Zane Grey (24 page)

Suddenly Silvermane, lifting his head, broke the silence of the canyon
with a great sigh of content. It pierced the dull fantasy of Hare's
mind; it burst the gloomy spell. The sigh and the snort which followed
were Silvermane's triumphant signals when he had drunk his fill.

Hare fell from the saddle. The gray dog lay stretched low in the
darkness. Hare crawled beside him and reached out with his hot hands.
Smooth cool marble rock, growing slippery, then wet, led into running
water. He slid forward on his face and wonderful cold thrills quivered
over his burning skin. He drank and drank until he could drink no more.
Then he lay back upon the rock; the madness of his brain went out with
the light of the stars, and he slept.

When he awoke red canyon walls leaned far above him to a gap spanned by
blue sky. A song of rushing water murmured near his ears. He looked
down; a spring gushed from a crack in the wall; Silvermane cropped green
bushes, and Wolf sat on his haunches waiting, but no longer with sad eyes
and strange mien. Hare raised himself, looking again and again, and
slowly gathered his wits. The crimson blur had gone from his eyes and
the burning from his skin, and the painful swelling from his tongue.

He drank long and deeply, and rising with clearing thoughts and thankful
heart, he kissed Wolf's white head, and laid his arms round Silvermane's
neck. He fed them, and ate himself, not without difficulty, for his lips
were puffed and his tongue felt like a piece of rope. When he had eaten,
his strength came back.

At a word Wolf, with a wag of his tail, splashed into the gravelly stream
bed. Hare followed on foot, leading Silvermane. There were little beds
of pebbles and beaches of sand and short steps down which the water
babbled. The canyon was narrow and tortuous; Hare could not see ahead or
below, for the projecting red cliffs, growing higher as he descended,
walled out the view. The blue stream of sky above grew bluer and the
light and shade less bright. For an hour he went down steadily without a
check, and the farther down the rougher grew the way. Bowlders wedged in
narrow places made foaming waterfalls. Silvermane clicked down
confidently.

The slender stream of water, swelled by seeping springs and little rills,
gained the dignity of a brook; it began to dash merrily and hurriedly
downward. The depth of the falls, the height of cliffs, and the size of
the bowlders increased in the descent. Wolf splashed on unmindful; there
was a new spirit in his movements; and when he looked back for his
laboring companions there was friendly protest in his eyes. Silvermane's
mien plainly showed that where a dog could go he could follow.
Silvermane's blood was heated; the desert was an old story to him; it had
only tired him and parched his throat; this canyon of downward steps and
falls, with ever-deepening drops, was new to him, and roused his mettle;
and from his long training in the wilds he had gained a marvellous
sure-footedness.

The canyon narrowed as it deepened; the jutting walls leaned together,
shutting out the light; the sky above was now a ribbon of blue, only to
be seen when Hare threw back his head and stared straight up.

"It'll be easier climbing up, Silvermane," he panted—"if we ever get
the chance."

The sand and gravel and shale had disappeared; all was bare clean-washed
rock. In many places the brook failed as a trail, for it leaped down in
white sheets over mossy cliffs. Hare faced these walls in despair. But
Wolf led on over the ledges and Silvermane followed, nothing daunted. At
last Hare shrank back from a hole which defied him utterly. Even Wolf
hesitated. The canyon was barely twenty feet wide; the floor ended in a
precipice; the stream leaped out and fell into a dark cleft from which no
sound arose. On the right there was a shelf of rock; it was scarce half
a foot broad at the narrowest and then apparently vanished altogether.
Hare stared helplessly up at the slanting shut-in walls.

While he hesitated Wolf pattered out upon the ledge and Silvermane
stamped restlessly. With a desperate fear of losing his beloved horse
Hare let go the bridle and stepped upon the ledge. He walked rapidly,
for a slow step meant uncertainty and a false one meant death. He heard
the sharp ring of Silvermane's shoes, and he listened in agonized
suspense for the slip, the snort, the crash that he feared must come.
But it did not come. Seeing nothing except the narrow ledge, yet feeling
the blue abyss beneath him, he bent all his mind to his task, and finally
walked out into lighter space upon level rock. To his infinite relief
Silvermane appeared rounding a corner out of the dark passage, and was
soon beside him.

Hare cried aloud in welcome.

The canyon widened; there was a clear demarcation where the red walls
gave place to yellow; the brook showed no outlet from its subterranean
channel. Sheer exhaustion made Hare almost forget his mission; the
strength of his resolve had gone into mechanical toil; he kept on,
conscious only of the smart of bruised hands and feet and the ache of
laboring lungs.

Time went on and the sun hung in the midst of the broadening belt of blue
sky. A long slant of yellow slope led down to a sage-covered level,
which Hare crossed, pleased to see blooming cacti and wondering at their
slender lofty green stems shining with gold flowers. He descended into a
ravine which became precipitous. Here he made only slow advance. At the
bottom he found himself in a wonderful lane with an almost level floor;
here flowed a shallow stream bordered by green willows. Wolf took the
direction of the flowing water. Hare's thoughts were all of Mescal, and
his hopes began to mount, his heart to beat high.

He gazed ahead with straining eyes. Presently there was not a break in
the walls. A drowsy hum of falling water came to Hare, strange reminder
of the oasis, the dull roar of the Colorado, and of Mescal.

His flagging energies leaped into life with the canyon suddenly opening
to bright light and blue sky and beautiful valley, white and gold in
blossom, green with grass and cottonwood. On a flower-scented wind
rushed that muffled roar again, like distant thunder.

Wolf dashed into the cottonwoods. Silvermane whistled with satisfaction
and reached for the long grass.

For Hare the light held something more than beauty, the breeze something
more than sweet scent of water and blossom. Both were charged with
meaning—with suspense.

Wolf appeared in the open leaping upon a slender brown-garbed form.

"Mescal!" cried Hare.

With a cry she ran to him, her arms outstretched, her hair flying in the
wind, her dark eyes wild with joy.

FOR an instant Hare's brain reeled, and Mescal's broken murmurings were
meaningless Then his faculties grew steady and acute; he held the girl as
if he intended never to let her go. Mescal clung to him with a wildness
that gave him anxiety for her reason; there was something almost fierce
in the tension of her arms, in the blind groping for his face.

"Mescal! It's Jack, safe and well," he said. "Let me look at you."

At the sound of his voice all her rigid strength changed to a yielding
weakness; she leaned back supported by his arms and looked at him. Hare
trembled before the dusky level glance he remembered so well, and as
tears began to flow he drew her head to his shoulder. He had forgotten
to prepare himself for a different Mescal. Despite the quivering smile
of happiness, her eyes were strained with pain. The oval contour, the
rich bloom of her face had gone; beauty was there still, but it was the
ghost of the old beauty.

"Jack—is it—really you?" she asked.

He answered with a kiss.

She slipped out of his arms breathless and scarlet. "Tell me all—"

"There's much to tell, but not before you kiss me. It has been more than
a year."

"Only a year! Have I been gone only a year?"

"Yes, a year. But it's past now. Kiss me, Mescal. One kiss will pay
for that long year, though it broke my heart."

Shyly she raised her hands to his shoulders and put her lips to his.
"Yes, you've found me, Jack, thank God! just in time!"

"Mescal! What's wrong? Aren't you well?"

"Pretty well. But if you had not come soon I should have starved."

"Starved? Let me get my saddle-bags—I have bread and meat."

"Wait. I'm not so hungry now. I mean very soon I should not have had
any food at all."

"But your peon—the dumb Indian? Surely he could find something to eat.
What of him? Where is he?"

"My peon is dead. He has been dead for months, I don't know how many."

"Dead! What was the matter with him?"

"I never knew. I found him dead one morning and I buried him in the
sand."

Mescal led Hare under the cottonwoods and pointed to the Indian's grave,
now green with grass. Farther on in a circle of trees stood a little
hogan skilfully constructed out of brush; the edge of a red blanket
peeped from the door; a burnt-out fire smoked on a stone fireplace, and
blackened earthen vessels lay near. The white seeds of the cottonwoods
were flying light as feathers; plum-trees were pink in blossom; there
were vines twining all about; through the openings in the foliage shone
the blue of sky and red of cliff. Patches of blossoming Bowers were here
and there lit to brilliance by golden shafts of sunlight. The twitter of
birds and hum of bees were almost drowned in the soft roar of water.

"Is that the Colorado I hear?" asked Hare.

"No, that's Thunder River. The Colorado is farther down in the Grand
Canyon."

"Farther down! Mescal, I must have come a mile from the rim. Where are
we?"

"We are almost at the Colorado, and directly under the head of Coconina.
We can see the mountain from the break in the valley below."

"Come sit by me here under this tree. Tell me—how did you ever get
here?"

Then Mescal told him how the peon had led her on a long trail from Bitter
Seeps, how they had camped at desert waterholes, and on the fourth day
descended to Thunder River.

"I was quite happy at first. It's always summer down here. There were
rabbits, birds, beaver, and fruit—we had enough to eat. I explored the
valley with Wolf or rode Noddle up and down the canyon. Then my peon
died, and I had to shift for myself. There came a time when the beaver
left the valley, and Wolf and I had to make a rabbit serve for days. I
knew then I'd have to get across the desert to the Navajos or starve in
the canyon. I hesitated about climbing out into the desert, for I wasn't
sure of the trail to the waterholes. Noddle wandered off up the canyon
and never came back. After he was gone and I knew I couldn't get out I
grew homesick. The days weren't so bad because I was always hunting for
something to eat, but the nights were lonely. I couldn't sleep. I lay
awake listening to the river, and at last I could hear whispering and
singing and music, and strange sounds, and low thunder, always low
thunder. I wasn't really frightened, only lonely, and the canyon was so
black and full of mutterings. Sometimes I'd dream I was back on the
plateau with you, Jack, and Bolly and the sheep, and when I'd awake in
the loneliness I'd cry right out—"

"Mescal, I heard those cries," said Hare.

"It was strange—the way I felt. I believe if I'd never known and—and
loved you, Jack, I'd have forgotten home. After I'd been here a while, I
seemed to be drifting, drifting. It was as if I had lived in the canyon
long before, and was remembering. The feeling was strong, but always
thoughts of you, and of the big world, brought me back to the present
with its loneliness and fear of starvation. Then I wanted you, and I'd
cry out. I knew I must send Wolf home. How hard it was to make him go!
But at last he trotted off, looking backward, and I—waited and waited."

She leaned against him. The hand which had plucked at his sleeve dropped
to his fingers and clung there. Hare knew how her story had slighted the
perils and privations of that long year. She had grown lonely in the
canyon darkness; she had sent Wolf away and had waited—all was said in
that. But more than any speech, the look of her, and the story told in
the thin brown hands touched his heart. Not for an instant since his
arrival had she altogether let loose of his fingers, or coat, or arm.
She had lived so long alone in this weird world of silence and moving
shadows and murmuring water, that she needed to feel the substance of her
hopes, to assure herself of the reality of the man she loved.

"My mustang—Bolly—tell me of her," said Mescal.

"Bolly's fine. Sleek and fat and lazy! She's been in the fields ever
since you left. Not a bridle on her. Many times have I seen her poke
her black muzzle over the fence and look down the lane. She'd never
forget you, Mescal."

"Oh! how I want to see her! Tell me—everything."

"Wait a little. Let me fetch Silvermane and we'll make a fire and eat.
Then—"

"Tell me now."

"Well, Mescal, it's soon told." Then came the story of events growing out
of her flight. When he told of the shooting at Silver Cup, Mescal rose
with heaving bosom and blazing eyes.

"It was nothing—I wasn't hurt much. Only the intention was bad. We saw
no more of Snap or Holderness. The worst of it all was that Snap's wife
died."

"Oh, I am sorry—sorry. Poor Father Naab! How he must hate me, the cause
of it all! But I couldn't stay—I couldn't marry Snap."

"Don't blame yourself, Mescal. What Snap might have done if you had
married him is guesswork. He might have left drink alone a while longer.
But he was bad clean through. I heard Dave Naab tell him that. Snap
would have gone over to Holderness sooner or later. And now he's a
rustler, if not worse."

"Then those men think Snap killed you?"