THE FIERY FURNACE
To be a Huff, of course, was to be brave and true and never go back on a
friend; but as the Colonel that evening began to speak on the subject,
Virginia crept off to bed. She was tired from her night trip across the
Sink of Death Valley, with only Crazy Charley for a guide; but it was
Wiley, the inexorable, who drove her off weeping, for he would not take
her hand. His mind was still fixed on the Gethsemane of the soul that he
had gone through in Blount's bank at Vegas, and strive as she would she
could not bring him back to play his poor part as lover. Whether she
loved him or not was not the question--not even if she was willing to
throw away her life by following him in his wanderings. Three times he
had trusted her and three times she had played him false--and was that
the honor of the Huffs?
She was penitent now and, in the presence of her father, more gentle and
womanly than seemed possible; but next week or next month or in the long
years to come, was she the woman he could trust? They passed before his
eyes in a swift series of images, the days when he had trusted her
before; and always, behind her smile, there was something else,
something cold and calculating and unkind. Her eyes were soft now, and
gentle and imploring, but they had looked at him before with scorn and
hateful laughter, when he had staked his soul on her word. He had
trusted her--too far--and before Blount and all his sycophants she had
made him a mock and a reviling.
The Colonel was talking, for his mood was expansive, but at last he fell
silent and waited.
"Wiley, my boy," he said when Wiley looked up, "you must not let the past
overmaster you. We all make mistakes, but if our hearts are right there
is nothing that should cause vain regrets. I judged from what you said
once that your present disaster is due to a misplaced trust--in fact, if
I remember, to a woman. But do not let this treachery, this betrayal of
a trust, turn your mind against all womankind. I have known many noble
and high-minded women whom I would trust with my very life; and since
Virginia, as I gather, has offered to bind up your wounds, I hope you
will not remain embittered. She is my daughter, of course, and my love
may have blinded me; but in all the long years she has been at my side,
I can think of no instance in which she has played me false. Her nature
is passionate, and she is sometimes quick to anger, but behind it all
she is devotion itself and you can trust her absolutely."
He paused expectantly, but as Wiley made no response he rose up and
knocked out his pipe.
"Well, good night," he said. "It is time we were retiring if we are to
cross the Valley to-morrow. Have a drink? Well, all right; it's just as
well. You're a good boy, Wiley; I'm proud of you."
He clapped him on the shoulder as he went off to bed, but Wiley sat
brooding by the fire. Death Valley Charley took his blankets and rolled
up in the creek bed, so that his burros could not sneak by him in the
night, and Heine laid down beside him; but when all was quiet Wiley rose
up silently and tiptoed about the camp. He strapped on his pistol and
picked up his gun, but as he was groping in the darkness for his canteen
Heine trotted up and flapped his ears. It was his sign of friendship,
like wagging his tail, and Wiley patted him quietly; but when he was
gone, he lifted the canteen and slung it over his shoulder. In the land
where he was going there were more dangers than one, but lack of water
was the greatest. He stepped out into the moonlight and then, from the
cave, he heard a muffled sound. Virginia was there and he was running
away from her. He listened again--she was crying! Not weeping aloud or
in choking sobs but in stifled, heart-broken sighs. He lowered his gun
and stood scowling and irresolute, then he turned back and went to bed.
In the morning they started late, resting in the shade of the Gateway
until the sun had swung to the west; and then, as the shadow of the
Panamints stretched out across the Valley, they repacked and started
down the slope. In the lead went old Jinny, the mother of the bunch, and
Jack and Johnny and Baby; and following behind his burros, paced Death
Valley Charley with a long, willow club in his hand. The Colonel strode
ahead, his mind on weighty matters; and behind him came Virginia on her
free-footed burro with Wiley plodding silently in the rear. At irregular
intervals Heine would drop back from the lead and sniff at them each in
turn, but nothing was said, for the air was furnace dry and they were
saving their strength for the sand.
At sundown they reached the edge of the first yielding sand-dune that
presaged the long pull to come and Death Valley Charley stopped and
opened up a water-can while the burros gathered eagerly around. Then he
poured each of them a drink in his shapeless old hat and started them
across the Sink.
"Now, you see?" he said, "you see where Jinny goes? She heads straight
for Stovepipe Hole. She knows she gits water there and that makes her
hurry--and the others they tag along behind."
He took another drink from the Colonel's private stock and smiled as he
smacked his lips. "It's hot to-day," he observed, squinting down his
eyes and gazing ahead through the haze; "yes, it's hot for this time of
year. But Virginia, you ride; and when Tom won't go no further, git off
and he'll lead you to camp."
He went on ahead, swinging his club and laughing, and Heine trotted
soberly at his side; and as he followed the trough of sand-wave after
sand-wave, the rest plodded along behind. A dry, baking heat seemed to
rise up from the ground and the air was heavy and still; the burros
began to groan as they toiled up the slope and their flanks turned wet
with sweat; and then, as they topped a wave, they felt the scorching
breath of the Sink. It came in puffs like the waves of some great sea
upon whose shores they had set their feet; a seething, heaving sea of
heat, breathing death along its lonely beach. It struck through their
clothes like a blast of wind or the shimmering glow of a furnace and at
each drink of water the sweat damped their brows and trickled in streams
down their faces. A wearied burro halted and, as Charley chased him with
his club, the rest rushed ahead to escape; and then, as they came to the
crest of the wave, Virginia's burro stopped dead.
"I'll lead him," she said as Wiley came up, and started after the pack.
Wiley walked along beside her, for he saw that she was spent; and as her
slender feet sank deep in the yielding sand she lagged and slowed down,
and stopped. Then as she turned to take her canteen from the saddle, she
swayed and clutched at the horn.
"You'd better ride," he said and, taking her in his arms, he lifted her
to the saddle like a child. Then he walked along behind, flogging the
burro into action, but still they lagged to the rear. The moon rose up
gleaming and cast black shadows along the sand-dunes, and in the lee of
the wind-wracked mesquite trees; and from the darkness ahead of them
they could hear crazy shoutings as Charley belabored his fleeing
animals. They showed dim and ghostly, as they topped a distant ridge;
and then Wiley and Virginia were alone. The pack-train, the Colonel and
Death Valley Charley had vanished behind the crest of a wave; and as
Wiley stopped to listen Virginia drooped in the saddle and fell, very
gently, into his arms.
He held her a moment, overcome with sudden pity, and then in a rush of
unexpected emotion, he crushed her to his breast and kissed her. She was
his, after all, to cherish, and protect; a frail reed, broken by his
hand; and as he gave her water and bathed her face he remembered her
weeping in the night. Her tears had been for him, whom she had followed
so far only to find him harsh and unforgiving; and now, weak from grief,
she had fainted in his arms, which had never reached out to console her.
He gathered her to his breast in a belated atonement and as he kissed
her again she stirred. Then he put her down, but when she felt his hands
slacken she reached up and caught him by the neck. So she held him a
while, until something gave way within him and he pressed his lips to
hers.