Following the Grass (15 page)

TIME often proves itself incapable of gauging life. It was so with Joseph and Necia. Neither knew how long they had stood there enthralled.

Slippy-foot, baying the moon, had called them back. Food must be cooked, the fires built up—matters little in keeping with romance, but vital, nevertheless.

It became Necia's task to contrive supper from such meager supplies as the dug-out held. She was supremely happy as she hurried about, Slippy-foot at her heels. She could see Joseph gathering dry sage. By the time she called him he had ready two great piles of it—one to warm the dugout and the other for the watch fire at the edge of the coulee.

Necia did not realize the purpose of the two piles of brush at first—one hers, the other his—and Joseph guessed as much.

“They tell their own story,” he said, “two fires where there has been but one. Your grandfather will be scanning Buckskin. He will see our fires.He may come soon. When we have eaten you can fasten the dug-out door. I will sleep on the coulee.”

Necia smiled at him tenderly.

“My Joseph,” she murmured, “there is no need of a locked door.”

Joseph put his arm around her and caressed her.

“No,” he said slowly, “there is no need of one. If your grandfather comes—”

“If he comes he will take me away only by force,” she exclaimed.

Joseph shook his head.“No, Necia, he will not take you away from me. You may change your mind—it may be advisable under certain circumstances—you may want to go. That is always your privilege. But grandfather or not, he will not
take
you. I swear it.”

Necia did not ask from whence his surety sprang, neither did she question it. She knew that when he spoke, truth flowed from his lips.

The fare she had set out for him was coarse, but she had invested it with a rare flavor. If the spoons were of tin, the cups cracked, neither cared nor noticed. What mattered it so long as they were together?

The spell of youth was on both of them, and the firelight danced in their eyes as they smiled and laughed. Joseph told her about his boyhood there on Buckskin, of his mother and of Tabor Kincaid. Last of all, he spoke of his father.

“I have been very near him many times,” he said, “but he does not know me. He was in Mexico when Kincaid spread his story of my death. The news did not reach him for months.He had no reason to doubt it. It made him only more determined to come back and crush my grandfather. And he will accomplish no less, and soon, too.

“My father struggled for years before fortune smiled on hlm. He might have been a rich man to-day had he chosen, but he has squandered his money for the favors it would buy. Every move he has made has been to one end. Angel Irosabal and every other Basque in the valley will be forced out of Paradise before winter comes.”

Necia put down her cup slowly. His tone left no room for her to doubt that he meant what he said.

“Joseph!” she exclaimed, her eyes suddenly serious, “are you going to permit this to happen? An entire people must not be made to suffer for the wrongdoing of one man.”

“And yet it is almost certain that they will. I—I know, Necia, that my father has been guaranteed that early this fall the State Forester will issue an order closing the Reserve to sheep. Long before then the drought will have burned up the ranges. When the order comes no one will question the wisdom of it. It would have been issued notwithstanding. The drought helps my father's plans, but it has had no place in them. It can end only one way, Necia. The sheepmen will have to go.”

“But there will be no place for them to go.Stockmen will be needing every bit of range they possess—cattlemen I mean—in another month.”

“Nothing could be truer. They will find themselves helpless. They will try Idaho—the Malheur Lake country—but it will avail them nothing. My father has options on many square miles of range there. They will have to go to him—or sell their flocks.”

Joseph's tone betrayed his satisfaction with the prospect. Necia sat back dismayed, shaken.

“You—you know this and do nothing to prevent it?” she demanded, getting to her feet. “Do you think it just?”

Joseph caught her excitement and he arose and faced her.

“In many ways it is,” he said.“The Basques have done my grandfather's bidding. They have followed him without question. You know my score against him is heavy. If I had nothing but the memory of what he did to my mother to turn me against him, I could not forgive him.She suffered because of him. My father suffered, and I have, too.

“And yet when I learned what my father planned I came back here—came as you see me now, ragged, poor, the friend of whoever would accept me, ready to do all that lay in my power to help others, asking nothing, willing to put aside my own ends. And why—? Because I hoped to find that my grandfather had repented, that he might show me by some sign that he had relented and made his peace with his God.

“I did not come asking amends. I wanted only to see that he knew his mistake. I was prepared to go to my father and dissuade him—”

Joseph shook his head as he paused.

“I—I expected too much,” he went on, his voice grown sad.“I left this mountain a boy; I came back to it a man. Oh, I was eager to be back, Necia. I wonder if you can realize the feeling that gripped me as I crossed this very spot. Things that only a boy remembers came back to haunt me.

“A dozen times that day as I climbed the mountain I closed my eyes to picture my old home. Why I should have expected to find it still standing, I know not. A boy needs little reason for such a hope.”

Joseph's voice trembled as he looked away.

“It seemed that I had left it but yesterday”, he murmured. “I saw it so clearly—the bench outside the door where I had sat with my father, listening to tales fashioned for my ears alone; the old red Bayeta blanket—red as fire—that had covered me; my mother's chair before the fire place—how often I had been rocked to sleep in that chair—

“I dropped my pack and ran. It was evening. Nothing was changed.Even the old smells were recognizable. But the cabin was gone—not a sign left to mark the place where it had stood. I searched the draw bewildered.

“I even wondered if I had come to the wrong place. If the cabin had fallen to ruins some sign must remain of it. But there was nothing left—not even a stick or stone.

“It had been torn down—expunged—so that no man could say where my father and mother had lived. Later, I found this old door which hangs on the dug-out. It had been hidden away in the
malpais
. I should have known then that I had received my answer.

“Tabor Kincaid had placed a monument over my mother's grave. Together, he and I had built a picket fence around it. They were gone—erased as the cabin had been. My grandfather had left nothing to remind men that Joseph and Margarida Gault had ever lived.

“The desire to kill him welled up in me. I raised my hands to God asking for some sign that would stay me, and out of the shadows Slippy-foot came. She had not forgotten—old Slippy-foot!”

Necia slipped her hand into his as he stood looking down at the coyote.

“No wonder they love you,” she murmured, nestling her head against him. His arm tightened about her and they stood without speaking for a minute. Necia broke the spell that held them.

“Joseph—do not think that I fail to appreciate what you have suffered, or that I am suggesting that your grandfather should not pay for what he has done. My thought is far from that. He
must
pay, but the only coin in which he can do so, that will be of any value to you, will not be forced from him by what your father proposes.

“I grew up in a home where the Basque was always reviled. And yet I have found them quite like other men. They have their leaders just as we do. Your grandfather failed them. Prove that, Joseph. It will be enough.”

He caught her hands and wheeled her about so that she faced him.

“No, Necia!” he exclaimed, “it will not be enough! What you suggest
will
be proved. The message my mother left me made that certain. My grandfather has known from the first that my father was guilty of no wrong. But to shield his own son he accused my father.”

“His son?—one of his sons killed—”

“One of his sons; yes. Even now the man is plotting against you as well as me. Do not ask me to be satisfied with humbling him. That day has passed. He can not be excused. He knew the truth and withheld it; condemned my father, broke my mother's heart.... He will not harm you, Necia.

“I hold his
honorable
name in my hand. At will, I can cast it into the mire. And the things he has slaved for—his riches, his crops and his sheep! You know what faces him there. He will have no hay. His wheat is burning up in the fields. His sheep will become a millstone about his neck.

“And best of all the day comes when his people will see that it is because of him that they suffer. He knows who I am. He does not acknowledge me, but he knows. He trembles when he faces me. I alone can intercede for him, yet he hopes to drive me away. He is to be pitied.”

“His
people
are to be pitied. They are the ones to suffer. It must not be, Joseph—it must not be—even if it means forgiving your grandfather.”

“But that is more than I can do. Do not ask it of me. I go on—to the end, Necia. My grandfather meets a just fate richly deserved. I will not raise my hand to stay it.”

“And yet—you will!” Necia exclaimed, her head thrown back, a rare smile on her lips. Joseph gazed at her wonderingly, troubled by her confidence.

“It would be a God-like thing to do,” she went on. “Jesus of Nazareth said: ‘Forgive them for they know not what they do.' You, my Joseph, will say no less. The day will come when the people of Paradise will know how you have been wronged. They will know that you forgave them when you held them in your power. Your reward will be great.”

She closed her eyes as Joseph stared at her. “I see you leading them,” she murmured. “They recognize you.”

“Oh, stop! Necia! Stop!” Joseph cried, trembling as he fell back before her. “How can you say that to me, knowing what is in my heart? You are more precious than life to me, but I serve you best only as long as I am true to myself. If I could forgive him as you do; if I could rise with you, if I possessed the nobility that governs you, I might do as you ask. But my feet are of clay. You inspire me, Necia, as nothing else has, but I must go on.”

“And yet you love me?”

“Madly. You are as my life to me. This must not come between us. My way is your way even as your way must be mine. In all things I would follow you, but in this I can not. Do not draw away from me, Necia. Let me take you in my arms. God's hand is in this. The drought is of His making. You must see that it is so.”

“And God may give you further sign of His will. The drought is bringing suffering to all. Because of it, men who have been enemies must become friends. To live, they will have to ask help of each other. I—I do not despair, Joseph If you love me you will sacrifice your own ends. Not for me, but for these others. It is not too late. God will send you some sign if it is to be.”

Joseph smiled faintly at her earnestness.

“You hope for the impossible, Necia,” he said. “Would you build a wall between us?”

“But if it should come?” she demanded. “If God should send you some sign?”

Necia held out her hands beseechingly and Joseph, torn as he had never been, knew not how to answer. Whole minutes passed without a sound from him. The panorama of his life passed before his eyes. There could be no future without her. Come what may, he must not lose Necia Dorr. He knew she endowed him with qualities he did not possess. That any sign could come to him, he doubted. He was not an apostle. But if God should send him some sign?—some miracle?

Necia watching him saw a shadow cross his face. She thought his eyes softened. His mouth lost its severity. His arms opened for her.

“If it comes,” he said, the words dropping slowly from his lips. “If it does, I will accept it. I will not deny it.”

With a cry of gladness she felt his arms embrace her. Her faith in him was more than sublime. She did not doubt that the Divine Providence would answer her prayer. In some way Joseph would receive God's message.

She was only dimly conscious of his repeated good-nights. She felt his lips brushing hers and then he was walking toward his fire. She stood and watched him as he strode away, Grimm strutting along behind him.

A peace she had never known came to her.Joseph was so erect, so unafraid—going out to guard her! A strange warmth suffused her as she entered the dug-out. She stopped and glanced back through the window at him sitting beside the fire, gazing into its embers.

Tears flooded her eyes as she turned away.Since childhood she had been dreaming her dreams alone. Her gentle nature had missed the companionship of a mother. TheCircle-Z functioned in a strictly man-world, and she had had to mold herself accordingly.

Even so, she had been a softening influence on the lives of those hardy men who rode for her grandfather, but they would not have understood the tears which dimmed her eyes as she got to her knees. Nor would they have understood her prayer, for it was such an outpouring of soul as could come from only a girl whose heart had been starved, shut in.

It was not for Necia to know that Joseph stirred uneasily beside his fire, the memory of her on him. He had no thought of sleep. Strangely, he started when even a jack-rabbit moved out in the sage, but if the night-sounds caused him alarm it was only because of Necia. The fact that he was there guarding her, watching over her as she slept, peering out into the darkness beyond the circle of his fire aroused in him quite the same feeling that possessed primordial man back in the dim beginning as he squatted before the cave in which his mate had sought shelter.

He willed himself to put behind him any doubt of the future. Each day must be sufficient unto itself. The promise he had given Necia he would abide by, come what would. Any lingering doubt of this was stripped from him as he sat there.