Boulder Dam. Zane Grey
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gravel mounds, like gray foothills under the huge iron structures. At the moment a swinging car from high on the bridge tumbled its load with a thunderous roar. Out of the darkness and peace of the desert Lynn had come upon the inferno of man’s creation—yellow light and glare, roar of machinery, ceaseless action of men at work. No moment of cessation of continuous labor on the building of Boulder Dam! The big dormitory appeared to shine with a hundred window eyes, and the camp beyond further attested to the fact that there was no darkness or rest here.
Lynn drove by the camp to his rude cabin. He had preferred this shack of boards to a tent, in which he had sweltered and frozen by turns.
“Once again, old Tincan!” he said, as he brought his car to a jolting halt. Then as he got out he heard a moan. “Hello! Have I got them?” Listening a moment he was amazed and transfixed by a low sound, like a sobbing intake of breath. It came from the back of his car, and it galvanized him into action.
He peered over the door. There was something on the floor—an indistinct shape, mostly dark, but lighter toward him.
“For the love of Mike!” Lynn whispered incredulously. And he thrust a swift hand over the door. It came into contact with curly soft hair on a small round head. An unaccountable thrill checked him for an instant. He bent over, trying to see, feeling farther. His forceful hand encountered a fold of woolen blanket that fell back to let him touch the outline of a woman’s body.
Chapter 2
With a start Lynn hastily withdrew his hand. His first whirling thought was that thugs had used his car as a means to get rid of a murdered victim. Then his straining eyes distinguished the dark little head and the white shoulder. He sustained a strong shock. And on the instant when he sought to find his wits another gasping intake of breath routed his fearful consternation.
“Alive, by God!” he cried under his breath, and he ripped open the door.
Lynn put his arms under the girl, and lifting her out he carried her toward his cabin, bending a searching glance all around. The flare of electric lights did not extend that far. He could not be seen in the gloom. The girl felt like a lightweight in his arms. Holding her in one arm, he opened the door, went in and laid her on his bed. His next swift move was to bar the door, after which he let down the canvas curtains to his two windows. After that he reached up to turn on the electric light.
The girl was recovering consciousness, if she had lost it. Then her eyes opened, wide gray gulfs of terror.
“Don’t let them—get me,” she begged almost inaudibly.
“I’ll say they won’t, young lady,” Lynn burst out in relief as well as haste to reassure her. “I found you in my car—just now. Drove out all the way from town.”
“Where am—I?” she asked.
“You’re in my shack at the gravel pits above the dam—thirty miles from town. I work here. My name’s Lynn Weston. I’m from California. . . . You’re safe, girl.”
“Oh, thank heaven!” she cried weakly and appeared about to faint.
“Don’t—don’t pass out. Tell me quick—are you injured?” And he leaned over to shake her gently.
“No, I’m not hurt.”
“Did they—Bellew or Sneed—any of that rotten gang—harm you?”
“Oh, you know—!”
“I overheard enough to—to give me a hunch. Quite by accident I happened to hear Sneed and his men as they came out of the Monte. They spoke of Bellew. Then down the street where I was looking for my Ford. Ran into Sneed again—his car—three men jumped out. They had seen you run by under the light. They held me up—with a gun—the thugs! Asked if I’d seen a girl. You must have hidden in my car then.”
“Oh! I’ve gotten away,” she exclaimed, staring up at him. Her white hands shook as she held the blanket close.
“You sure have. But tell me—did they? . . . How’d you happen to be—this way? Surely you don’t belong to Bellew or Sneed?”
“Bellew’s a white slaver.”
“Oh! So that’s it? Now we’re . . . Say, girl, did he—they harm you?”
“No. I’m all right—only scared—and frozen stiff.”
“What a sap I am!” Lynn said, and sprang into action. He kindled a wood fire in his little stove and put water on to heat. Then he got out a pair of pajamas and spread them upon his rude rocker to get warm. He found his slippers, also, and a fleece-lined coat. “There! Soon as the fire’s hot you get into these—and put the blanket over your knees. I’ll go outside. Then I’ll come back say in ten minutes and make you a cup of coffee.”
With that Lynn stalked outdoors to pace up and down before his cabin. It was not likely that anyone would come along at this hour, but he kept strict lookout, while he marveled and pondered over the adventure that had befallen him. Who was this girl, and how had she gotten into such a predicament? She appeared to be about nineteen years old and she was strikingly beautiful. He could not forget her large gray eyes stained dark in fright.
He walked up and down beside the car. What would he do now that he had accidentally saved the girl? He did not know. But it dawned vaguely upon him that the something he had felt coming must have had its inception in this adventure. The whole year he had toiled there, from almost the very day he had turned away in bitter contempt from Helen Pritchard there on the rim of Black Canyon where he had sustained the crucial shock of his life, had been one of inscrutable pangs and dawnings, of a grim stubborn resolve, of fleeting dreamful glimpses of the reward of a newer different life. Could this girl have been dropped out of the clouds to react in some way upon him? Every hour of toil, every bit of suffering, everything that had happened during this eventful year, looked back upon, seemed to have been intended to test him in some inexplicable way. Lynn had to ridicule the fact that inside his cabin was a young girl whom fate had thrown in his way and had given him the good fortune to serve, perhaps to save, her.
“I’m a queer sap,” he thought, gazing across the dark void toward the bold mountains. “Finding out I never knew myself. Sentimental—and full of mush in this modern day! Maybe I’d be well to trail along with this unknown self. It’s a cinch the other side was a flop.”
Presently he went back into the cabin, barring the door behind him. His guest sat in the old rocker before the roaring stove, dressed as he had expected to find her. But Lynn was wholly unprepared for the prettiest girl he had ever seen.
“Well, how you making out?” he asked gayly.
“I’m warm and comfortable—thank you,” she replied gratefully. “And that awful something—here—is leaving me.”
“A hot cup of coffee will help it go,” Lynn said cheerfully and proceeded to lift the steaming pot off the stove. “I don’t batch it here. But I’ve a few camp utensils I found in this shack, and I amuse myself making coffee occasionally. . . . But perhaps you’d prefer a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“That’s lucky. Now that I think of it, I haven’t anything to offer you. . . . Here’s your coffee. It’s hot, so be careful. And here’s sugar. . . . I guess I’ll drink a cup myself. It sure was cold driving out tonight.”
Presently Lynn drew a box up to the stove and seating himself upon it sipped his coffee and watched the red fire through the little barred door. What he wished most at the moment was to look at this girl so strangely thrust upon him and next to that to question her. Nevertheless he refrained from either.
“I’ll go outside presently and let you have my bed,” he said. “I can find a place to sleep. I’ll be right close, in the woodshed in case you want me. Then in the morning we’ll talk over what’s best to do.”
“You’re very good,” she murmured. “What can I do? No clothes—no money!”