XXVIII
She seemed to be still more startled when she saw him: her blue eyes dilated; the colour which had ebbed came back, suffusing her pretty features. But when she recognised him, fear, dismay, astonishment, and anxiety blended in swift confusion, leaving her silent, crimson, rooted to the spot.
White took off his hat and walked up to where she stood.
"I'm sorry, Miss Sandys," he said. "Only a few hours ago did I learn who it was camping here on the Causeway. And—I'm afraid I know why you are here.... Because the same reason that brought you started me the next day."
She had recovered her composure. She said very gravely:[281]
"I wondered when I saw you reading Valdez whether, by any possibility, you might think of coming here. And when you bought the other copy I was still more afraid.... But I had already secured an option on my lots."
"I know it," he said, chagrined.
"Were you," she inquired, "the client of Mr. Munsell who tried to buy from me the other half of Lot 210?"
"Yes."
"I wondered. But of course I would not sell it. What lots have you bought?"
"I took No. 200 to the northern half of No. 210."
"Why?" she asked, surprised.
"Because," he said, reddening, "my calculations tell me that this gives me ample margin."
She looked at him in calm disapproval, shaking her head; but her blue eyes softened.
"I'm sorry," she said. "You have miscalculated, Mr. White. The spot lies somewhere within the plot numbered from half of 210 to 220."
"I am very much afraid that you have miscalculated, Miss Sandys. I did not even attempt to purchase your plot—except half of 210."
"Nor did I even consider your plot, Mr. White," she said sorrowfully, "and I had my choice.[282] Really I am very sorry for you, but you have made a complete miscalculation."
"I don't see how I could. I worked it out from the Valdez map."
"So did I."
She had the volume under her arm; he had his in his pocket.
"Let me show you," he began, drawing it out and opening it. "Would you mind looking at the map for a moment?"
Her dainty head a trifle on one side, she looked over his shoulder as he unfolded the map for her.
"Here," he said, plucking a dead grass stem and tracing the Causeway on the map, "here lie my lots—including, as you see, the spot marked by Valdez with a Maltese cross.... I'm sorry; but how in the world could you have made your mistake?"
He turned to glance at the girl and saw her amazement and misunderstood it.
"It's too bad," he added, feeling profoundly sorry for her.
"Do you know," she said in a voice quivering with emotion, "that a very terrible thing has happened to us?"
"To us?"[283]
"To both of us. I—we—oh, please look at my map! It is—it is different from yours!"
With nervous fingers she opened the book, spread out the map, and held it under his horrified eyes.
"Do you see!" she exclaimed. "According to this map, my lots include the Maltese cross of Valdez! I—I—p-please excuse me——" She turned abruptly and entered her tent; but he had caught the glimmer of sudden tears in her eyes and had seen the pitiful lips trembling.
On his own account he was sufficiently scared; now it flashed upon him that this plucky young thing had probably spent her last penny on the chance that Bangs had told the truth about "The Journal of Pedro Valdez."
That the two maps differed was a staggering blow to him; and his knees seemed rather weak at the moment, so he sat down on his unpacked tent and dropped his face in his palms.
Lord, what a mess! His last cent was invested; hers, too, no doubt. He hadn't even railroad fare North. Probably she hadn't either.
He had gambled and lost. There was scarcely a chance that he had not lost. And the same fearful odds were against her.
"The poor little thing!" he muttered, staring at[284] her tent. And after a moment he sprang to his feet and walked over to it. The flap was open; she sat inside on a camp-chair, her red head in her arms, doubled over in an attitude of tragic despair.
"Miss Sandys?"
She looked up hastily, the quick colour dyeing her pale cheeks, her long, black lashes glimmering with tears.
"Do you mind talking it over with me?" he asked.
"N-no."
"May I come in?"
"P-please."
He seated himself cross-legged on the threshold.
"There's only one thing to do," he said, "and that is to go ahead. We must go ahead. Of course the hazard is against us. Let us face the chance that Bangs was only a clever romancer. Well, we've already discounted that. Then let us face the discrepancy in our two maps. It's bad, I'll admit. It almost knocks the last atom of confidence out of me. It has floored you. But you must not take the count. You must get up."
He paused, looking around him with troubled eyes; then somehow the sight of her pathetic figure—the[285] soft, helpless youth of her—suddenly seemed to prop up his back-bone.
"Miss Sandys, I am going to stand by you anyway! I suppose, like myself, you have invested your last dollar in this business?"
"Y-yes."
He glanced at the pick, shovel and spade in the corner of her tent, then at her hands.
"Who," he asked politely, "was going to wield these?"
She let her eyes rest on the massive implements of honest toil, then looked confusedly at him.
"I was."
"Did you ever try to dig with any of these things?"
"N-no. But if I had to do it I knew I could."
He said, pleasantly: "You have all kinds of courage. Did you bring a shot-gun?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how to load and fire it?"
"The clerk in the shop instructed me."
"You are the pluckiest girl I ever laid eyes on.... You camped here all alone last night, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"How about it?" he asked, smilingly. "Were you afraid?"[286]
She coloured, cast a swift glance at him, saw that his attitude was perfectly respectful and sympathetic, and said:
"Yes, I was horribly afraid."
"Did anything annoy you?"
"S-something bellowed out there in the swamp——" She shuddered unaffectedly at the recollection.
"A bull-alligator," he remarked.
"What?"
"Yes," he nodded, "it is terrifying, but they let you alone. I once heard one bellow on the Tomoka when I was a boy."
After a while she said with tremulous lips:
"There seem to be snakes here, too."
"Didn't you expect any?"
"Mr. Munsell said there were not any."
"Did he?"
"Not," she explained resolutely, "that the presence of snakes would have deterred me. They frighten me terribly, but—I would have come just the same."
"You are sheer pluck," he said.
"I don't know.... I am very poor.... There seemed to be a chance.... I took it——" Tears sprang to her eyes again, and she brushed them away impatiently.[287]
"Yes," she said, "the only way is to go on, as you say, Mr. White. Everything in the world that I have is invested here."
"It is the same with me," he admitted dejectedly.
They looked at each other curiously for a moment.
"Isn't it strange?" she murmured.
"Strange as 'The Journal of Valdez.'... I have an idea. I wonder what you might think of it."
She waited; he reflected for another moment, then, smiling:
"This is a perfectly rotten place for you," he said. "You could not do manual labour here in this swamp under a nearly vertical sun and keep your health for twenty-four hours. I've been in Trinidad. I know a little about the tropics and semi-tropics. Suppose you and I form a company?"
"What?"
"Call it the Valdez Company, or the Association of the Maltese Cross," he continued cheerfully. "You will do the cooking, washing, housekeeping for two tents, and the mending. I will do the digging and the dynamiting. And we'll go ahead doggedly, and face this thing and see it through[288] to the last ditch. What do you think of it? Your claim as plotted out is no more, no less, valuable than mine. Both claims may be worthless. The chances are that they are absolutely valueless. But there is a chance, too, that we might win out. Shall we try it together?"
She did not answer.
"And," he continued, "if the Maltese cross happens to be included within my claim, I share equally with you. If it chances to lie within your claim, perhaps I might ask a third——"
"Mr. White!"
"Yes?"
"You will take two thirds!"
"What?"
"Two thirds," she repeated firmly, "because your heavier labour entitles you to that proportion!"
"My dear Miss Sandys, you are unworldly and inexperienced in your generosity——"
"So are you! The idea of your modestly venturing to ask a third! And offering me a half if the Maltese cross lie inside your own territory! That is not the way to do business, Mr. White!"
She had become so earnest in her admonition, so charmingly emphatic, that he smiled in spite of himself.[289]
She flushed, noticing this, and said: "Altruism is a luxury in business matters; selfishness of the justifiable sort a necessity. Who will look out for your interests if you do not?"
"You seem to be doing it."
Her colour deepened: "I am only suggesting that you do not make a foolish bargain with me."
"Which proves," he said, "that you are not much better at business than am I. Otherwise you'd have taken me up."
"I'm a very good business woman," she insisted, warmly, "but I'm too much of the other kind of woman to be unfair!"
"Commercially," he said, "we both are sadly behind the times. To-day the world is eliminating its appendix; to-morrow it will be operated on for another obsolete and annoying appendage. I mean its conscience," he added, so seriously that for a moment her own gravity remained unaltered. Then, like a faint ray of sunlight, across her face the smile glimmered. It was a winning smile, fresh and unspoiled as the lips it touched.
"You will take half—won't you?" she asked.
"Yes, I will. Is it a bargain?"
"If you care to make it so, Mr. White."
He said he did, and they shook hands very[290] formally. Then he went out and pitched his tent beside hers, set it in order, lugged up the remainder of his equipment, buried the jars of spring water, and, entering his tent, changed to flannel shirt, sun-helmet, and khaki.[291]
