slipped to the ground. Her cramped feet refused to hold her weight for
the moment and she tottered and went into a little heap on the ground.
The pony, feeling his duty for the present done, sidled away from her
and began cropping the grass hungrily.
The girl sank down wearily at full length upon the ground and for a
moment it seemed to her she could never rise again. She was too weary to
lift her hand or to move the foot that was twisted under her into a more
comfortable position, too weary to even think. Then suddenly the sound
of the animal moving steadily away from her roused her to the necessity
of securing him. If he should get away in this wide desolation she would
be helpless indeed.
She gathered her flagging energy and got painfully upon her feet. The
horse was nearly a rod away, and moving slowly, steadily, as he ate,
with now and then a restless lifting of his head to look off into the
distance and take a few determined steps before he stopped for another
bite. That horse had something on his mind and was going straight
towards it. She felt that he cared little what became of her. She must
look out for herself. This was something she had never had to do before;
but the instinct came with the need.
Slowly, tremblingly, feeling her weakness, she stole towards him, a
bunch of grass in her hand she had plucked as she came, holding it
obviously as she had fed a lump of sugar or an apple to her finely
groomed mare in New York. But the grass she held was like all the grass
about him, and the pony had not been raised a pet. He tossed his nose
energetically and scornfully as she drew near and hastened on a pace or
two.
Cautiously she came on again talking to him gently, pleadingly,
complimentarily: "Nice good horsey! Pretty pony so he was!" But he only
edged away again.
And so they went on for some little way until Hazel almost despaired of
catching him at all, and was becoming more and more aware of the
vastness of the universe about her, and the smallness of her own being.
At last, however, her fingers touched the bridle, she felt the pony's
quick jerk, strained every muscle to hold on, and found she had
conquered. He was in her hands. For how long was a question, for he was
strong enough to walk away and drag her by the bridle perhaps, and she
knew little about tricks of management. Moreover her muscles were so
flabby and sore with the long ride that she was ill-fitted to cope with
the wise and wicked little beast. She dreaded to get upon his back
again, and doubted if she could if she tried, but it seemed the only way
to get anywhere, or to keep company with the pony, for she could not
hope to detain him by mere physical force if he decided otherwise.
She stood beside him for a moment, looking about her over the wide
distance. Everything looked alike, and different from anything she had
ever seen before. She must certainly get on that pony's back, for her
fear of the desert became constantly greater. It was almost as if it
would snatch her away in a moment more if she stayed there longer, and
carry her into vaster realms of space where her soul would be lost in
infinitude. She had never been possessed by any such feeling before and
it frightened her unreasoningly.
Turning to the pony, she measured the space from the ground to the queer
saddle and wondered how people mounted such things without a groom. When
she had mounted that morning it had been Milton Hamar's strong arm that
swung her into the saddle, and his hand that held her foot for the
instant of her spring. The memory of it now sent a shudder of dislike
over her whole body. If she had known, he never should have touched
her! The blood mounted uncomfortably into her tired face, and made her
conscious of the heat of the day, and of a burning thirst. She must go
on and get to some water somewhere. She could not stand this much
longer.
Carefully securing the bridle over her arm she reached up and took hold
of the saddle, doubtfully at first, and then desperately; tried to reach
the stirrup with one foot, failed and tried again; and then wildly
struggling, jumping, kicking, she vainly sought to climb back to the
saddle. But the pony was not accustomed to such a demonstration at
mounting and he strongly objected. Tossing his head he reared and dashed
off, almost throwing the girl to the ground and frightening her
terribly.
Nevertheless the desperation of her situation gave her strength for a
fresh trial, and she struggled up again, and almost gained her seat,
when the pony began a series of circles which threw her down and made
her dizzy with trying to keep up with him.
Thus they played the desperate game for half an hour more. Twice the
girl lost the bridle and had to get it again by stealthy wiles, and once
she was almost on the point of giving up, so utterly exhausted was she.
But the pony was thirsty too, and he must have decided that the quickest
way to water would be to let her mount; for finally with lifted head he
stood stock still and let her struggle up his side; and at last,
well-nigh falling from sheer weariness, she sat astonished that she had
accomplished it. She was on his back, and she would never dare to get
down again, she thought, until she got somewhere to safety. But now the
animal, his courage renewed by the bite he had taken, started snorting
off at a rapid pace once more, very nearly upsetting his rider at the
start, and almost losing her the bridle once more. She sat trembling,
and gripping bridle and saddle for some time, having enough to do to
keep her seat without trying to direct her bearer, and then she saw
before her a sudden descent, steep but not very long, and at its bottom
a great puddle of dirty water. The pony paused only an instant on the
brink and then began the descent. The girl cried out with fear, but
managed to keep her seat, and the impatient animal was soon ankle deep
in the water drinking long and blissfully.
Hazel sat looking in dismay about her. The water-hole seemed to be
entirely surrounded by steep banks like that they had descended, and
there was no way out except to return. Could the horse climb up with her
on his back? And could she keep her seat? She grew cold with fear at the
thought, for all her riding experience had been on the level, and she
had become more and more conscious of her flagging strength.
Besides, the growing thirst was becoming awful. Oh, for just one drop of
that water that the pony was enjoying! Black and dirty as it was she
felt she could drink it. But it was out of her reach and she dared not
get down. Suddenly a thought came to her. She would wet her handkerchief
and moisten her lips with that. If she stooped over quite carefully she
might be able to let it down far enough to touch the water.
She pulled the small bit of linen from the tiny pocket of her habit and
the pony, as if to help her, waded into the water farther until her
skirt almost touched it. Now she found that by putting her arm about the
pony's neck she could dip most of her handkerchief in the water, and
dirty as it was it was most refreshing to bathe her face and hands and
wrists and moisten her lips.
But the pony when he had his fill had no mind to tarry, and with a
splash, a plunge and a wallow that gave the girl an unexpected shower
bath, he picked his way out of the hole and up the rocky side of the
descent, while she clung frightened to the saddle and wondered if she
could possibly hang on until they were up on the mesa again. The dainty
handkerchief dropped in the flight floated pitifully on the muddy water,
another bit of comfort left behind.
But when they were up and away again, what with the fright, and the fact
that they had come out of the hole on the opposite side from that which
they had entered it, the girl had lost all sense of direction, and
everywhere stretched away one vast emptiness edged with mountains that
stood out clear, cold and unfriendly.
The whole atmosphere of the earth seemed to have changed while they were
down at the drinking hole, for now the shadows were long and had almost
a menacing attitude as they crept along or leaped sideways after the
travellers. Hazel noticed with a startled glance at the sky that the sun
was low and would soon be down. And that of course where the sun hung
like a great burning opal must be the west, but that told her nothing,
for the sun had been high in the heavens when they had started, and she
had taken no note of direction. East, west, north or south were all one
to her in her happy care-free life that she had hitherto led. She tried
to puzzle it out and remember which way they had turned from the
railroad but grew more bewildered, and the brilliant display in the west
flamed alarmingly as she realized that night was coming on and she was
lost on a great desert with only a wild tired little pony for company,
hungry and thirsty and weary beyond anything she had ever dreamed
before.
They had been going down into a broad valley for some little time, which
made the night seem even nearer. Hazel would have turned her horse back
and tried to retrace her steps, but that he would not, for try as she
might, and turn him as she would he circled about and soon was in the
same course again, so that now the tired hands could only hold the reins
stiffly and submit to be carried where the pony willed. It was quite
evident he had a destination in view, and knew the way thereto. Hazel
had read of the instinct of animals. She began to hope that he would
presently bring her to a human habitation where she would find help to
get to her father once more.
But suddenly even the glory of the dying sun was lost as the horse
entered the dimness of the canyon opening, whose high walls of red
stone, rising solemnly on either hand, were serrated here and there with
long transverse lines of grasses and tree-ferns growing in the crevices,
and higher up appeared the black openings of caves mysterious and
fearsome in the twilight gloom. The way ahead loomed darkly. Somewhere
from out the memories of her childhood came a phrase from the
church-service to which she had never given conscious attention, but
which flashed vividly to mind now: "Though I walk through the valley of
the shadow--the Valley of the Shadow!" Surely this must be it. She
wished she could remember the rest of it. What could it have meant? She
shivered visibly, and looked about her with wild eyes.
The cottonwoods and oaks grew thickly at the base of the cliffs, almost
concealing them sometimes, and above the walls rose dark and towering.
The way was rough and slippery, filled with great boulders and rocks,
around which the pony picked his way without regard to the branches of
trees that swept her face and caught in her long hair as they went by.
Vainly she strove to guide him back, but he turned only to whirl again,
determinedly. Somewhere in the deep gloom ahead he had a destination
and no mere girl was to deter him from reaching it as soon as possible.
It was plain to his horse-mind that his rider did not know what she
wanted, and he did, so there were no two ways about it. He intended to
go back to his old master as straight and as fast as he could get there.
This canyon was the shortest cut and through this canyon he meant to
walk whether she liked it or not.
Further and further into the gloom they penetrated, and the girl,
frenzied with fear, cried out with the wild hope that some one might be
near and come to her rescue. But the gloomy aisle of the canyon caught
up her voice and echoed it far and high, until it came back to her in a
volume of sepulchral sound that filled her with a nameless dread and
made her fear to open her lips again. It was as if she had by her cry
awakened the evil spirit who inhabited the canyon and set it searching
for the intruder. "Help! Help!" How the words rolled and returned upon
her trembling senses until she quaked and quivered with their echoes!
On went the pony into the deepening shadows, and each moment the
darkness shut down more impenetrably, until the girl could only close
her eyes, lower her head as much as possible to escape the branches--and
pray.
Then suddenly, from above where the distant sky gave a line of light and
a single star had appeared to pierce the dusk like a great jewel on a
lady's gown, there arose a sound; blood-curdling and hideous, high,
hollow, far-echoing, chilling her soul with horror and causing her heart
to stand still with fear. She had heard it once before, a night or two
ago, when their train had stopped in a wide desert for water or repairs
or something and the porter of the car had told her it was coyotes. It
had been distant then, and weird and interesting to think of being so
near real live wild animals. She had peered from the safety of her berth
behind the silken curtains and fancied she saw shadowy forms steal over
the plain under the moonlight. But it was a very different thing to hear
the sound now, out alone among their haunts, with no weapon and none to
protect her. The awfulness of her situation almost took away her senses.
Still she held to the saddle, weak and trembling, expecting every minute
to be her last; and the horrid howling of the coyotes continued.
Down below the trail somewhere she could hear the soft trickling of
water with maddening distinctness now and then. Oh, if she could but
quench this terrible thirst! The pony was somewhat refreshed with his
grass and his drink of water, but the girl, whose life up to this day
had never known a want unsatisfied, was faint with hunger and burning
with thirst, and this unaccustomed demand upon her strength was fast
bringing it to its limit.
The darkness in the canyon grew deeper, and more stars clustered out
overhead; but far, so very far away! The coyotes seemed just a shadow
removed all about and above. Her senses were swimming. She could not be
sure just where they were. The horse slipped and stumbled on in the
darkness, and she forgot to try to turn him from his purpose.
By and by she grew conscious that the way was leading upward again. They
were scrambling over rough places, large rocks in the way, trees growing
close to the trail, and the pony seemed not to be able to avoid them, or
perhaps he didn't care. The howling of the coyotes was growing clearer
every minute but somehow her fear of them was deadened, as her fear of
all else. She was lying low upon the pony, clinging to his neck, too
faint to cry out, too weak to stop the tears that slowly wet his mane.
Then suddenly she was caught in the embrace of a low hanging branch, her
hair tangled about its roughness. The pony struggled to gain his
uncertain footing, the branch held her fast and the pony scrambled on,
leaving his helpless rider behind him in a little huddled heap upon the
rocky trail, swept from the saddle by the tough old branch.
The pony stopped a moment upon a bit of shelving rock he had with
difficulty gained, and looked back with a troubled snort, but the
huddled heap in the darkness below him gave forth no sign of life, and
after another snort and a half neigh of warning the pony turned and
scrambled on, up and up till he gained the mesa above.
The late moon rose and hunted its way through the canyon till it found
the gold of her hair spread about on the rocky way, and touched her
sweet unconscious face with the light of cold beauty; the coyotes howled
on in solemn chorus, and still the little figure lay quiet and
unconscious of her situation.
IV
THE QUEST
John Brownleigh reached the water-hole at sunset, and while he waited
for his horse to drink he meditated on what he would do next. If he
intended to go to the fort for dinner he should turn at once sharply to
the right and ride hard, unless he was willing to be late. The lady at
the fort liked to have her guests on hand promptly, he knew.
The sun was down. It had left long splashes of crimson and gold in the
west, and their reflection was shimmering over the muddy water below him
so that Billy looked as if he quaffed the richest wine from a golden
cup, as he satisfied his thirst contentedly.
But as the missionary watched the painted water and tried to decide his
course, suddenly his eye caught a bit of white something floating, half
clinging to a twig at the edge of the water, a bit of thin
transparentness, with delicate lacy edge. It startled him in that desert
place much as the jewel in its golden setting in the sand had startled
him that morning.
With an exclamation of surprise he stooped over, picked up the little
wet handkerchief and held it out--dainty, white and fine, and in spite
of its wet condition sending forth its violet breath to the senses of a
man who had been in the wilds of the desert for three years. It spoke of
refinement and culture and a world he had left behind him in the East.
There was a tiny letter embroidered in the corner, but already the light
was growing too dim to read it, and though he held it up and looked
through it and felt the embroidery with his finger-tip he could not be
sure that it was either of the letters that had been engraved on the
whip.
Nevertheless, the little white messenger determined his course. He
searched the edge of the water-hole for hoof prints as well as the dying
light would reveal, then mounted Billy with decision at once and took up
his quest where he had almost abandoned it. He was convinced that a lady
was out alone in the desert somewhere.
It was long past midnight when Billy and the missionary came upon the
pony, high on the mesa, grazing. The animal had evidently felt the need
for food and rest before proceeding further, and was perhaps a little
uneasy about that huddled form in the darkness he had left.
Billy and the pony were soon hobbled and left to feed together while the
missionary, all thought of his own need of rest forgotten, began a
systematic search for the missing rider. He first carefully examined the
pony and saddle. The saddle somehow reminded him of Shag Bunce, but the
pony was a stranger to him; neither could he make out the letter of the
brand in the pale moonlight. However, it might be a new animal, just
purchased and not yet branded--or there might be a thousand
explanations. The thought of Shag Bunce reminded him of the handsome
private car he had seen upon the track that morning. But even if a party
had gone out to ride how would one of them get separated? Surely no lady
would venture over the desert alone, not a stranger at any rate.
Still in the silver and black of the shadowed night he searched on, and
not until the rosy light of dawning began to flush and grow in the east
did he come to stand at the top of the canyon where he could look down
and see the girl, her green riding habit blending darkly with the dark
forms of the trees still in shadow, the gold of her hair glinted with
the early light, and her white, white face turned upward.
He lost no time in climbing down to her side, dreading what he might
find. Was she dead? What had happened to her? It was a perilous spot
where she lay, and the dangers that might have harmed her had been many.
The sky grew pink, and tinted all the clouds with rose as he knelt
beside the still form.
A moment served to convince him that she was still alive; even in the
half darkness he could see the drawn, weary look of her face. Poor
child! Poor little girl, lost on the desert! He was glad, glad he had
come to find her.
He gathered her in his strong arms and bore her upward to the light.
Laying her in a sheltered spot he quickly brought water, bathed her face
and forced a stimulant between the white lips. He chafed her cold little
hands, blistered with the bridle, gave her more stimulant, and was
rewarded by seeing a faint colour steal into the lips and cheeks.
Finally the white lids fluttered open for a second and gave him a
glimpse of great dark eyes in which was still mirrored the horror and
fright of the night.
He gave her another draught, and hastened to prepare a more comfortable
resting place, bringing the canvas from Billy's pack, and one or two
other little articles that might make for comfort, among them a small
hot water bottle. When he had her settled on the canvas with sweet ferns
and grass underneath for a pillow and his own blanket spread over her he
set about gathering wood for a fire, and soon he had water boiling in
his tin cup, enough to fill the rubber bottle. When he put it in her
cold hands she opened her eyes again wonderingly. He smiled reassuringly
and she nestled down contentedly with the comfort of the warmth. She was
too weary to question or know aught save that relief from a terrible
horror was come at last.
The next time he came to her it was with a cup of strong beef tea which
he held to her lips and coaxed her to swallow. When it was finished she
lay back and slept again with a long drawn trembling sigh that was
almost like a sob, and the heart of the young man was shaken to its
depths over the agony through which she must have passed. Poor child,
poor little child!
He busied himself with making their temporary camp as comfortable as
possible, and looking after the needs of the horses, then coming back
to his patient he stood looking down at her as she slept, wondering what
he ought to do next.
They were a long distance from any human habitation. Whatever made the
pony take this lonely trail was a puzzle. It led to a distant Indian
settlement, and doubtless the animal was returning to his former master,
but how had it come that the rider had not turned him back?
Then he looked down at the frail girl asleep on the ground and grew
grave as he thought of the perils through which she had passed alone and
unguarded. The exquisite delicacy of her face touched him as the vision
of an angelic being might have done, and for an instant he forgot
everything in the wonder with which her beauty filled him; the lovely
outline of the profile as it rested lightly against her raised arm, the
fineness and length of her wealth of hair, like spun gold in the glint
of the sunshine that was just peering over the rim of the mountain, the
clearness of her skin, so white and different from the women in that
region, the pitiful droop of the sweet lips showing utter exhaustion.
His heart went out from him with longing to comfort her, guard her, and
bring her back to happiness. A strange, joyful tenderness for her
filled him as he looked, so that he could scarcely draw his gaze from
her face. Then all at once it came over him that she would not like a
stranger thus to stand and gaze upon her helplessness, and with quick
reverence he turned his eyes away towards the sky.
It was a peculiar morning, wonderfully beautiful. The clouds were tinted
pink almost like a sunset and lasted so for over an hour, as if the dawn
were coming gently that it might not waken her who slept.
Brownleigh, with one more glance to see if his patient was comfortable,
went softly away to gather wood, bring more water, and make various
little preparations for a breakfast later when she should waken. In an
hour he tiptoed back to see if all was going well, and stooping laid a
practiced finger on the delicate wrist to note the flutter of her pulse.
He could count it with care, feeble, as if the heart had been under
heavy strain, but still growing steadier on the whole. She was doing
well to sleep. It was better than any medicine he could administer.
Meantime, he must keep a sharp lookout for travellers. They were quite
off the trail here, and the trail was an old one anyway and almost
disused. There was little likelihood of many passers. It might be days
before any one came that way. There was no human habitation within call,
and he dared not leave his charge to go in search of help to carry her
back to civilization again. He must just wait here till she was able to
travel.
It occurred to him to wonder where she belonged and how she came to be
thus alone, and whether it was not altogether probable that a party of
searchers might be out soon with some kind of a conveyance to carry her
home. He must keep a sharp lookout and signal any passing rider.
To this end he moved away from the sleeping girl as far as he dared
leave her, and uttered a long, clear call occasionally, but no answer
came.
He dared not use his rifle for signalling lest he run out of ammunition
which he might need before he got back with his charge. However, he felt
it wise to combine hunting with signalling, and when a rabbit hurried
across his path not far away he shot it, and the sound echoed out in the
clear morning, but no answering signal came.