BELDING assigned Dick to a little room which had no windows but two
doors, one opening into the patio, the other into the yard on the west
side of the house. It contained only the barest necessities for
comfort. Dick mentioned the baggage he had left in the hotel at
Casita, and it was Belding's opinion that to try to recover his
property would be rather risky; on the moment Richard Gale was probably
not popular with the Mexicans at Casita. So Dick bade good-by to fine
suits of clothes and linen with a feeling that, as he had said farewell
to an idle and useless past, it was just as well not to have any old
luxuries as reminders. As he possessed, however, not a thing save the
clothes on his back, and not even a handkerchief, he expressed regret
that he had come to Forlorn River a beggar.
"Beggar hell!" exploded Belding, with his eyes snapping in the
lamplight. "Money's the last thing we think of out here. All the
same, Gale, if you stick you'll be rich."
"It wouldn't surprise me," replied Dick, thoughtfully. But he was not
thinking of material wealth. Then, as he viewed his stained and torn
shirt, he laughed and said "Belding, while I'm getting rich I'd like to
have some respectable clothes."
"We've a little Mex store in town, and what you can't get there the
women folks will make for you."
When Dick lay down he was dully conscious of pain and headache, that he
did not feel well. Despite this, and a mind thronging with memories
and anticipations, he succumbed to weariness and soon fell asleep.
It was light when he awoke, but a strange brightness seen through what
seemed blurred eyes. A moment passed before his mind worked clearly,
and then he had to make an effort to think. He was dizzy. When he
essayed to lift his right arm, an excruciating pain made him desist.
Then he discovered that his arm was badly swollen, and the hand had
burst its bandages. The injured member was red, angry, inflamed, and
twice its normal size. He felt hot all over, and a raging headache
consumed him.
Belding came stamping into the room.
"Hello, Dick. Do you know it's late? How's the busted fist this
morning?"
Dick tried to sit up, but his effort was a failure. He got about half
up, then felt himself weakly sliding back.
"I guess--I'm pretty sick," he said.
He saw Belding lean over him, feel his face, and speak, and then
everything seemed to drift, not into darkness, but into some region
where he had dim perceptions of gray moving things, and of voices that
were remote. Then there came an interval when all was blank. He knew
not whether it was one of minutes or hours, but after it he had a
clearer mind. He slept, awakened during night-time, and slept again.
When he again unclosed his eyes the room was sunny, and cool with a
fragrant breeze that blew through the open door. Dick felt better; but
he had no particular desire to move or talk or eat. He had, however, a
burning thirst. Mrs. Belding visited him often; her husband came in
several times, and once Nell slipped in noiselessly. Even this last
event aroused no interest in Dick.
On the next day he was very much improved.
"We've been afraid of blood poisoning," said Belding. "But my wife
thinks the danger's past. You'll have to rest that arm for a while."
Ladd and Jim came peeping in at the door.
"Come in, boys. He can have company--the more the better--if it'll
keep him content. He mustn't move, that's all."
The cowboys entered, slow, easy, cool, kind-voiced.
"Shore it's tough," said Ladd, after he had greeted Dick. "You look
used up."
Jim Lash wagged his half-bald, sunburned head, "Musta been more'n tough
for Rojas."
"Gale, Laddy tells me one of our neighbors, fellow named Carter, is
going to Casita," put in Belding. "Here's a chance to get word to your
friend the soldier."
"Oh, that will be fine!" exclaimed Dick. "I declare I'd forgotten
Thorne.... How is Miss Castaneda? I hope--"
"She's all right, Gale. Been up and around the patio for two days.
Like all the Spanish--the real thing--she's made of Damascus steel.
We've been getting acquainted. She and Nell made friends at once. I'll
call them in."
He closed the door leading out into the yard, explaining that he did
not want to take chances of Mercedes's presence becoming known to
neighbors. Then he went to the patio and called.
Both girls came in, Mercedes leading. Like Nell, she wore white, and
she had a red rose in her hand. Dick would scarcely have recognized
anything about her except her eyes and the way she carried her little
head, and her beauty burst upon him strange and anew. She was swift,
impulsive in her movements to reach his side.
"Senor, I am so sorry you were ill--so happy you are better."
Dick greeted her, offering his left hand, gravely apologizing for the
fact that, owing to a late infirmity, he could not offer the right.
Her smile exquisitely combined sympathy, gratitude, admiration. Then
Dick spoke to Nell, likewise offering his hand, which she took shyly.
Her reply was a murmured, unintelligible one; but her eyes were glad,
and the tint in her cheeks threatened to rival the hue of the rose she
carried.
Everybody chatted then, except Nell, who had apparently lost her voice.
Presently Dick remembered to speak of the matter of getting news to
Thorne.
"Senor, may I write to him? Will some one take a letter?... I shall
hear from him!" she said; and her white hands emphasized her words.
"Assuredly. I guess poor Thorne is almost crazy. I'll write to
him.... No, I can't with this crippled hand."
"That'll be all right, Gale," said Belding. "Nell will write for you.
She writes all my letters."
So Belding arranged it; and Mercedes flew away to her room to write,
while Nell fetched pen and paper and seated herself beside Gale's bed
to take his dictation.
What with watching Nell and trying to catch her glance, and listening
to Belding's talk with the cowboys, Dick was hard put to it to dictate
any kind of a creditable letter. Nell met his gaze once, then no more.
The color came and went in her cheeks, and sometimes, when he told her
to write so and so, there was a demure smile on her lips. She was
laughing at him. And Belding was talking over the risks involved in a
trip to Casita.
"Shore I'll ride in with the letters," Ladd said.
"No you won't," replied Belding. "That bandit outfit will be laying
for you."
"Well, I reckon if they was I wouldn't be oncommon grieved."
"I'll tell you, boys, I'll ride in myself with Carter. There's
business I can see to, and I'm curious to know what the rebels are
doing. Laddy, keep one eye open while I'm gone. See the horses are
locked up.... Gale, I'm going to Casita myself. Ought to get back
tomorrow some time. I'll be ready to start in an hour. Have your
letter ready. And say--if you want to write home it's a chance.
Sometimes we don't go to the P. O. in a month."
He tramped out, followed by the tall cowboys, and then Dick was enabled
to bring his letter to a close. Mercedes came back, and her eyes were
shining. Dick imagined a letter received from her would be something
of an event for a fellow. Then, remembering Belding's suggestion, he
decided to profit by it.
"May I trouble you to write another for me?" asked Dick, as he received
the letter from Nell.
"It's no trouble, I'm sure--I'd be pleased," she replied.
That was altogether a wonderful speech of hers, Dick thought, because
the words were the first coherent ones she had spoken to him.
"May I stay?" asked Mercedes, smiling.
"By all means," he answered, and then he settled back and began.
Presently Gale paused, partly because of genuine emotion, and stole a
look from under his hand at Nell. She wrote swiftly, and her downcast
face seemed to be softer in its expression of sweetness. If she had in
the very least been drawn to him-- But that was absurd--impossible!
When Dick finished dictating, his eyes were upon Mercedes, who sat
smiling curious and sympathetic. How responsive she was! He heard the
hasty scratch of Nell's pen. He looked at Nell. Presently she rose,
holding out his letter. He was just in time to see a wave of red
recede from her face. She gave him one swift gaze, unconscious,
searching, then averted it and turned away. She left the room with
Mercedes before he could express his thanks.
But that strange, speaking flash of eyes remained to haunt and torment
Gale. It was indescribably sweet, and provocative of thoughts that he
believed were wild without warrant. Something within him danced for
very joy, and the next instant he was conscious of wistful doubt, a
gravity that he could not understand. It dawned upon him that for the
brief instant when Nell had met his gaze she had lost her shyness. It
was a woman's questioning eyes that had pierced through him.
During the rest of the day Gale was content to lie still on his bed
thinking and dreaming, dozing at intervals, and watching the lights
change upon the mountain peaks, feeling the warm, fragrant desert wind
that blew in upon him. He seemed to have lost the faculty of
estimating time. A long while, strong in its effect upon him, appeared
to have passed since he had met Thorne. He accepted things as he felt
them, and repudiated his intelligence. His old inquisitive habit of
mind returned. Did he love Nell? Was he only attracted for the moment?
What was the use of worrying about her or himself? He refused to
answer, and deliberately gave himself up to dreams of her sweet face
and of that last dark-blue glance.
Next day he believed he was well enough to leave his room; but Mrs.
Belding would not permit him to do so. She was kind, soft-handed,
motherly, and she was always coming in to minister to his comfort. This
attention was sincere, not in the least forced; yet Gale felt that the
friendliness so manifest in the others of the household did not extend
to her. He was conscious of something that a little thought persuaded
him was antagonism. It surprised and hurt him. He had never been much
of a success with girls and young married women, but their mothers and
old people had generally been fond of him. Still, though Mrs.
Belding's hair was snow-white, she did not impress him as being old.
He reflected that there might come a time when it would be desirable,
far beyond any ground of every-day friendly kindliness, to have Mrs.
Belding be well disposed toward him. So he thought about her, and
pondered how to make her like him. It did not take very long for Dick
to discover that he liked her. Her face, except when she smiled, was
thoughtful and sad. It was a face to make one serious. Like a
haunting shadow, like a phantom of happier years, the sweetness of
Nell's face was there, and infinitely more of beauty than had been
transmitted to the daughter. Dick believed Mrs. Belding's friendship
and motherly love were worth striving to win, entirely aside from any
more selfish motive. He decided both would be hard to get. Often he
felt her deep, penetrating gaze upon him; and, though this in no wise
embarrassed him--for he had no shameful secrets of past or present--it
showed him how useless it would be to try to conceal anything from her.
Naturally, on first impulse, he wanted to hide his interest in the
daughter; but he resolved to be absolutely frank and true, and through
that win or lose. Moreover, if Mrs. Belding asked him any questions
about his home, his family, his connections, he would not avoid direct
and truthful answers.
Toward evening Gale heard the tramp of horses and Belding's hearty
voice. Presently the rancher strode in upon Gale, shaking the gray
dust from his broad shoulders and waving a letter.
"Hello, Dick! Good news and bad!" he said, putting the letter in
Dick's hand. "Had no trouble finding your friend Thorne. Looked like
he'd been drunk for a week! Say, he nearly threw a fit. I never saw a
fellow so wild with joy. He made sure you and Mercedes were lost in
the desert. He wrote two letters which I brought. Don't mistake me,
boy, it was some fun with Mercedes just now. I teased her, wouldn't
give her the letter. You ought to have seen her eyes. If ever you see
a black-and-white desert hawk swoop down upon a quail, then you'll know
how Mercedes pounced upon her letter... Well, Casita is one hell of a
place these days. I tried to get your baggage, and I think I made a
mistake. We're going to see travel toward Forlorn River. The federal
garrison got reinforcements from somewhere, and is holding out.
There's been fighting for three days. The rebels have a string of flat
railroad cars, all iron, and they ran this up within range of the
barricades. They've got some machine guns, and they're going to lick
the federals sure. There are dead soldiers in the ditches, Mexican
non-combatants lying dead in the streets--and buzzards everywhere! It's
reported that Campo, the rebel leader, is on the way up from Sinaloa,
and Huerta, a federal general, is coming to relieve the garrison. I
don't take much stock in reports. But there's hell in Casita, all
right."
"Do you think we'll have trouble out here?" asked Dick, excitedly.
"Sure. Some kind of trouble sooner or later," replied Belding,
gloomily. "Why, you can stand on my ranch and step over into Mexico.
Laddy says we'll lose horses and other stock in night raids. Jim Lash
doesn't look for any worse. But Jim isn't as well acquainted with
Greasers as I am. Anyway, my boy, as soon as you can hold a bridle and
a gun you'll be on the job, don't mistake me."
"With Laddy and Jim?" asked Dick, trying to be cool.
"Sure. With them and me, and by yourself."
Dick drew a deep breath, and even after Belding had departed he forgot
for a moment about the letter in his hand. Then he unfolded the paper
and read:
Dear Dick,--You've more than saved my life. To the end of my days
you'll be the one man to whom I owe everything. Words fail to express
my feelings.
This must be a brief note. Belding is waiting, and I used up most of
the time writing to Mercedes. I like Belding. He was not unknown to
me, though I never met or saw him before. You'll be interested to
learn that he's the unadulterated article, the real Western goods.
I've heard of some of his stunts, and they made my hair curl. Dick,
your luck is staggering. The way Belding spoke of you was great. But
you deserve it, old man.
I'm leaving Mercedes in your charge, subject, of course, to advice from
Belding. Take care of her, Dick, for my life is wrapped up in her. By
all means keep her from being seen by Mexicans. We are sitting tight
here--nothing doing. If some action doesn't come soon, it'll be darned
strange. Things are centering this way. There's scrapping right along,
and people have begun to move. We're still patrolling the line eastward
of Casita. It'll be impossible to keep any tab on the line west of
Casita, for it's too rough. That cactus desert is awful. Cowboys or
rangers with desert-bred horses might keep raiders and smugglers from
crossing. But if cavalrymen could stand that waterless wilderness,
which I doubt much, their horses would drop under them.
If things do quiet down before my commission expires, I'll get leave of
absence, run out to Forlorn River, marry my beautiful Spanish princess,
and take her to a civilized country, where, I opine, every son of a gun
who sees her will lose his head, and drive me mad. It's my great luck,
old pal, that you are a fellow who never seemed to care about pretty
girls. So you won't give me the double cross and run off with
Mercedes--carry her off, like the villain in the play, I mean.
That reminds me of Rojas. Oh, Dick, it was glorious! You didn't do
anything to the Dandy Rebel! Not at all! You merely caressed
him--gently moved him to one side. Dick, harken to these glad words:
Rojas is in the hospital. I was interested to inquire. He had a
smashed finger, a dislocated collar bone, three broken ribs, and a
fearful gash on his face. He'll be in the hospital for a month. Dick,
when I meet that pig-headed dad of yours I'm going to give him the
surprise of his life.
Send me a line whenever any one comes in from F. R., and inclose
Mercedes's letter in yours. Take care of her, Dick, and may the future
hold in store for you some of the sweetness I know now!
Faithfully yours, Thorne.
Dick reread the letter, then folded it and placed it under his pillow.
"Never cared for pretty girls, huh?" he soliloquized. "George, I never
saw any till I struck Southern Arizona! Guess I'd better make up for
lost time."
While he was eating his supper, with appetite rapidly returning to
normal, Ladd and Jim came in, bowing their tall heads to enter the
door. Their friendly advances were singularly welcome to Gale, but he
was still backward. He allowed himself to show that he was glad to see
them, and he listened. Jim Lash had heard from Belding the result of
the mauling given to Rojas by Dick. And Jim talked about what a grand
thing that was. Ladd had a good deal to say about Belding's horses.
It took no keen judge of human nature to see that horses constituted
Ladd's ruling passion.
"I've had wimmen go back on me, but never no hoss!" declared Ladd, and
manifestly that was a controlling truth with him.
"Shore it's a cinch Beldin' is agoin' to lose some of them hosses," he
said. "You can search me if I don't think there'll be more doin' on
the border here than along the Rio Grande. We're just the same as on
Greaser soil. Mebbe we don't stand no such chance of bein' shot up as
we would across the line. But who's goin' to give up his hosses
without a fight? Half the time when Beldin's stock is out of the
alfalfa it's grazin' over the line. He thinks he's careful about them
hosses, but he ain't."
"Look a-here, Laddy; you cain't believe all you hear," replied Jim,
seriously. "I reckon we mightn't have any trouble."
"Back up, Jim. Shore you're standin' on your bridle. I ain't goin'
much on reports. Remember that American we met in Casita, the
prospector who'd just gotten out of Sonora? He had some story, he had.
Swore he'd killed seventeen Greasers breakin' through the rebel line
round the mine where he an' other Americans were corralled. The next
day when I met him again, he was drunk, an' then he told me he'd shot
thirty Greasers. The chances are he did kill some. But reports are
exaggerated. There are miners fightin' for life down in Sonora, you
can gamble on that. An' the truth is bad enough. Take Rojas's
harryin' of the Senorita, for instance. Can you beat that? Shore,
Jim, there's more doin' than the raidin' of a few hosses. An' Forlorn
River is goin' to get hers!"
Another dawn found Gale so much recovered that he arose and looked
after himself, not, however, without considerable difficulty and rather
disheartening twinges of pain.
Some time during the morning he heard the girls in the patio and called
to ask if he might join them. He received one response, a mellow, "Si,
Senor." It was not as much as he wanted, but considering that it was
enough, he went out. He had not as yet visited the patio, and surprise
and delight were in store for him. He found himself lost in a
labyrinth of green and rose-bordered walks. He strolled around,
discovering that the patio was a courtyard, open at an end; but he
failed to discover the young ladies. So he called again. The answer
came from the center of the square. After stooping to get under shrubs
and wading through bushes he entered an open sandy circle, full of
magnificent and murderous cactus plants, strange to him. On the other
side, in the shade of a beautiful tree, he found the girls. Mercedes
sitting in a hammock, Nell upon a blanket.
"What a beautiful tree!" he exclaimed. "I never saw one like that.
What is it?"
"Palo verde," replied Nell.
"Senor, palo verde means 'green tree,'" added Mercedes.
This desert tree, which had struck Dick as so new and strange and
beautiful, was not striking on account of size, for it was small,
scarcely reaching higher than the roof; but rather because of its
exquisite color of green, trunk and branch alike, and owing to the odd
fact that it seemed not to possess leaves. All the tree from ground to
tiny flat twigs was a soft polished green. It bore no thorns.
Right then and there began Dick's education in desert growths; and he
felt that even if he had not had such charming teachers he would still
have been absorbed. For the patio was full of desert wonders. A
twisting-trunked tree with full foliage of small gray leaves Nell
called a mesquite. Then Dick remembered the name, and now he saw where
the desert got its pale-gray color. A huge, lofty, fluted column of
green was a saguaro, or giant cactus. Another oddshaped cactus,
resembling the legs of an inverted devil-fish, bore the name ocatillo.
Each branch rose high and symmetrical, furnished with sharp blades that
seemed to be at once leaves and thorns. Yet another cactus interested
Gale, and it looked like a huge, low barrel covered with green-ribbed
cloth and long thorns. This was the bisnaga, or barrel cactus.
According to Nell and Mercedes, this plant was a happy exception to its
desert neighbors, for it secreted water which had many times saved the
lives of men. Last of the cacti to attract Gale, and the one to make
him shiver, was a low plant, consisting of stem and many rounded
protuberances of a frosty, steely white, and covered with long
murderous spikes. From this plant the desert got its frosty glitter.
It was as stiff, as unyielding as steel, and bore the name choya.
Dick's enthusiasm was contagious, and his earnest desire to learn was
flattering to his teachers. When it came to assimilating Spanish,
however, he did not appear to be so apt a pupil. He managed, after
many trials, to acquire "buenos dias" and "buenos tardes," and
"senorita" and "gracias," and a few other short terms. Dick was indeed
eager to get a little smattering of Spanish, and perhaps he was not
really quite so stupid as he pretended to be. It was delightful to be
taught by a beautiful Spaniard who was so gracious and intense and
magnetic of personality, and by a sweet American girl who moment by
moment forgot her shyness. Gale wished to prolong the lessons.
So that was the beginning of many afternoons in which he learned desert
lore and Spanish verbs, and something else that he dared not name.
Nell Burton had never shown to Gale that daring side of her character
which had been so suggestively defined in Belding's terse description
and Ladd's encomiums, and in her own audacious speech and merry laugh
and flashing eye of that never-to-be-forgotten first meeting. She
might have been an entirely different girl. But Gale remembered; and
when the ice had been somewhat broken between them, he was always
trying to surprise her into her real self. There were moments that
fairly made him tingle with expectation. Yet he saw little more than a
ghost of her vivacity, and never a gleam of that individuality which
Belding had called a devil. On the few occasions that Dick had been
left alone with her in the patio Nell had grown suddenly unresponsive
and restrained, or she had left him on some transparent pretext. On the
last occasion Mercedes returned to find Dick staring disconsolately at
the rose-bordered path, where Nell had evidently vanished. The Spanish
girl was wonderful in her divination.
"Senor Dick!" she cried.
Dick looked at her, soberly nodded his head, and then he laughed.
Mercedes had seen through him in one swift glance. Her white hand
touched his in wordless sympathy and thrilled him. This Spanish girl
was all fire and passion and love. She understood him, she was his
friend, she pledged him what he felt would be the most subtle and
powerful influence.
Little by little he learned details of Nell's varied life. She had
lived in many places. As a child she remembered moving from town to
town, of going to school among schoolmates whom she never had time to
know. Lawrence, Kansas, where she studied for several years, was the
later exception to this changeful nature of her schooling. Then she
moved to Stillwater, Oklahoma, from there to Austin, Texas, and on to
Waco, where her mother met and married Belding. They lived in New
Mexico awhile, in Tucson, Arizona, in Douglas, and finally had come to
lonely Forlorn River.
"Mother could never live in one place any length of time," said Nell.
"And since we've been in the Southwest she has never ceased trying to
find some trace of her father. He was last heard of in Nogales
fourteen years ago. She thinks grandfather was lost in the Sonora
Desert.... And every place we go is worse. Oh, I love the desert. But
I'd like to go back to Lawrence--or to see Chicago or New York--some of
the places Mr. Gale speaks of.... I remember the college at Lawrence,
though I was only twelve. I saw races--and once real football. Since
then I've read magazines and papers about big football games, and I was
always fascinated .... Mr. Gale, of course, you've seen games?
"Yes, a few," replied Dick; and he laughed a little. It was on his
lips then to tell her about some of the famous games in which he had
participated. But he refrained from exploiting himself. There was
little, however, of the color and sound and cheer, of the violent
action and rush and battle incidental to a big college football game
that he did not succeed in making Mercedes and Nell feel just as if
they had been there. They hung breathless and wide-eyed upon his words.
Some one else was present at the latter part of Dick's narrative. The
moment he became aware of Mrs. Belding's presence he remembered
fancying he had heard her call, and now he was certain she had done so.
Mercedes and Nell, however, had been and still were oblivious to
everything except Dick's recital. He saw Mrs. Belding cast a strange,
intent glance upon Nell, then turn and go silently through the patio.
Dick concluded his talk, but the brilliant beginning was not sustained.
Dick was haunted by the strange expression he had caught on Mrs.
Belding's face, especially the look in her eyes. It had been one of
repressed pain liberated in a flash of certainty. The mother had seen
just as quickly as Mercedes how far he had gone on the road of love.
Perhaps she had seen more--even more than he dared hope. The incident
roused Gale. He could not understand Mrs. Belding, nor why that look
of hers, that seeming baffled, hopeless look of a woman who saw the
inevitable forces of life and could not thwart them, should cause him
perplexity and distress. He wanted to go to her and tell her how he
felt about Nell, but fear of absolute destruction of his hopes held him
back. He would wait. Nevertheless, an instinct that was perhaps akin
to self-preservation prompted him to want to let Nell know the state of
his mind. Words crowded his brain seeking utterance. Who and what he
was, how he loved her, the work he expected to take up soon, his
longings, hopes, and plans--there was all this and more. But something
checked him. And the repression made him so thoughtful and quiet, even
melancholy, that he went outdoors to try to throw off the mood. The sun
was yet high, and a dazzling white light enveloped valleys and peaks.
He felt that the wonderful sunshine was the dominant feature of that
arid region. It was like white gold. It had burned its color in a
face he knew. It was going to warm his blood and brown his skin. A
hot, languid breeze, so dry that he felt his lips shrink with its
contact, came from the desert; and it seemed to smell of wide-open,
untainted places where sand blew and strange, pungent plants gave a
bitter-sweet tang to the air.
When he returned to the house, some hours later, his room had been put
in order. In the middle of the white coverlet on his table lay a fresh
red rose. Nell had dropped it there. Dick picked it up, feeling a
throb in his breast. It was a bud just beginning to open, to show
between its petals a dark-red, unfolding heart. How fragrant it was,
how exquisitely delicate, how beautiful its inner hue of red, deep and
dark, the crimson of life blood!
Had Nell left it there by accident or by intent? Was it merely
kindness or a girl's subtlety? Was it a message couched elusively, a
symbol, a hope in a half-blown desert rose?