"You bet your sweet life. I've handled too much of it not to know it in the dark. Just rub a piece between your fingers.--Like that. Why, I could tell by the taste of it. I've eaten enough of the dust of the teams. Here's where our fun begins. Why, you know we've been workin' our heads off since we hit this valley. Now we're on Easy street."
"But you don't own it," Saxon objected.
"Well, you won't be a hundred years old before I do. Straight from here I hike to Payne an' bind the bargain --an option, you know, while title's searchin' an' I 'm raisin' money. We'll borrow that four hundred back again from Gow Yum, an' I'll borrow all I can get on my horses an' wagons, an' Hazel and Hattie, an' everything that's worth a cent. An' then I get the deed with a mortgage on it to Hilyard for the balance. An' then--it's takin' candy from a baby--I'll contract with the brickyard for twenty cents a yard--maybe more. They'll be crazy with joy when they see it. Don't need any borin's. They's nearly two hundred feet of it exposed up an' down. The whole knoll's clay, with a skin of soil over it."
"But you'll spoil all the beautiful canyon hauling out the clay,"
Saxon cried with alarm.
"Nope; only the knoll. The road'll come in from the other side.
It'll be only half a mile to Chavon's pit. I'll build the road an' charge steeper teamin', or the brickyard can build it an' I'll team for the same rate as before. An' twenty cents a yard pourin' in, all profit, from the jump. I'll sure have to buy more horses to do the work."
They sat hand in hand beside the pool and talked over the details.
"Say, Saxon," Billy said, after a pause had fallen, "sing 'Harvest Days,' won't you?"
And, when she had complied: "The first time you sung that song for me was comin' home from the picnic on the train--"
"The very first day we met each other," she broke in. "What did you think about me that day?"
"Why, what I've thought ever since--that you was made for me.--I thought that right at the jump, in the first waltz. An' what'd you think of me?
"Oh, I wondered, and before the first waltz, too, when we were introduced and shook hands--I wondered if you were the man. Those were the very words that flashed into my mind.--IS HE THE MAN?"
"An' I kinda looked a little some good to you?" he queried.
"_I_thought so, and my eyesight has always been good."
"Say!" Billy went off at a tangent. "By next winter, with everything hummin' an' shipshape, what's the matter with us makin' a visit to Carmel? It'll be slack time for you with the vegetables, an' I'll be able to afford a foreman."
Saxon's lack of enthusiasm surprised him.
"What's wrong?" he demanded quickly.
With downcast demurest eyes and hesitating speech, Saxon said:
"I did something yesterday without asking your advice, Billy."
He waited.
"I wrote to Tom," she added, with an air of timid confession.
Still he waited--for he knew not what.
"I asked him to ship up the old chest of drawers--my mother's, you remember--that we stored with him."
"Huh! I don't see anything outa the way about that," Billy said with relief. "We need the chest, don't we? An' we can afford to pay the freight on it, can't we?"
"You are a dear stupid man, that's what you are. Don't you know what is in the chest?"
He shook his head, and what she added was so soft that it was almost a whisper:
"The baby clothes."
"No!" he exclaimed.
"True."
"Sure?"
She nodded her head, her cheeks flooding with quick color.
"It's what I wanted, Saxon, more'n anything else in the world.
I've been thinkin' a whole lot about it lately, ever since we hit the valley," he went on, brokenly, and for the first time she saw tears unmistakable in his eyes. "But after all I'd done, an' the hell I'd raised, an' everything, I . . . I never urged you, or said a word about it. But I wanted it . . . oh, I wanted it like . . . like I want you now."
His open arms received her, and the pool in the heart of the canyon knew a tender silence.
Saxon felt Billy's finger laid warningly on her lips. Guided by his hand, she turned her head back, and together they gazed far up the side of the knoll where a doe and a spotted fawn looked down upon them from a tiny open space between the trees.
