Part 24 (1/2)

”Gretzinger wasn't in my mind.”

”You said 'too late',” she pursued. ”Naturally I supposed your reference to be of them.”

The gravity of his face deepened.

”I was thinking of myself,” said he, turning his eyes upon her. ”If we're not married soon, very soon, it will be too late. I mean that it would be a mockery. For me, at any rate. One may wish to go one way, and be swept another, especially when the mooring line is slack.” His breast rose and fell at a quick, agitated breath. ”But promise me that you'll not speak of this to Ruth.”

”The very thing to bring her round, perhaps.”

”More likely to fill her with despair.”

This was something Imogene could not grasp. It was so inexplicable, so extravagant, so perverse, that her cheeks grew hot.

”I can't follow you at all,” she cried, indignantly. ”Ruth alarmed, jealous, in doubt--yes, I can credit her with any one of those feelings. But despair! She lays her plans too far ahead to be led into despair.”

”Even if she knew I had ceased to love her? When she understood our marriage would be a hollow ceremony?”

”Would it be that if you succeed with your project?”

Bryant's eyes blazed suddenly.

”Great G.o.d, you talk as if she were to marry the ca.n.a.l!” he exclaimed.

He glowered for a time. ”I see now what you mean. You believe she would marry me if I win out with the ditch. Being practical, she would accept money as a subst.i.tute for love. That reminds me: she herself once declared that if circ.u.mstances necessitated she could take a rich man for his riches.” Bryant uttered a harsh laugh. ”My Lord, I was frightened lest in a fit of anguish at losing my love she should go to the devil!” Again he yielded to an outburst of laughter that made Imogene shudder. ”I fancied that at finding herself out of money, unable to work, disinclined to work, unloved, miserable, she would recklessly hurl herself into perdition. And I was going to save her from that, marry her at once, sacrifice myself! Like an egotistical fool! When all the while there was never the slightest danger or need, when all the while she held the string, not I. And love isn't a consideration whatever. And she will marry me when I've completed the project. And complete it I must, of course. Not a way out, not a single loop-hole. Oh, my Lord, my Lord, Imogene, did you ever know of anything so devilishly laughable!” And his bitter, sardonic merriment broke forth anew.

The girl was appalled. All she could do was to gasp, ”Oh, Lee, Lee!

Don't laugh like that, don't think of it like that. You make it out worse than it is.”

He stopped short. By his look he might have detested her.

”I state it as it is,” he said. ”Wherein is the actual situation better?”

”You could break your engagement; certainly she has given you sufficient cause.”

”Yes, break with her, as might you. Why don't you?”

Imogene put out a hand in protest.

”You know why, Lee; I've told you,” she said, earnestly.

”No more can I, for the same reason,” was his reply. He turned and lifted his hat and gloves from the table. ”I will have no act of mine cut her adrift and push her under. Much better to stand the gaff. I suppose one hardens to anything in time.” His look wandered about the room. ”And the diabolic part of it all is that this squeamish feeling of responsibility for another may achieve as much harm in the long run as its lack. Who knows?”

He glanced at her as if expecting an answer. Imogene remained silent; indeed, nothing need be said to so evident an enigma. For that matter, nothing more said at all. Bryant drew on his gloves and bade her good-night. At the door he remarked, quite in his accustomed manner:

”I'll send Dave over in the morning with more blankets and have him chop some wood. There's a drop in the temperature coming.”

CHAPTER XX

The predicted cold weather came, bringing winter in earnest. The frost went deeper into the ground and construction grew slower, but the days continued fine and without gales, those fierce and implacable winds that sometimes rage over the frozen mesa hours at a time under a dull, saffron sun, sharp as knives, shrieking like demons, and driving man and beast to cover. They had not yet been unleashed.

Night work was begun, amid a flare of gasolene torches that gave a weird aspect to the plain. The yellow lights; the moving, shadowy forms of the workmen and horses; the cries and shouts--all made a scene gnome-like in character. Frost gleamed upon the earth in a silvery sheen under the torches' smoky flames. The headquarters building and the mess tents now glowed from dusk until dawn. Fires where workmen could warm their cheeks and hands were burning continually, fed from the great piles of wood brought from the mountains. And so by day and by night, without halt and despite cold, the restless life was maintained and the toil kept going and the hard furrow driven ahead.