Howard had been with them. Now it seemed as if they had lost the capacity for sound and simple reasoning. They were overtired, their nerves quivering like telegraph wires in the open country. They couldn’t agree any longer on who had to do this job and who that. When the meal was finally cooked and ready, Curtin found that he had done most of the work—three times his share. He didn’t mind, and said nothing. He put up with Dobbs’s bad humor. Something during the march today, the climate, the growing altitude, a fall, the hot sun, a sting from a reptile, a bite of an insect, a scratch of a poisonous thorn, whatever it was, must, so it appeared to Curtin, be responsible for Dobbs’s strange behavior.
2
Eating usually conciliates people. So also here in the loneliness of the Sierra the meal Curtin and Dobbs had together softened their feelings toward each other. It calmed their nerves. They came to speak with less yelling and with more sense than they had done during the last six hours.
“I wonder what the old man is doing now,” Curtin said.
“I’m sure he’s having a swell time with these Indians,” Dobbs replied. “His meal will be better than ours, sure.”
At mention of the old man, Dobbs looked casually at Howard’s packs, which lay close to where Dobbs was sitting and filling his pipe. For a minute his looks were fixed on these packs, and in his mind he tried to figure out how much they might be worth in dollars and cents.
Curtin misjudged Dobbs’s expression, for he said: “Oh, I think we can manage his packs all right. This was the first day we had to handle everything without his help. Tomorrow it will be lots easier, once we get the real go of it and are used to being one hand short.”
“How far from the railroad do you think we are now?” Dobbs asked.
“As the crow flies, it wouldn’t be so far. Since we aren’t crows, it will take us quite some time. Days, perhaps a week more. These mountain trails make the way ten times longer, winding round and round and going up and down as if they would never end; and if in the evening you look behind, it seems as if you can almost spit at the place you left in the morning. The worst isn’t over yet. One of the guys we met near the village told me we’ll have stretches where we will hardly make six miles during the whole day, loading and unloading a dozen times when the animals can’t take the steep ravines. I figure we can make the high pass in two days more. Then three or four days more to go before we actually reach the railroad. But it may be more still. Any sort of difficulties may come our way any time.”
To this Dobbs said nothing. He stared into the fire. Then he filled his pipe once more and lighted it. It was as though he could not take his eyes off the packs; his glance wandered from the fire to them and back again very often.
Yet Curtin took no notice of it.
3
Unexpectedly Dobbs pushed Curtin in the ribs and laughed in a curious way.
Curtin felt uneasy. Something was wrong with Dobbs. He was not himself any longer. To cover his growing anxiety Curtin tried to laugh, his eyes resting on Dobbs’s face.
As if keyed up by Curtin’s nervous laugh, Dobbs broke out into bellowing laughter which made him almost lose his breath. Curtin became still more confused. He did not know what to make of it. “What’s the joke? Won’t you let me in on it, Dobby?”
“In on it? I should say I will.” He roared with laughter and had to hold his belly.
“Well, spill it.”
“Oh, sonny, my boy, isn’t that too funny for words?” He had to stop for breath, for his laughter became hysterical.
“What’s so funny?” Curtin’s face was turning gray with anxiety. Dobbs acted no longer sane.
Dobbs said: “This old jackass of a boneheaded mug hands over all his pay to us and lets us go off with it like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“I don’t quite understand.”
“But, man, can’t you see? It’s all ours now. We drag it off and where can he look for us? We don’t go back to the port at all. Sabe? We go straight up north and leave that ass flat. Let him marry an Indian hussy. What do we care?”
Curtin was now all seriousness. “I simply can’t get you, Dobby. What the hell are you talking about? You must be dreaming.”
“Aw, don’t be such a sap. Where did you grow up? Under the canvas of a revival show or what? Well, to make it plain to a dumbhead like you, we take the load and go off. What is there so very special about that? Nothing new to you, I should say.”
“I begin to see through it now.”
“Long distance, was it?” Dobbs giggled.
Curtin rose. He moved around as if to get his bearings. He could not believe his ears. There must be something wrong.
He came back to the fire, but did not squat down. He looked around, gazed up at the clear sky, and then said: “Now, get this straight, Dobby; if you mean to lift the goods of the old man, Count me out. And what is more, I won’t let you do it.”
“And who else? Just come and tell pop.”
“As I said, as long as I am around and on my feet, you won’t take a single grain from the old man’s pay. I think I’ve made myself clear enough, or have I?”
Dobbs grinned. “Yes, you have, sweety. Sure you have. I can see very plainly what you mean. You want to take it all for yourself and cut me off. That’s the meaning.”
“No, that is not the meaning. I’m on the level with the old man exactly as I would be on the level with you if you weren’t here.”
Taking up his pouch, Dobbs filled another pipe. “Mebbe I don’t need you at all. I can take it alone. I don’t need no outside help, buddy.” He laughed while lighting his pipe.
Curtin, still standing, looked Dobbs over from head to foot. “I signed that receipt.”
“So did I. And what of it? I’ve signed many receipts in my life.”
“Doubtless. I’ve signed lots of things too, which I forgot about as soon as the ink was dry. This case I think is different. The old man hasn’t stolen the goods. They’re his honestly earned property. That we know only too well. He didn’t get that money by a lousy cowardly stick-up, or from the races, or by blackmailing, or by the help of loaded bones. He’s worked like a slave, the old man has. And for him, old as he is, it was a harder task than for us, believe me. I may not respect many things in life, but I do respect most sincerely the money somebody has worked and slaved for honestly. And that’s on the level.”
“Hell, can your Bolshevik ideas. A soap-box always makes me sick. And to have to hear it even out here in the wilderness is the goddamned limit.”
“No Bolshevik ideas at all, and you know that. Perhaps it’s the aim of the Bolsheviks to see that a worker gets the full value of what he produces, and that no one tries to cheat a worker out of what is honestly coming to him. Anyway, put that out of the discussion. It’s none of my business. And, Bolshevik or no Bolshevik, get this straight, partner: I’m on the level, and as long as I’m around you don’t even touch the inside of the old man’s packs. That’s that, and it’s final.”
Having said this, Curtin squatted down by the fire, took out his pipe, filled it, and puffed lustily. He soon looked as if he had forgotten the whole affair—as if it had been only another of the many silly talks they had had during the long months when there was never anything new to talk about and they talked only for the sake of talking.
Dobbs watched him for many minutes. Then he chuckled. “Uhhuh! You are a fine guy. I’ve always had my suspicions about you. Now I know that I’ve been right, brother. You can’t befuddle me. Not me, smarty.”
“What suspicions are you talking about?”
“Easy, my boy, hold it! Get this and weep. You can’t hide anything from me, brother. I know that for some
