Lost Pueblo (1992) (6 page)

"Mornin'," he greeted her. "When did you come back to life? Us boys figgered you was daid."

"Me? Oh, I never let anybody get tired of me," responded Janey. "Can I have Patter saddled?"

"I reckon, but I cain't see what for. That cayuse is no good. He's got a mean eye when he rolls it. Now my little roan--"

"Ray, you boys can't fool me any longer about the horses. They're all good. Please saddle Patter for me."

While Ray went to fetch the horse Janey walked into the trading post, always and increasingly interesting to her. Bennet was selling supplies to the Indians. Janey liked to hear the low strange voices. One of the Indians was nothing if not frankly admiring. He was a tall, slim, loose-jointed individual, wearing corduroys and moccasins, a huge-buckled and silver-ornamented belt, a garnet-colored velveteen shirt, and a black sombrero with a bright-braided band. He had a lean face like a hawk, dark and clear, and piercing black eyes. Janey had been advised not to appear interested in the Indian men--that they misunderstood it, and had been known to give Eastern women some rude shocks. As usual Janey disregarded advice.

She noticed when she left the post that the Indian sauntered out to watch her. Janey thought if Phil Randolph would act that way, she would be highly gratified. Patter was saddled waiting for her, a fine little bay mustang.

"What's Smoky followin' you for?" queried Ray, gruffly.

"Smoky, who's he?"

"Thet blamed Navey."

"Oh, I see. I don't know, Ray. I certainly didn't ask him to. It's quite flattering, though. But not complimentary to you boys."

"Wal, Miss, if you excuse me I'll say thet's not funny an' you ain't ridin' out alone," said Ray.

"Indeed. Ray, you can be most disagreeable at times. It spoils a perfectly wonderful man. I am going to ride alone."

"Nope. If you won't listen to me I'll tell Bennet."

"Aren't you just inventing an opportunity to ride with me?"

"Reckon not. I don't care particular aboot ridin' with you, after the deal you gave me last time."

"What was that, Ray? I forget."

"Wal, never mind... Now this Indian Smoky is a bad hombre an' it's really because he's not all there. He's not to be trusted. He might foller you around jes' curious. But if you got too nice to him things might happen. If he annoys you he'll be a daid redskin damn quick."

"Thank you, Ray, I'll say that's talking," responded Janey. "But tell me, what do you do to white men out here, when they insult Eastern girls?"

"Wal, Miss, white men--that is, Westerners don't insult girls from anywhere," returned Ray, forcefully.

"But they do. I've heard and read of lots of things--Suppose now just for example you were to kidnap me and pack me off into the desert. What would happen to you?"

"If I didn't get strung up to a cottonwood I'd shore be beat till I was near daid... But, Miss Janey, you needn't worry none about me. I've learned to fight my natural instincts."

Janey laughed merrily. Some of these cowboys were full of wit and humor.

"Ray, I'll compromise this ride with you," said Janey. "I want to surprise Mr. Randolph at his work. So you take me out and show me where he is. But you must wait some little distance away--But won't I be taking you from your own work?"

"Boss's orders are that I look after you, Miss Janey," said Ray, with emphasis on the personal pronouns. "I'll throw a saddle an' be heah pronto."

They rode out along the fenced ground, where Bennet kept stock at times, and came upon Tay-Tay, Diego and Zoroaster digging postholes. If there was anything a cowboy hated more than that, Ray declared he did not know what it was. The trio doffed their sombreros to Janey, and grinned because they could not help it, but they were galled at the situation.

"Reckon that's fair to middlin'," declared Ray, eying the postholes. "But you ain't diggin' them deep enough."

Zoroaster glared at Ray and threw down the long-handled shovel. Diego wiped the sweat from his face.

"Say, are you foreman on this ranch?" he asked, scornfully.

"G-g-g-go along w-w-w-with you or you'll g-get h-h-h-hurt," stuttered Tay-Tay.

"Wal, as I don't care to have Miss Endicott see you boys any wuss than you are now reckon I'll move along," drawled Ray.

Janey gave each in turn a ravishing smile, intended to convey the impression that she wished he were her escort rather than Ray. Then she trotted Patter out on the desert after Ray.

They climbed a gradual ascent to the level of the vast valley and faced the great red wall of rock that loomed a few miles westward. She rode abreast of Ray for a couple of miles, talking the while, then, reaching uneven ground, she had to fall behind on the rough trail. Ray halted at a clump of cedars.

"Reckon this is as far as you'll want me to go," he announced. "Follow the trail right to where it goes into the canyon. You'll see a big cave in the wall. That's the old cliff dwellin' where Mr. Randolph is diggin' around."

"Thank you, Ray. Will you wait for me?"

"Wal, not if you're ridin' back with him," returned Ray, reluctantly. "But I want to be shore about it."

"I think you'd better wait. I'll not be long."

Janey had not ridden a hundred paces farther before she forgot all about Ray. The trail led down into a red-walled wash where muddy water flowed over quicksand, which she had to cross. She had already crossed this stream at a different point, though not alone. Here she had to use her own judgment. She made Patter trot across; even then he floundered in the quicksand and splashed muddy water all over Janey. Once he went in to his knees and Janey's heart leaped to her throat. But he plowed out safely. It was this sort of thing that so excited and pleased Janey. All so new! And being alone made it tenfold more thrilling. The dusty trail, the zigzag climb, the winding in and out among rocks and through the cedars, with the great red wall looming higher and closer, the dry fragrance of desert and sage, the loneliness and wildness, meant more to Janey this day than ever before. Not for anything would she let Phil Randolph and her father into the secret that she was actually learning to love Arizona. The beauty and color and solitude, the vastness of it had called to something deep in her. First she had complained of the dust, the wind, the emptiness, the absence of people. But she had forgotten these. She was now not so sure but that she might like the hardship and primitiveness of the desert.

Presently she rode out of the straggling cedars so that she could fully see the great wall. Janey threw back her head to gaze upward.

"Oh--wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I thought the New York buildings were high. But this!"

It was a sheer red wall, rising with breaks and ledges to a cedar-fringed rampart high against the blue sky. The base was a slope of talus, where rocks of every size appeared about to totter and roll down upon her.

Then Janey discovered the cave. It was the most enormous hole she had ever seen, and she calculated that Trinity Church would be lost in it. The upper part disappeared in shadow; the lower showed a steep slope and ruined rock walls, which Janey guessed were the remains of the cliff dwellers' homes. She was being impressed by the weirdness of the scene when she heard a shout and then spotted a man standing at the foot of the cave. It was Randolph. He waved to her and began to descend the slide of weathered rock. As he drew nearer to her level Janey saw that he had indeed been working. How virile he looked! She quite forgot the object of her visit; and almost persuaded herself that if he was particularly nice she would climb up to see him at his work.

"Howdy, Phil," she called, imitating the trader, as nearly as possible. It struck Janey then that Phil did not appear overjoyed to see her.

"Is your father with you?" he asked. "No. He went to town."

"I hope to goodness you didn't ride up here alone," he said.

"Sure I did. And a dandy ride it was."

"Janey!" he ejaculated.

"Yes, Janey!" she returned.

He did not grasp any flippancy on her part.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, almost angrily.

"Well, come to think of it I guess I wanted to see you and your work," she returned, innocently.

"But you've been told not to ride out alone--away from the post."

"I know I have, and it makes me sick. Why not? I'm not a child, you know. Besides, there aren't any kidnapers about, are there?"

"Yes. Kidnapers and worse... Frankly, Miss Endicott, I think you ought to have a good stiff lecture."

"I'm in a very good humor. So fire away."

"You're a headstrong, willful girl," he declared, bluntly.

"Phillip, you're not very kind, considering that, well--I relented a little, and rode out here to see you," she replied, reproachfully.

"I am thinking of you. Somebody has to stop you from taking these risks. The cowboys let you do anything, though they have been ordered to watch you, guard you. If your father can't make you behave somebody else must."

"And you've got a hunch you're the somebody?" inquired Janey, laconically.

"It seems presumptuous, absurd," he answered, stubbornly. "But I really fear I am."

"We're both going to have a wonderful time," said Janey, with a gay laugh. "But before you break loose on this reforming task let me confess I came alone only part way. I left Ray back down the trail at that gully."

"You did! But you told me--you lied--"

"I wanted to see how you would take it," she said, as he hesitated.

Randolph sat down on a slab of rock and regarded her as one baffled.

"That's the worst of you," he asserted. "A man can't quite give you up in despair or disgust. There always seems to be something wholesome under this damned frivolity of yours."

"I'm glad you are so optimistic," returned Janey.

"No need to ask you how you are feeling," Randolph observed. "Yesterday you were pale--drooping. Your father was really worried. And I... But today you look like a sago lily."

"Sago? That's the name of your canyon, isn't it? And what kind of a flower? Is it pretty?"

"I think it the most exquisite in the world. Rare, rich, vivid. It blooms in the deep canyons in summer. I daresay you'll not stay long enough to see one."

"Phil, I never guessed you could be eloquent, or so good at blarney," she said, studying him gravely. "I'm beginning to believe there are unknown possibilities in you for good--and maybe evil, too."

"Sure. You can never tell what a man may do--or be driven to."

"Aren't you going to ask me to get down and come in?" she asked, archly.

"You must pardon my manners," he said, rising.

Janey slipped out of the saddle without accepting the hand he offered, and leading Patter to a near-by cedar she tied the bridle to a branch.

"I want to see your cave."

"It's pretty much of a climb."

"I suppose yesterday will stump you for some time," she replied. "Can't I have an off day once in a while without being considered a weakling? Come on, let's go."

Janey soon found that it was indeed a climb. Distances deceived her so strangely here in Arizona. There was a trail up to the cave, but it wound steep and rough, with many high steps from rock to rock. She was glad to accept Randolph's hand; and when they surmounted the slope she was breathless and hot. Randolph held her hand longer than necessary.

"Oh-h--Gee!" panted Janey, flopping down on a rock in the shade. "Some--climb."

"You made it without a stop," returned Randolph, admiringly. "Your heart and lungs are sure all right--if your mind is gone."

"Mr.--Randolph!"

"That's your father's assumption," said Randolph, dryly. "I don't exactly share it."

"Maybe I am--just a healthy--moron," laughed Janey, removing her sombrero. "Wouldn't it be fine--if the desert and you--developed me into a real woman?"

"Morons don't develop," he replied, ignoring her intimation.

Janey now took stock of the archaeologist's cave. It was an amazing cavern. She sat at the lower edge of the slope of its back wall, yet the vaulted roof, far overhead, reached out into the canyon. A dry, dusty, musty odor, not unpleasant, permeated the place. The debris from the walls and slopes was red and yellow. Far up Janey discerned the remains of walls. In the largest section a small black window, like a vacant eye, stared down at her. It gave her a queer sensation. Human eyes had gazed out of that window ages ago. She saw a trench near her, with pick and shovel lying where Randolph had thrown them.

"Mr. Randolph, were you in the war?" asked Janey, suddenly.

"Yes, a little while. Long enough to learn to dig. That's about the only real good the service did me," he replied, somewhat bitterly.

"You should be grateful. My friends who went to France came back no good. You certainly seem free of any injury."

"I am, I guess, except a twist in my mind. I only knew of it recently--last winter in fact."

"Indeed. And how does it affect you?" asked Janey, doubtfully.

"I think it developed a latent weakness for beauty."