Lost Pueblo (1992) (7 page)

"In nature?"

"Oh, no. I always had that. It must be in--woman."

"Any woman. Well, that is no weakness. It's a very commendable thing, and gives you a kinship with most men."

"Miss Endicott, I didn't say in any woman," returned Randolph, sharply. "Didn't you? Very well, it doesn't matter... Now, show me around the place and tell me all about your work."

Randolph had something on his mind. He did not seem natural. It was as if he had been compelled to be someone he was not. Janey half regretted that she had not encouraged him to tell more about the woman he had a weakness for. So far she was inwardly elated with the success of her machinations.

"You wouldn't make much of a hit as a guide for lady tourists," remarked Janey, after Randolph had shown her the several trenches he had dug, some bits of pottery, dry as powder, and the ruined walls.

"On the contrary, I was a decided success for the party of schoolteachers who visited me here last summer," declared Randolph.

"Oh. Then I have some inhibitory effect upon you," remarked Janey.

"Probably. I don't seem to care a--er--anything about archaeology, geology, theology, or any other kind of ology," returned Randolph, ruefully.

"I'm sorry. I must not tax your mental powers so severely," said Janey.

"You think you're being sarcastic. But as a matter of fact you have taxed all my powers to the limit. Powers of patience, resistance, faith--and I don't know what all--"

"What a dreadful person I am!" interposed Janey, really in earnest. "Please, if you can't forget it, at least you needn't rub it in... Where do you expect to uncover this buried pueblo? Dad said you had set your heart on discovering it."

"You don't care two whoops for any ruin--unless it is the ruin of a man."

"Maybe I didn't at first. But I do now. Can't you credit me with change or growth or something worth while?"

"I don't know what to think about you," he returned, almost dejectedly.

"Assuredly you don't. Well, I'm quite capable of coming out here and fmding that ruin for you."

"Please don't. I'm perfectly miserable now," he retorted, grimly. But there was a light in his eyes that belied his words. Janey knew he was saying to himself he must not have faith in dreams.

"It would mean so much to you--fmding this pueblo?"

"Yes. There's only one thing that could mean more."

"I don't suppose I'd look very well digging around in this dirt," mused Janey. "But as you haven't any use for me in up-to-date evening clothes perhaps you might like me all dusty and red and hot. So here goes."

Janey began to clamber down into the deepest trench, and when she got up to her shoulders she grasped the pick.

"Miss Endicott, can't you be serious?" burst out Randolph. "You're not a bit funny. And that talk about me--"

"I'm serious about making you admire me, at least," laughed Janey, brandishing the pick.

"Please come out of there. You're just soiling your clothes."

"Nope. I'm going to dig," rejoined Janey, nonchalantly. "Quien sabe? I may have to marry an archaeologist someday."

"Come out of there," called Randolph, peremptorily.

Janey began to dig in the red earth. She dragged up stones, and presently what looked very much like a human bone.

"Ugh! I declare. What's that thing?" ejaculated Janey.

"It's a leg-bone, of course. You're digging in a grave. I told you that."

"You didn't," retorted Janey.

"Never mind about that. You come out of there."

"Mr. Randolph, you might send me to my own grave, but you can't make me get out of this one."

As she brandished the pick again he reached down to grasp it. Janey held on. Randolph slipped his grip down the handle until he caught her gloved hands. Whereupon he forced the pick from her and dragged her, not at all gently, up out of the trench.

He let go of her rather abruptly, probably because of the look she gave him; and Janey's impetus, being considerable, caused her to stumble. It was a little downhill on that side. She fell right upon Randolph who caught her in his arms. The awkwardness of her action made Janey more indignant than ever. Her sombrero fell off and her hair covered her eyes. She raised her face from his shoulder and sought to catch her balance. Suddenly, Randolph bent to kiss her full on the lips.

Chapter
4

Janey broke away from Phil and started back. For a moment she was too conscious of unfamiliar and disturbing agitations to remember that she had adopted the role of actress.

"Janey!--Miss Endicott!" stammered the young archaeologist. "I--I didn't mean that. I must have been out of my head. Forgive me!"

"Now you've done it!" exclaimed Janey. She was not sure yet what he had done, but it was certainly more than he felt guiltily conscious of.

"I was beside myself," said Randolph, hurriedly. "You must believe me. I--I had no such intention. I'm--I'm as--as shocked as you are... You fell right into my arms. And I--I did it involuntarily."

"You may tell that to the marines," replied Janey, recovering, and getting back to the business of her part.

"You won't believe me?" he demanded, getting red in the face.

"Certainly not," returned Janey, coldly, as she smoothed her disheveled hair. "I wouldn't put it beyond you to treat every girl that way--especially if she was fool enough to visit you alone out here."

He glared at her in mingled wrath and distress.

"I never kissed a girl before!" he asserted, stoutly.

"Well!" exclaimed Janey, in simulated contemptuous doubt, when really she was thrilled with what seemed the truth in his eye and voice. "You must have a poor opinion of my intelligence. If you had come out like a man and told me straight that you couldn't resist such an opportunity and were glad of it, I might have forgiven you. It's nothing to be kissed. But you've pretended to be so self-righteous. You've scorned my young men friends. You've deceived me into thinking highly of you--respecting you. And I honestly believe I did like you... Now I'm quite sure I ought never ride out alone."

Randolph groaned. Then he leaped into the trench and seizing the pick he began to dig with great violence, making the stones fly and the dust rise. Janey spoke again, but either he did not or would not hear her. Whereupon she recovered her sombrero and turned to find her way down the slope. She had just reached the rough part, and was searching for the trail when she heard Randolph behind her.

"I quite forgot. I can't let you attempt getting down here alone," he said.

"Mr. Randolph, I'd fall and break my neck before I'd let you help me," returned Janey, loftily.

"I warn you not to fall again within my reach," he declared, grimly.

Janey started down, aware that he followed closely. She was glad she had her face turned away from him. When she got to the broken sections of rock she performed apparent feats of balancing which would have put a tightrope walker to shame. She would sway this way and that, and almost fall. Then she leaped the fissures, and took some chances of hurting herself. But she descended the jumble of rocks safely, and then the rest of the slope with ease. Randolph had halted about a third of the way from the bottom, and when Janey looked over the saddle of her horse she saw him sitting on a stone, watching her.

"Good-by, wild woman," he called.

"Good-by, cave man," she retorted.

Mounting she rode away without looking back, which was an act that required will power. Once in the cedars, out of sight and alone, she reveled in the unexpected turn and success of her venture. Randolph was simply an honest boy, very much in love, and at the mercy of his feelings. He had helped along her little plan by placing himself at a disadvantage. How astounded he had been, then furious at himself and her! Janey remembered that he had winced when he said it was nothing to be kissed. Well, she had lied in that. It was a great deal to be kissed, as she began to realize now. She had chosen to lead him to believe kissing was merely a casual and familiar thing in her young life, when in reality she had not been nearly as indiscriminate in her games as she had let on.

Janey believed she was angrier than ever with Randolph, a great deal more so now than at her father. Yet there was a tempering voice she would not listen to. It was piercing her armor to some extent when she rode right upon Ray, so abruptly that she was surprised. That ended her meditations, for Ray appeared curious and keen about her visit to the archaeologist. It did not occur to Janey to tantalize Ray, or to stop and torment the cowboys at their fencepost digging. By the time she was again at ease in her room she realized the cowboys had begun to fade out of the picture. Janey did not regret it, though she wondered at herself. Naturally, however, if a girl was going to be abducted against her will, and maltreated, and finally married, she must be quite interested in the man who was daring to do all this.

At lunch she was outspoken about her visit to Randolph's cave. The Bennets were much pleased. Plain indeed was it that they were fond of Randolph and proud of his archaeological work.

"Wal, if you liked that Sagi hole you shore ought to see Beckyshibeta," remarked Bennet.

"Beckyshibeta! My, that's a jawbreaker," replied Janey, with a laugh. "What and where is it?"

"Beckyshibeta means cow water. It's Navajo for a water hole. I never saw it when it wasn't muddy an' shore tastin' of cows. Reckon it's about sixty miles by trail, nearer across country. Wild rocky place where the Indians seldom go. Phil thinks they've a reason for avoiding it, same as in the case of Nonnezoshe, the great Rainbow Bridge. He has a notion there might be a buried pueblo at Beckyshibeta. There are cliff dwellin's still in good state of preservation, an' many ruins. We seldom recommend Beckyshibeta to our visitors. It's far off. The cowboys hate the rocky country because they have to pack hoss feed and water. An' shore there are places interestin' enough near at hand, an' comfortable for camp. But before you an' your father leave you want to see both Nonnezoshe an' Beckyshibeta."

"I'm sure I'd love to," responded Janey.

She did not meet the cowboys again that day until after supper when she walked out to see the sunset, and to look for her father. This was always an attractive hour at the post. Indians were riding up and departing; the picturesque cowboys, mostly through with work for the day, were lounging about on the bales of wool and blankets. The moment Janey arrived they became animated as one man. Janey did not take much notice of them, despite their transparent acts and words. Strolling a little way she halted at the hitching rail to watch the pageant in the gold-and-purple West.

"Mighty cool evenin'," remarked Mohave, in a voice that came clearly to Janey.

"Say, fellars, did anythin' hit you in the eye, kinda like a chunk of ice?" drawled Zoroaster.

"S-s-s-some of y-y-y-youse hombres has done s-s-s-somethin'," stuttered Tay-Tay, belligerently.

"Our gracious Senorita is in one of her grand moods," Diego said.

"Aw, you punchers are locoed," added Ray, scornfully. "Cain't you tell when to get off and walk?"

Janey moved on out of earshot of her loyal cavaliers. It was the first time she had not paid attention to one or all of them. What had happened to her? But she soothed both conscience and concern with former arguments.

In the west the bulge of desert waved black as ebony against the intense gold flare of sky. Above this belt, a broken reef of purple clouds appeared beaten upon by contending tides of silver and rose. Through a ragged rent the sinking sun sent shafts of radiant light down behind the horizon.

In the east the panorama was no less striking and beautiful. The desert sent its walls and domes and monuments of red rock far up into the sky of gorgeous pink and white clouds.

Janey drew a deep full breath. Yes, Arizona was awakening her to something splendid and compelling. How vast and free and windswept this colored desert! She had learned to recognize a faint fragrance of sage, which came only in a north breeze. It was sweet and cool now in her face. Then up over a near-by ridge appeared a black silhouette of an Indian and mustang, wild and lonely. Next the hum of a motorcar broke her absorption. No doubt it was the trader's Studebaker returning with her father.

"Look here, peaches," quizzically remarked her father, when they had gotten indoors. "Anyone would think I'd been absent a month. What's the bright idea?"

"Oh! Did I make such a fuss over you--as that?" asked Janey, merrily.

"You sure did. Fact is you never welcomed me like that, even on my returns from Europe... Have you been lonely and blue again? Is that why?"

"Not today," returned Janey. "No, I was just happy and unconscious of it, Dad... I guess maybe I did miss you a lot."

"Well, you can bet I'm glad, whatever it is."

Janey left him in the dining room, too hungry for conversation. Then she delved a little into her mind. She had absolutely forgotten her new role. She was supposed to be very angry with her father, but she wasn't. She had not been in the least lonely for him or homesick. In reality she had skipped about ten years of her life and had met him as a child. Janey's deductions took her back through the eventful day at the tilt with Phil, and then she got no further. It was rather confusing. But at length she assuaged her wounded vanity by accepting her remarkable fine spirits as due to the way she was turning the tables on Phil and her father.