The Secret Power | Page 4

A cloud floated slowly above the mountain peak. Vast, fleecy and
white as the crested foam of a sea-wave, it sailed through the sky with a
divine air of majesty, seeming almost to express a consciousness of its
own grandeur. Over a spacious tract of Southern California it extended
its snowy canopy, moving from the distant Pacific Ocean across the
heights of the Sierra Madre, now and then catching fire at its extreme
edge from the sinking sun, which burned like a red brand flung on the
roof of a roughly built hut situated on the side of a sloping hollow in
one of the smaller hills. The door of the hut stood open; there were a
couple of benches on the burnt grass outside, one serving as a table, the
other as a chair. Papers and books were neatly piled on the table,--and
on the chair, if chair it might be called, a man sat reading. His
appearance was not prepossessing at a first glance, though his actual
features could hardly be seen, so concealed were they by a heavy
growth of beard. In the way of clothing he had little to trouble him.

Loose woollen trousers, a white shirt, and a leathern belt to keep the
two garments in place, formed his complete outfit, finished off by wide
canvas shoes. A thatch of dark hair, thick and ill combed, apparently
served all his need of head covering, and he seemed unconscious of, or
else indifferent to, the hot glare of the summer sky which was hardly
tempered by the long shadow of the floating cloud. At some moments
he was absorbed in reading,--at others in writing. Close within his
reach was a small note-book in which from time to time he jotted down
certain numerals and made rapid calculations, frowning impatiently as
though the very act of writing was too slow for the speed of his thought.
There was a wonderful silence everywhere,--a silence such as can
hardly be comprehended by anyone who has never visited
wide-spreading country, over-canopied by large stretches of open sky,
and barricaded from the further world by mountain ranges which are
like huge walls built by a race of Titans. The dwellers in such regions
are few--there is no traffic save the coming and going of occasional
pack-mules across the hill tracks--no sign of modern civilisation.
Among such deep and solemn solitudes the sight of a living human
being is strange and incongruous, yet the man seated outside his hut
had an air of ease and satisfied proprietorship not always found with
wealthy owners of mansions and park-lands. He was so thoroughly
engrossed in his books and papers that he hardly saw, and certainly did
not hear, the approach of a woman who came climbing wearily up the
edge of the sloping hill against which his cabin presented itself to the
view as a sort of fitment, and advanced towards him carrying a tin pail
full of milk. This she set down within a yard or so of him, and then,
straightening her back, she rested her hands on her hips and drew a
long breath. For a minute or two he took no notice of her. She waited.
She was a big handsome creature, sun-browned and black- haired, with
flashing dark eyes lit by a spark that was not originally caught from
heaven. Presently, becoming conscious of her presence, he threw his
book aside and looked up.
"Well! So you've come after all! Yesterday you said you wouldn't."
She shrugged her shoulders.

"I do not wish you to starve."
"Very kind of you! But nothing can starve me."
"If you had no food--"
"I should find some"--he said--"Yes!--I should find some,-- somewhere!
I want very little."
He rose, stretching his arms lazily above his head,--then, stooping, he
lifted the pail of milk and carried it into his cabin. Disappearing for a
moment, he returned, bringing back the pail empty.
"I have enough for two days now," he said--"and longer. What you
brought me at the beginning of the week has turned beautifully sour,--a
'lovely curd' as our cook at home used to say--, and with that 'lovely
curd' and plenty of fruit I'm living in luxury." Here he felt in his
pockets and took out a handful of coins. "That's right, isn't it?"
She counted them over as he gave them to her--bit one with her strong
white teeth and nodded.
"You don't pay ME"--she said, emphatically--"It's the Plaza you pay."
"How many times will you remind me of that!" he replied, with a
laugh--"Of course I know I don't pay YOU! Of course I know I pay the
Plaza!--that amazing hotel and 'sanatorium' with a tropical garden and
no comfort--"
"It is more comfortable than this"--she said, with a disparaging glance
at his