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Title: The Rim of the Desert

Author: Ada Woodruff Anderson

Release Date: August 31, 2004 [EBook #13343]

Language: English

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Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Richard Prairie and PG Distributed Proofreaders

[Illustration: He worked tirelessly, as though he was determined to infuse her numb veins with his own vigor. FRONTISPIECE.]

THE RIM OF THE DESERT

BY

ADA WOODRUFF ANDERSON

AUTHOR OF "THE STRAIN OF WHITE," "THE HEART OF THE RED FIRS," ETC.

WITH FRONTISPIECE BY MONTE CREWS

1915

To the Memory of

MY MOTHER

A gentle and appreciative critic, the only one, perhaps, who re-read my previous books with pleasure and found no flaw in them, and who would have had a greater interest than any other in this publication.

FOREWORD

The desert of this story is that semi-arid region east of the upper Columbia. It is cut off from the moisture laden winds of the Pacific by the lofty summits of the Cascade Mountains which form its western rim, and for many miles the great river crowds the barrier, winding, breaking in rapids, seeking a way through. To one approaching this rim from the dense forests of the westward slopes, the sage grown levels seem to stretch limitless into the far horizon, but they are broken by hidden coulees; in propitious seasons reclaimed areas have yielded phenominal crops of wheat, and under irrigation the valley of one of the two tributaries from the west, wherein lies Hesperides Vale, has become a garden spot of the world.

To the initiated I wish to say if in the chapters touching on the Alaska coal cases I have followed too literally the statements of prominent men, it was not in an effort to portray them but merely to represent as clearly as possible the Alaska situation.

ADA WOODRUFF ANDERSON.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I THE MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK II THE QUESTION III FOSTER TOO IV SNOQUALMIE PASS AND A BROKEN AXLE V APPLES OF EDEN VI NIP AND TUCK VII A NIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN ROAD VIII THE BRAVEST WOMAN HE EVER KNEW IX THE DUNES OF THE COLUMBIA X A WOMAN'S HEART-STRINGS XI THE LOOPHOLE XII "WHOM THE GODS WOULD DESTROY" XIII "A LITTLE STREAK OF LUCK" XIV ON BOARD THE AQUILA XV THE STORY OF THE TENAS PAPOOSE XVI THE ALTERNATIVE XVII "ALL THESE THINGS WILL I GIVE THEE" XVIII THE OPTION XIX LUCKY BANKS AND THE PINK CHIFFON XX KERNEL AND PEACH XXI FOSTER'S HOUR XXII AS MAN TO MAN XXIII THE DAY OF PUBLICATION XXIV SNOWBOUND IN THE ROCKIES AND "FIT AS A MOOSE" XXV THE IDES OF MARCH XXVI THE EVERLASTING DOOR XXVII KISMET, AN ACT OF GOD XXVIII SURRENDER XXIX BACK TO HESPERIDES VALE XXX THE JUNIOR DEFENDANT XXXI TISDALE OF ALASKA—AND WASHINGTON, D.C. XXXII THE OTHER DOCUMENT XXXIII THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK

THE RIM OF THE DESERT

CHAPTER I

THE MAN WHO NEVER CAME BACK

It is in October, when the trails over the wet tundra harden, and before the ice locks Bering Sea, that the Alaska exodus sets towards Seattle; but there were a few members of the Arctic Circle in town that first evening in September to open the clubhouse on the Lake Boulevard with an informal little supper for special delegate Feversham, who had arrived on the steamer from the north, on his way to Washington.

The clubhouse, which was built of great, hewn logs, with gabled eaves, stood in a fringe of firs, and an upper rear balcony afforded a broad outlook of lake and forest, with the glaciered heights of the Cascade Mountains breaking a far horizon. The day had been warm, but a soft breeze, drawing across this veranda through the open door, cooled the assembly room, and, lifting one of the lighter hangings of Indian-wrought elk leather, found the stairs and raced with a gentle rustle through the lower front entrance back into the night. It had caressed many familiar things on its way, for the walls were embellished with trophies from the big spaces where winds are born. There were skins of polar and Kodiak bear; of silver and black fox; there were antlered heads set above the fireplace and on the rough, bark-seamed pillars that supported the unceiled roof. A frieze of pressed and framed Alaska flora finished the low gallery which extended around three sides of the hall, and the massive chairs, like the polished banquet board, were of crocus-yellow Alaska cedar.

The delegate, who had come out to tide-water over the Fairbanks-Valdez trail, was describing with considerable heat the rigors of the journey. The purple parka, which was the regalia of the Circle, seemed to increase his prominence of front and intensified the color in his face to a sort of florid ripeness.

"Yes, gentlemen," he continued, thumping the table with a stout hand and repeating the gesture slowly, while the glasses trembled, "Alaska's crying need is a railroad; a single finished line from the most northern harbor open to navigation the whole year—and that is Prince William Sound— straight through to the Tanana Valley and the upper Yukon. Already the first problem has been solved; we have pierced the icy barrier of the Coast Range. All we are waiting for is further right of way; the right to the forests, that timber may be secured for construction work; the right to mine coal for immediate use. But, gentlemen, we may grow gray waiting. What do men four thousand miles away, men who never saw Alaska, care about our needs?" He leaned back in his chair, while his glance moved from face to face and rested, half in challenge, on the member at the foot of the board. "These commissioners appointed off there in Washington," he added. "These carpet-baggers from the little States beyond the Mississippi!"

Hollis Tisdale, who had spent some of the hardest years of his Alaska career in the service of the Government, met the delegate's look with a quiet humor in his eyes.

"It seems to me," he said, and his deep, expressive voice instantly held the attention of every one, "that such a man, with intelligence and insight, of course, stands the surest chance of giving general satisfaction in the end. He is at least disinterested, while the best of us, no matter how big he is, how clear-visioned, is bound to take his own district specially to heart. Prince William Sound alone has hundreds of miles of coast-line and includes more than one fine harbor with an ambitious seaport."

At this a smile rippled around the table, and Miles Feversham, who was the attorney for one of the most ambitious syndicates of promoters in the north, gave his attention to the menu. But Tisdale, having spoken, turned his face to the open balcony door. His parka was thrown back, showing an incongruous breadth of stiff white bosom, yet he was the only man present who wore the garment with grace. In that moment the