with its many different-colored lights. Music came on the cold wind. If law had any jurisdiction over Rankin’s resort it had never been called upon. Money could buy anything there. But the laborers had learned to give it a wide berth. Visitors, tourists, adventurers, gamblers, rich men’s sons and society women out for a kick furnished Rankin with his pickings.
Beyond this no man’s land Lynn entered the government reserve and approached the broad plateau where a model town, Boulder City, was in the course of construction.
Lynn turned off the smooth asphalt thoroughfare into a gravel road that headed down into the huge desert basin back of Boulder Dam. Here he entered the canyon country. The road was lighted, but the lamps appeared only to accentuate the lonely desert. For miles downgrade there were no buildings, no works of any land, until he crossed the railroad track which had been built twelve miles down into the basin. This railroad forked below the crossing, the right-hand branch running down to the river and along the shore into the canyon to be dammed; and the left branch turned off into the basin toward the gravel pits from which millions of tons of sand and gravel were to be transported to the site of the dam.
Sand and gravel were Lynn’s job, but he did not think of them then. As always, and especially at night, he felt the call of that wonderful country. The hills along which he drove would soon be submerged under the largest body of water ever artificially made by labor of man, but Lynn did not think of that, either. He caught glimpses of the Colorado, gleaming palely under the bright stars and mirroring the great walls. Lynn did not trust that swirling, sullen, muddy river. He had worked along it for a year now. He had seen it once in flood. He questioned the effrontery of man’s egotism. The Rio Colorado had a voice, a low sullen murmur of unrestraint. In Lynn’s secret opinion only the elemental forces that had given birth to this strange river could ever change its course or dam it permanently.
On the Arizona side the black walls stood up ragged and bold, and beyond them, touching the stars, lifted the stark and ghastly mountains. The basin on Lynn’s left opened out into dim and obscure space, bounded by the distant Nevada hills. Across it the cold wind whipped, carrying alkali dust and grains of sand to sting Lynn’s face. He used to gaze out upon that lonely vague gloom as if it were his future. But that thought had gone, he didn’t remember when, and when he looked now it was to feel something vital and compelling to which he could give no name.
The night gravel train went puffing and rattling by, carrying its thousands of tons down to the mixing mill above the site of the dam. A bend in the road brought Lynn into a zone of electric lights that shone upon the 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
