MARY CHOOSES A SEAT
DR. INMAN SHONTO was a prisoner in a little adobe hut back of the
corrals at Tanburt’s Ranch. The dun walls were a foot in thickness, the
door of solid slabs of oak securely bolted, and the lone window was
less than ten inches square. This hut had once been used as a place to
keep milk and butter cool, and in that day was adjacent to the first
house that Gus Tanburt had built on his property. The old house had
been wrecked in time and a new one built, but the old adobe buttery had
withstood the years.
There was no escape; the thick walls and tiny window made imprisonment
therein effectual. Shonto paced the floor, smoked his pipe and
cigarettes, and tried to hold his temper. He had written the message,
and either Leach or Morley had gone with it to the nearest telegraph
station. A day and a night had passed, and Shonto had seen nobody but a
halfbreed cowpuncher, who brought his meals regularly and thrust them
in through the ten-inch opening. He had blankets and a couch, and was
fairly comfortable. But, with the exception of the halfbreed, no one
paid any attention to him.
He smiled bitterly as he paced about, strong hands clasped behind his
back. Up in the mountains a young man soon would be facing a grinning
spectre that threatened to ruin his life, and the girl who loved him
would be looking on in horror, unable to save him, forced to witness
the ghastly thing that was taking place before her eyes. Close at
hand an ignorant old man waited for the doctor to perform a trifling
operation that promised renewed vigor and the semblance of youth, which
would place at the mercy of his selfish desire a ripe girl-woman,
pulsing with the warm springtime of maturity.
He had not yet set eyes on this old gargoyle of a man, but he pictured
him uncouth, cunning, repulsive, terrifying, as he gloated over his
defenceless and shrinking prey. What right had this old monster to
demand of life the replenished fires of youth which he had quenched
in the soul-warping fight for wealth? Was it consistent with progress
that this old man, because he had the means, should be allowed to
regain his physical vigour, and perhaps perpetuate his kind in a world
already hampered with such as he? Sheep glands substituted for his own
worthless organs would not serve to purge his corroded soul nor wipe
from his fading mind the cobwebs of superstition and ignorance and
prejudice that put him out of step in the march of progress. Such as
he should be left to die and be forgotten; it seemed a crime to help
him to perpetuate himself, and bring into the world stupid offspring
handicapped by heredity from the very start! No, the hope of progress
lay in new blood. Let the old generation, with its ignorance and its
out-of-tune ideas, become extinct. Let science better the youth of the
age, if possible, but refrain from prolonging the life of that arch
enemy of Youth and Advancement--Old Age!
The scientist was not only a strong advocate of birth control, but at
times he went even further and longed to see the race die out entirely.
This, of course, in his bitterest moments, when he realized what a
fiasco man had made of life. War and slavery; disease and pestilence;
poverty and greed; the stupidity of Labour and the tyranny of Capital;
the arrogance of the Church and the cowardice of thinkers; Science
devoted to the problem of disassociating atoms one from another so that
the world need not search for new oil and coal fields, but neglecting
to discover cures for pyorrhea and catarrh; people suffering for
the want of food and clothes in a world filled to overflowing with
the necessities of life; the timber on a million hills laid low and
wasted in a few short years, and families without shelter for their
heads!--why prolong this hideous nightmare of confusion? Let the race
die out; let the old world groan once more in the travail of a new
upheaval; and when it cooled, let protoplastic man be born again in the
slime and begin all over from the bottom!
Then thought of his lifelong work with the glands would soothe him, and
his kindly eyes would smile. He never could untwist the brains of the
generation with his efforts, he knew, but he could lay a foundation for
his successors to build upon.
So Dr. Inman Shonto was a great mind. A pessimist to the core, as are
most thinkers who search for the eternal truths, he nevertheless worked
for the betterment of what he considered hopeless conditions, and
wooed optimism while he worked.
Well, he would perform the operation. The deck was stacked against him.
In order to save Youth this time he needs must bow to the whims of
cantankerous Old Age. But he would make an effort to save that girl,
whoever she might be, from the consequences of this iniquitous passion.
He would take her away from her poverty to the city and give her a
chance in life--he would take her to Charmian and place her under that
influence. He would rob this twitching old David of the ewe lamb that
he lusted for!
He had reached the ranch blindfolded. Morley had told him of the
rancher’s cravings, but he had not divulged his name. When the
operation was over and his services no longer needed, he would be
taken out on the desert, blindfolded again, and left to find his own
way to the nearest habitation. Leach and Morley would direct him, they
promised, but would ride away and leave him for their own protection.
Well, never mind! (Still pacing back and forth, back and forth.) He
would get to the bottom of this thing. He would save that girl!
* * * * *
Two days more had passed. Through the little window Dr. Inman Shonto
saw that the desert was overhung with clouds. Up over the mountains
they were voluminous and black. He believed that it was snowing up
there. Every day, perhaps, the mantle of white was being spread deeper
and deeper over the land. The stretch of chaparral between Dewlap
Mountain and the Valley of Arcana would become impassable. One could
not crawl under the branches with the ground covered with snow; and
until the snow had reached a depth of twelve feet one could not
snowshoe over the tops. Still no sign of the man who had gone to send
the telegram.
* * * * *
Midnight, with Shirttail Henry wrapped in his blankets beside the
spring in the calico buttes, and Lot’s Wife dozing in the background.
Lot’s Wife snorted and scrambled to her feet. Shirttail Henry stirred,
blinked his mild blue eyes, and sat erect. He felt beside him, assured
himself that the new rain gauge was safe, and spoke thus to Mrs. Lot:
“Quit snorin’, ass, and go to sleep!”
But as he finished the words he heard the thumping of a horse’s feet.
Instantly he flung himself from his blankets and stood in a listening
attitude. The burro’s twelve-inch ears were nearly touching at the tips
and her mouseskin muzzle quivered. Her ears pointed the direction from
which the horse was approaching.
“Comin’ from th’ mountains,” mumbled Henry. “Funny time o’ night to be
hittin’ th’ trail. One critter.”
He stepped lightly to the rocks about the spring and flattened himself
in the shadows. The thudding continued, and presently, though he could
see nothing because of the blackness cast by a cloudy sky, he knew that
the animal was close. A single eye of light peered out from the nest
of ashes of his waning fire, enough to convince the newcomer, if the
horse bore a rider, that some one was camping at the spring. The horse
did bear a rider, for no horse, even though he was an exceptional horse
and gifted with speech, would have been so peremptory in his demand:
“I want to know who’s camping here. Speak out! Who’s here?”
“It’s me,” came Henry’s voice from the shadows.
“Oh, old Marblehead, eh? Are you dressed?”
“Yes’m.”
“Then step out here, please, and tell me what’s become of Doctor
Shonto!”
“You’re Miss Mary Temple, ain’t you?”
“No, I’m Miss William Jennings Bryan. Come on out! What’re you hiding
there for? Where’s Doctor Shonto? I want to know at once. Talk, you
damned quitter!”
Henry came forth and stared at the black bulk that she made in the
night. Never before had the mild Henry heard a woman use profanity. He
was completely flabbergasted.
“I--I didn’t know ye cussed, ma’am,” he found himself saying.
“What you don’t know about me,” snapped Mary, “would give you a college
education if you could find it out. I curse when I’m mad, like anybody
else does who’s got any gumption. I’m a bad woman, Henry Richkirk--and
don’t you forget it!”
“I’m plumb s’prised, ma’am,” he puzzled. “You don’t cuss when Mis’
Reemy’s about, do ye?”
“I don’t,” barked Mary. “But that’s no sign I can’t. And when I swear
I’m mad. Now poke up that fire and tell me what’s become of Doctor
Shonto!”
“I ain’t seen ’im at all, ma’am,” said Henry, stirring the embers and
heaping on kindling and stony yucca.
“Don’t lie to me!”
“Honest!”
“What are you doing here?”
“I been to town to git me a new rain gauge, ma’am. It didn’t come right
soon, and I--I waited.”
“What town?”
“To Emerald, ma’am--that’s sixty miles from Diamond H. And I had to
camp here to-night ’cause I was all wore out. I got drunk at Emerald,
ma’am, and I’m plumb tuckered. But I oughta be in the mountains. Is it
rainin’ or snowin’ up there?”
“It is. Above Mosquito.” Mary was dismounting stiffly. “And Doctor
Shonto was due to pass Mosquito two days ago. I ought to be in bed, but
I rode out to see what had happened to him. I couldn’t find anybody at
your place when I got there at dusk, so I rode on down. Now I want to
know what’s become of Doctor Shonto.”
“I can’t tell ye, ma’am--honest! But I see Omar Leach and Smith Morley
clost to th’ foot o’ th’ trail when I was ridin’ outa these here
mountains here on my way to Diamond H.”
“Leach and Morley? What were they doing? What did they want?”
“They were askin’ about you folks,” Henry told her. “I don’t know what
they want.”
“I know what they want! They want money! Why aren’t they out of this
country?”
“I can’t tell ye, ma’am. They ain’t been to Diamond H sence they went
back there after they ditched you folks. They left Smith’s woman there,
but before I got in she’d went out with Roger Furlong in his buckboard
to the railroad. Smith and Omar they’d gone to Gus Tanburt’s, Roger
said. They’re friends o’ Gus’s.”
“Who’s Gus Tanburt?”
Henry told her, adding: “That’s th’ only place they could go to, ma’am.
Maybe they thought Gus would get ’em outa th’ Shinbone Country. But,
then, I see ’em at th’ foot o’ th’ trail to Shirttail Bend, like I told
ye. And, ma’am, they was somethin’ here in camp here that I noticed
when me and Mrs. Lot rambled in this evenin’. Ground all tromped, like
they’d been a mix-up.”
“And you’re positive that Doctor Shonto never got to Diamond H Ranch?”
“Just so--sure, ma’am.”
“All right. Get me something to eat, please. My grub’s back of my
saddle. Make me a little tea. I’m sick, Henry. I’ve got a broken rib,
and riding is killing me. But we’ll eat and get on to this Tanburt
Ranch. How far is it?”
“Why, ma’am, it’s miles and miles! And ye don’t know th’ way.”
“You do, though. I want to know what’s happened to Doctor Shonto, and
you’ve got to go along and help me find out.”
“But, ma’am, I jest can’t. It’ll be rainin’ in th’ mountains in less’n
twelve hours. You know I’m a gov’ment official, and--”
“Oh, well--forget it!” exploded Mary. “Make me some tea and I’ll ride
on alone if you can show me the way.”
“But, ma’am--”
“Make me some tea, I said--damn it all!”
While he bustled about, hopeful of ridding himself of her after
attending to her temporary wants, she watered and fed her horse rolled
barley, then threw off the saddle, examined the animal’s back with an
expert eye, and put it on the picket rope. Presently she came and sat
down on the ground by the fire, cupped her bony chin in one lean hand,
and gazed eaglelike into the flames.
“Henry,” she said, “guess what I’m sitting on.”
Henry wheeled and stared at her in blank amazement. He looked all
around her, then advanced the theory that she was sitting on the ground.
“Wrong, Henry,” said Mary gloomily. “I’m sitting on your new rain
gauge. But don’t be alarmed. I’m keeping my weight off it. I won’t sit
down hard, Henry, unless you persist in refusing to accompany me to
Tanburt’s Ranch to get on the trail of Doctor Shonto. What do you say,
Henry?”
Henry had nothing to say, so he looked worried and cackled his silly
“Heh-heh-heh!” At half-past one he was stalking into the night in a
southwesterly direction, with Mary Temple riding behind him, tortured
by the rolling motion of her walking horse, but enduring silently. The
rain gauge was strapped at the front jockey of her saddle, its thin
brass ready to be squeezed to uselessness if Shirttail Henry became
obstinate.