As a lake ripples beneath a summer breeze, so Mesa was stirred from its
usual languor by the visit of Simon West. For the little Arizona town was
dreaming dreams. Its imagination had been aroused; and it saw itself no
longer a sleepy cow camp in the unfeatured desert, but a metropolis, in
touch with twentieth-century life.
The great Simon West, pirate of finance, empire builder, molder of the
destinies of the mighty Southwestern Pacific system, was to touch the
adobe village with his transforming wand and make of it a hive of
industry. Rumors flew thick and fast.
Mesa was to be the junction for the new spur that would run to the big
Lincoln dam. The town would be a division point; the machine shops of the
system would be located there. Its future, if still a trifle vague, was
potentially immense. Thus, with cheerful optimism, did local opinion
interpret the visit of the great man.
Whatever Simon West may have thought of Mesa and its prospects, he kept
behind his thin, close-shut lips. He was a dry, gray little man of
fifty-five, with sharp, twinkling eyes that saw everything and told
nothing. Certainly he wore none of the visible signs of greatness, yet at
his nod Wall Street trembled. He had done more to change the map of
industrial America than any other man, alive or dead. Wherefore, big
Beauchamp Lee, mayor of Mesa, and the citizens on the reception committee
did their very best to impress him with the future of the country, as they
motored out to the dam.
"Most promising spot on earth. Beats California a city block on oranges
and citrons. Ever see an Arizona peach, Mr. West? It skins the world," the
big cattleman ran on easily.
The financier's eye took in the girl sitting beside the chauffeur in the
front seat, and he nodded assent.
Melissy Lee bloomed. She was vivid as a wild poppy on the hillsides past
which they went flashing. But she had, too, a daintiness, a delicacy of
coloring and contour, that suggested the fruit named by her father.
"You bet we raise the best here," that simple gentleman bragged
patriotically. "All we need is water, and the Lincoln dam assures us of
plenty. Yes, sir! It certainly promises to be an Eden."
West unlocked his lips long enough to say: "Any country can promise. I'm
looking for one that will perform."
"You're seeing it right now, seh," the mayor assured him, and launched
into fluent statistics.
West heard, saw the thing stripped of its enthusiasm, and made no comment
either for or against. He had plenty of imagination, or he could never
have accomplished the things he had done. However, before any proposition
appealed to him he had to see money in the deal. Whether he saw it in this
particular instance, nobody knew; and only one person had the courage to
ask him point-blank what his intentions were. This was Melissy.