for he borrowed the last of my small hoard.
One morning I woke about six, and found, pinned to my blanket, a note from my friend.
"Dear Scotty:
"I grieve to leave you thus, but the cruel foreman insists on me working off my ten days' board. Racked with pain as I am, there appears to be no alternative but flight. Accordingly I fade away once more into the unknown. Will write you general delivery, Los Angeles. Good luck and good-bye. Yours to a cinder,
"Happy."
There was a hue and cry after him, but he was gone, and a sudden disgust for the place came over me. For two more days I worked, crushed by a gloom that momently intensified. Clamant and imperative in me was the voice of change. I could not become toil-broken, so I saw the foreman.
"Why do you want to go?" he asked reproachfully.
"Well, sir, the work's too monotonous."
"Monotonous! Well, that's the rummest reason I ever heard a man give for quitting. But every man knows his own business best. I'll give you a time-cheque."
While he was making it out I wondered if, indeed, I did know my own business best; but if it had been the greatest folly in the world, I was bound to get out of that canyon.
Treasuring the slip of paper representing my labour, I sought one of the bosses, a sour, stiff man of dyspeptic tendencies. With a smile of malicious sweetness he returned it to me.
"All right, take it to our Oakland office, and you'll get the cash."
Expectantly I had been standing there, thinking to receive my money, the first I had ever earned (and to me so distressfully earned, at that). Now I gazed at him very sick at heart: for was not Oakland several hundred miles away, and I was penniless.
"Couldn't you cash it here?" I faltered at last.
"No!" (very sourly).
"Couldn't you discount it, then?"
"No!" (still more tartly).
I turned away, crestfallen and smarting. When I told the other boys they were indignant, and a good deal alarmed on their own account. I made my case against the Company as damning as I could, then, slinging my blankets on my back, set off once more down the canyon.
CHAPTER VII
I was gaining in experience, and as I hurried down the canyon and the morning burgeoned like a rose, my spirits mounted invincibly. It was the joy of the open road and the care-free heart. Like some hideous nightmare was the memory of the tunnel and the gravel pit. The bright blood in me rejoiced; my muscles tensed with pride in their toughness; I gazed insolently at the world.
So, as I made speed to get the sooner to the orange groves, I almost set heel on a large blue envelope which lay face up on the trail. I examined it and, finding it contained plans and specifications of the work we had been at, I put it in my pocket.
Presently came a rider, who reined up by me.
"Say, young man, you haven't seen a blue envelope, have you?"
Something in the man's manner aroused in me instant resentment. I was the toiler in mud-stiffened overalls, he arrogant and supercilious in broadcloth and linen.
"No," I said sourly, and, going on my way, heard him clattering up the canyon.
It was about evening when I came onto a fine large plain. Behind me was the canyon, gloomy like the lair of some evil beast, while before me the sun was setting, and made the valley like a sea of golden glaze. I stood, knight-errant-wise, on the verge of one of those enchanted lands of precious memory, seeking the princess of my dreams; but all I saw was a man coming up the trail. He was reeling homeward, with under one arm a live turkey, and swinging from the other a demijohn of claret.
He would have me drink. He represented the Christmas spirit, and his accent was Scotch, so I up-tilted his demijohn gladly enough. Then, for he was very merry, he would have it that we sing "Auld Lang Syne." So there, on the heath, in the golden dance of the light, we linked our hands and lifted our voices like two daft folk. Yet, for that it was Christmas Eve, it seemed not to be so mad after all.
There was my first orange grove. I ran to it eagerly, and pulled four of the largest fruit I could see. They were green-like of rind and bitter sour, but I heeded not, eating the last before I was satisfied. Then I went on my way.
As I entered the town my spirits fell. I remembered I was quite without money and had not yet learned to be gracefully penniless. However, I bethought me of the time-cheque, and entering a saloon asked the proprietor if he would cash it. He was a German of jovial face that seemed to say: "Welcome, my friend," and cold, beady eyes that queried: "How much can I get of your wad?" It was his eyes I noticed.
"No, I don'd touch dot. I haf before been schvindled. Himmel, no! You take him avay."
I sank into a chair. Catching a glimpse of my face in a bar mirror, I wondered if that hollow-cheeked, weary-looking lad was I. The place was crowded with revellers of the Christmastide, and geese were being diced for. There were three that pattered over the floor, while in the corner the stage-driver and a red-haired man were playing freeze-out for one of them.
I drowsed quietly. Wafts of bar-front conversation came to me. "Envelope … lost plans … great delay." Suddenly I sat up, remembering the package I had found.
"Were you looking for some lost plans?" I asked.
"Yes," said one man eagerly, "did you find them?"
"I didn't say I did, but if I could get them for you, would you cash this time-cheque for me?"
"Sure," he says, "one good turn deserves another. Deliver the goods and I'll cash your time-cheque."
His face was frank and jovial. I drew out the envelope and handed it over. He hurriedly ran through the contents and saw that all were there.
"Ha! That saves a trip to 'Frisco," he said, gay with relief.
He turned to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. They all had a drink on him, while he seemed to forget about me. I waited a little, then pressed forward with my time-cheque.
"Oh that," said he, "I won't cash that. I was only joshing."
A feeling of bitter anger welled up within me. I trembled like a leaf.
"You won't go back on your word?" I said.
He became flustered.
"Well, I can't do it anyway. I've got no loose cash."
What I would have said or done I know not, for I was nigh desperate; but at this moment the stage-driver, flushed with his victory at freeze-out, snatched the paper from my hand.
"Here, I'll discount that for you. I'll only give you five dollars for it, though."
It
