “an’ nothin’ can take that honor from me. An’ as fur violence, Purfessor, you didn’t mind it that time in the South Seas when I h’isted right overboard the chief who wanted to whack you on the head with his club.”

“No, Jedediah, I didn’t. You saved my life, and I’m grateful. You’ve saved it more than once, and you’re likely to save it again. Although Jedediah has his faults, Charles, he also has his virtues, and he is a wonderfully handy man. He has a delusion, however. He thinks he was born to be a great musician, and that chance or fate has defrauded him.”

“Wouldn’t you like to hear me sing ‘Poor Nelly Gray’ and play it on the accordion?” asked Jedediah Simpson proudly.

“Not now, Jedediah! Not now!” said the Professor in great haste. “Spare our young friend.”

“All right,” replied Jed, calmly. “Mebbe he ain’t used to music, an’ it has to be broke to him gradual. But when I get rich I’m goin’ to have in my house every kind o’ musical instrument thar is. Mebbe I won’t play ’em all, but they’ll be thar, an’ I’ll know they’ll be thar, even while I’m asleep.”

“But it isn’t so easy to get rich,” said Charles.

“There ain’t no tellin’,” said Jed with cheerful philosophy. “They say the mountains up in these parts are chuck-full o’ gold, and mebbe me an’ the Purfessor will strike a mine when we are lookin’ fur funny rocks.”

“As I said,” remarked the Professor, “Jedediah has his virtues, and one of them is an unfailing optimism—a great, a most precious quality.”

They talked a while longer, and Charles felt a strong liking for both. Eccentric they certainly were, but they seemed to him interesting and sincere.

“You’ll beat Mr. Cruikshank, Professor, you’ll beat him. I have no fear of the result,” said Charles at last. “And now I’ll tell you and Mr. Simpson good night.”

He passed through the lobby on his way to his room, and he noticed Professor Cruikshank still there, his attitude unchanged. Evidently he was watching his rival. Charles smiled, despite himself. “It ought to be a pretty fight between them,” he thought.

He had checked his valise on his arrival, and now it was taken up to his room by the Mexican servant. The apartment was small and bare, a fact that did not trouble him, as he was used to the border, and was thoroughly tired.

“Where put him, boss?” asked the Mexican who brought the valise.

“Oh, anywhere,” replied Charles; “and that will do. I don’t want anything more.”

The Mexican put the valise down near the door, and went out, Charles put himself in bed and went to sleep. Then he had a succession of dreams flitting after one another; one was of a lad whom he had envied, sitting on a piazza in the dusk of a semitropical evening, another was of himself lost among high mountains, and a third was of a swarthy man like a Mexican, who entered his room and made a minute search through his clothing and valise.

The last dream was so vivid that Charles awoke and sat up. He seemed to hear the sound of a faint footfall and of something closing softly, and, after that, the intense silence of a house asleep.

He took his revolver from the pillow under his head, stepped out of bed, and lighted the lamp. There was no one in the room, and the door, which in his haste for sleep he had left unlocked, was closed. But when his eyes fell upon his valise he started. The valise was open.

The boy quickly examined the contents. Nothing was missing, although all the articles seemed to have been moved about. Then he looked at his clothing, and he was confident that not all the garments were lying where he had left them before going to bed. But everything was there, even to the gold watch and loose chain in the waistcoat.

Charles was puzzled. He was sure that someone had been in the room, but nothing was taken, although there was enough to tempt any sneak thief. “Who was he, and what could he have wanted?” was his unspoken query. But he now locked the door with care, and, being too young and healthy to be bothered long by mysteries, was soon asleep again.

He rose early and ate breakfast, but when he came from the dining-room the thin, long figure of Professor Nicholas Humboldt Cruikshank presented itself in his path.

“Young Mr. Wayne, I believe?” said the Professor in nasal tones.

“Correct,” replied Charles. “I am happy to meet you, Professor Cruikshank.”

“Pardon me for intruding or interfering at all in what is your business, but I wish to give you a warning, a warning that you will do well to heed. I saw you in close converse last night with that arrant humbug, Longworth. Have nothing further to do with him, sir. The man is a pretense and a mockery, a gross fraud. He has not really earned a single one of his degrees. He is always stealing from me. He has, in fact, stolen enough from me to make a reputation for himself.”

“But, Professor,” said Charles, “I am sure that, even after those unfair losses, you have sufficient left to make a great reputation for yourself.”

“You are a clever lad,” said Professor Cruikshank, obviously pleased. “Do you do anything in geology yourself? I am going forth presently on an expedition to prove that the oldest ground now above water is not the Laurentian Chain in Canada, as is generally supposed, but Northern Arizona.”

“Now here, indeed, is a pretty fight,” thought Charles, for the second time, but he said aloud:

“It is an arduous quest that you are undertaking, Professor. Arizona is large, and there are deserts and mountains in plenty.”

“I am glad of it,” said Professor Cruikshank triumphantly. “They do not daunt me, but they will keep back that rascal, Longworth. If you are not employed, may I suggest that you go with me? I can pay well, you are young, but you seem very strong, and you can be of valuable assistance, in a material way, while I attend to those finer, I may say, almost spiritual, things pertaining to science.”

“I thank you very much, Professor,” replied Charles hastily, “but I cannot do it, as I am thinking of going to ’Frisco in two or three days.”

The professor expressed his regret, and Charles, with a word of adieu, left him. He did not like Professor Cruikshank, while he had liked Professor Longworth. In neither case could he give the precise reason why.

He spent the day in preparation for a long journey, and made his purchases with the greatest care—a horse and a pack mule, warranted strong and faithful, a collapsible tent, two breech-loading rifles of the finest make, a large supply of cartridges to fit the rifles, another revolver to match the one that he already had, a compass and blanket, some mining tools and canned and dried food that would give the largest possible amount of nutriment in the smallest possible space.

The boy had many errands, but, as he was swift and skillful, it did not take him long to do them, and, by the middle of the afternoon, he was back at his hotel with his goods around him. Here he read some important items of information in his evening paper. The first stated that Mr. George Carleton and his young cousin and ward, Herbert Carleton, rich and conspicuous New Yorkers, were in the city, and would shortly go northward to look after valuable copper mining properties.

The second paragraph chronicled the arrival in Phoenix of two distinguished scientists, Professor Erasmus Darwin Longworth and Professor Nicholas Humboldt Cruikshank. They were about to conduct investigations, the paper said, which would give Arizona a place in the world, even more conspicuous than that which she now enjoyed.

A third item stated that two ranchmen had been wantonly slain by Earp’s band of outlaws in the northern part of the territory, and that pursuit seemed to be hopeless, the trail having been lost among wild and inaccessible mountains. A fourth stated that Apaches in the tangle of peaks and ridges to the north had become troublesome.

Charles was very thoughtful after reading these paragraphs, and he decided to hasten his departure, going at night, instead of waiting until the next day. Prospectors, tourists, health seekers and others were continually leaving Phoenix by horse and mule, and his own obscure exit would not be likely to attract much attention, but he was not willing that it should have any at all. He had left his horse and mule at the stable, from which he bought them, and his other supplies, by his orders, being sent there, nothing was left for him to do but to pay his bill and leave the hotel, which he did unobtrusively just after dinner at the twilight hour.

As he turned away from the clerk’s desk the thin, long figure of Professor Cruikshank presented itself, and stretched out a hand.

“Good-by, my boy,” said the geologist; “I wish you luck, but I am still sorry that you could not accept my invitation and go with me.”

“Why do you assume that I am about to leave?” asked Wayne in some surprise.

“I saw you putting change in your pocket, and I knew that you must have paid your bill, which we are not in the habit of doing at a hotel until we are ready to go. Ah, my boy, we scientists are much cleverer and much more observant than you think we are.”

Charles smiled at his rather childish pride, but did not see fit to make any comment.

“Good-by, Professor,” he said. “I sincerely hope that we shall meet again in the west.”

The Professor returned his good-by, and gave him a grip of amazing power for a thin man.

“I suppose that comes of wielding a geologist’s hammer for twenty-five or thirty years,” thought Charles, as he slipped away quietly in the dim street. Everything was waiting for him at the stable, and, quickly saddling his horse, he loaded the supplies on the mule, riding away through the streets, past the irrigation canals, and on into the bare country, beyond the habitations of men. He would have liked to tell Professor Longworth and Jedediah Simpson good-by, but he thought it best not to look for them.

The night was good. Clear stars swam in a vast blue sky, and the air, though chill, was full of freshness and vigor. The boy, inured to the border, thrilled with a sense of freedom and hope. He was released from the monotonous round at Jefferson that was dwarfing him, mind and soul, and he was his own man. His was truly a quest in the dark, with only the slender guidance of a few scattered words, but young blood flushed his veins and told him not to despair. The desert, so lonely and terrible to him at Jefferson, was neither lonely nor terrible now; he was a part of it, a sharer in its immensity and majesty; he did not feel the want of either guidance or companionship.

He rode on steadily for hours, and the mule, with the stores, followed faithfully. The night grew more chill, and then he walked for a while beside the horse until the circulation was restored. Occasionally he repeated the cabalistic words: “Beyond the base of Old Thundergust! In the ravine with the dwarfed pines! Up and down! Up and down! Behind the veil! Behind the veil!” and then came the grim refrain:

With that echo in his ear the old feeling of awe that the mighty desert gave him came back, although it could not endure long in the face of his new hope.

Toward morning he slept a while on the plain, and then resumed his journey under a blazing sun, in a measureless sea of sand. All day he traveled, his eyes dim with the heat and glare, and his tongue parching in his mouth. But when the sun, burning into red and gold, sank in the western desert and the twilight drew a great cool canopy between the earth and the molten sky, the last of the dancing “dust devils” passed out of sight. From the far mountains a gentle breeze stole down, and wandered over the sandy wastes. Charles felt its pleasant breath upon his face, and his tired brain grew strong and fresh again. His eyes were soothed, as if a soft wet cloth were pressed upon them, and his whole frame vibrated with thankfulness.

Nor was fortune unkind. Just after the sun had gone he came to a kind of dip or valley, between high hills, where underground water, seeping down, rose to the surface and formed an oasis. In a fresh, green country it might not have seemed much of a place, but, compared with the sands of the desert that stretched away on every side, it was a little Eden. The horse, as they rose upon the last sandy ridge, scented the water, and, raising his head, uttered a neigh of thankfulness that the mule echoed as best he could. They went down the slope at a swifter pace, and Charles uttered a little cry of joy of his own at the sight that rose before him.

In the shade of some green trees a tiny fountain bubbled from the earth, ran away a distance of fifty yards over hard sand, in a stream two feet wide and three inches deep, and then sank into the earth, whence it had come. But there were trees, bushes and grass on either side, filling all the space of the little valley. Water and green, the most blessed of all things to the eyes, soothed the vision and, as he rode into the grass, birds rose and whirred away in fright.

He and the animals drank deep at the little stream and then he turned the horse and mule loose. No need to tether them! They would never wander from the green oasis and the water into the brown sands. Then with a desire for company—the household flames are company—Charles built a fire of fallen brushwood, and, sitting before it, ate his supper of crackers and dried beef.

The little oasis, the fire, and the boy sitting beside it were but a pin point in the desert. The sandy swells, rising on all sides, would have hidden the flames from anybody only a few hundred yards away, but Charles, in all the immensity of the desolation, did not feel lonely. At the telegraph station, bending over the monotonous telegraph instrument, he had been sick of the desert, and pining for the haunts of men, but now a great peace and calm came over him, and his mind was soothed and at rest. He was free; in a way the world was his; he was on a quest, but at the moment he felt no anxiety about it; he might or might not find the gold, but in either event he should feel glad that he had come. The mighty wilderness, the desert and the silence suddenly made a new and wholly different appeal to him. They were not lone and bare, but were clothed in a majesty that was suffused with kindness. Over him curved the twilight heavens, protecting and good.

Darkness flowed steadily out of the east; in the west, the last spark from the sunken sun died, and gave way in its turn to darkness. Into the blue sky the stars came one by one, and twinkled down kindly on the single human figure, sitting in the vast desert before the fire. The boy ate a little, and then drew closer to the flames, because the night wind had begun now to grow chill, and the desert that burned a few hours before with fiery rays was touched with an icy breath. Presently he built the fire a little higher, and also wrapped himself in a blanket. The animals, tired of cropping the green grass, came nearer to the flames and warmth, and stood, looking contentedly at their master.

Never was one more absolutely alone than this boy, without kin or friends or acquaintances. He still sat by his little fire, but all the while the peace that lay over him was deepening. Old instincts, hidden in his nature, which, without the magic, awakening touch, might have lain forever dormant, were stirring within him. He was beginning to give to the wilderness not only his friendliness, but his love as well. The spell lay upon him.

From a point far out on the desert came a weird, plaintive cry, but the boy did not stir. He knew that it was only the howl of a lone coyote, and such things now troubled him not at all. The coyote came nearer, lay at the edge of one of the sandy swells, and gazed, with red eyes, at the formidable human figure beside the fire. Then his heart filled with fear, and he crept away over the desert.

Charles rose after a while, walked to the crest of the enclosing sandy swell, and looked to the north. Always to the north! No other point attracted him now. He fancied that he could see vast dim mountains through the loom of the darkness, and they beckoned him on. He stood there a full half hour, gazing in the direction in which his quest led him, and then he turned back, walking slowly to the fire. He chose a smooth place, and, wrapping the blanket about himself, prepared to lie down. He hesitated, and then he did something that he had not done since he was a little lad. He knelt upon the grass and prayed, prayed to a vast, infallible Presence, not a God of fear, nor a God of revenge, but to a great merciful Deity who knows our weakness and temptations, and who will forgive. Then he lay down and slept at once.

The night thickened, but the boy lay, a shapeless object before his fire. The fire itself soon died, and all the oasis was in darkness. The full moon came out, and, as the heavens turned to a sheet of silver, the night grew lighter. But the boy still slept and stirred not. The birds, that his coming had disturbed, came back, and settled on the branches of the trees. They were not afraid. All the desert was at peace, and the hours passed one by one.

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