Chapter 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.