guest should wake, he replenished the fire, set the rabbits to roasting
on a curious little device of his own, and lay down on the opposite side
of the fire. He was weary beyond expression himself, but he never
thought of it once. The excitement of the occasion kept him up. He lay
still marvelling at the strangeness of his position, and wondering what
would be revealed when the girl should wake. He almost dreaded to have
her do so lest she should not be as perfect as she looked asleep. His
heart was in a tumult of wonder over her, and of thankfulness that he
had found her before some terrible fate had overtaken her.
As he lay there resting, filled with an exalted joy, his mind wandered
to the longings of the day before, the little adobe home of his
co-labourer which he had left, its homeyness and joy; his own loneliness
and longing for companionship. Then he looked shyly towards the tree
shade where the glint of golden hair and the dark line of his blanket
were all he could see of the girl he had found in the wilderness. What
if his Father had answered his prayer and sent her to him! What miracle
of joy! A thrill of tenderness passed through him and he pressed his
hands over his closed eyes in a kind of ecstasy.
What foolishness! Dreams, of course! He tried to sober himself but he
could not keep from thinking how it would seem to have this lovely girl
enthroned in his little shack, ready to share his joys and comfort his
sorrows; to be beloved and guarded and tenderly cared for by him.
A stir of the old blanket and a softly drawn sigh brought this delicious
reverie to a close, and himself to his feet flushing cold and hot at
thought of facing her awake.
She had turned over towards him slightly, her cheeks flushed with sleep.
One hand was thrown back over her head, and the sun caught and flashed
the sparkle of jewels into his eyes, great glory-clear gems like drops
of morning dew when the sun is new upon them, and the flash of the
jewels told him once more what he had known before, that here was a
daughter of another world than his. They seemed to hurt him as he
looked, those costly gems, for they pierced to his heart and told him
they were set on a wall of separation which might rise forever between
her and himself.
Then suddenly he came to himself and was the missionary again, with his
senses all on the alert, and a keen realization that it was high noon
and his patient was waking up. He must have slept himself although he
thought he had been broad awake all the time. The hour had come for
action and he must put aside the foolish thoughts that had crowded in
when his weary brain was unable to cope with the cool facts of life. Of
course all this was stuff and nonsense that he had been dreaming. He
must do his duty by this needy one now.
Stepping softly he brought a cup of water that he had placed in the
shade to keep cool, and stood beside the girl, speaking quietly, as
though he had been her nurse for years.
"Wouldn't you like a drink of water?" he asked.
The girl opened her eyes and looked up at him bewildered.
"Oh, yes," she said eagerly, though her voice was very weak. "Oh,
yes,--I'm so thirsty.--I thought we never would get anywhere!"
She let him lift her head, and drank eagerly, then sank back exhausted
and closed her eyes. He almost thought she was going to sleep again.
"Wouldn't you like something to eat?" he asked. "Dinner is almost ready.
Do you think you can sit up to eat or would you rather lie still?"
"Dinner!" she said languidly; "but I thought it was night. Did I dream
it all, and how did I get here? I don't remember this place."
She looked around curiously and then closed her eyes as if the effort
were almost too much.
"Oh, I feel so queer and tired, as if I never wanted to move again," she
murmured.
"Don't move," he commanded. "Wait until you've had something to eat.
I'll bring it at once."
He brought a cup of steaming hot beef extract with little broken bits of
biscuit from a small tin box in the pack, and fed it to her a spoonful
at a time.
"Who are you?" she asked as she swallowed the last spoonful, and opened
her eyes, which had been closed most of the time, while he fed her, as
if she were too tired to keep them open.
"Oh, I'm just the missionary. Brownleigh's my name. Now don't talk until
you've had the rest of your dinner. I'll bring it in a minute. I want to
make you a cup of tea, but you see I have to wash this cup first. The
supply of dishes is limited." His genial smile and hearty words
reassured her and she smiled and submitted.
"A missionary!" she mused and opened her eyes furtively to watch him as
he went about his task. A missionary! She had never seen a missionary
before, to her knowledge. She had fancied them always quite a different
species, plain old maids with hair tightly drawn behind their ears and a
poke bonnet with little white lawn strings.
This was a man, young, strong, engaging, and handsome as a fine piece of
bronze. The brown flannel shirt he wore fitted easily over well knit
muscles and exactly matched the brown of the abundant wavy hair in which
the morning sun was setting glints of gold as he knelt before the fire
and deftly completed his cookery. His soft wide-brimmed felt hat pushed
far back on the head, the corduroy trousers, leather chaps and belt with
brace of pistols all fitted into the picture and made the girl feel that
she had suddenly left the earth where she had heretofore lived and been
dropped into an unknown land with a strong kind angel to look after her.
A missionary! Then of course she needn't be afraid of him. As she
studied his face she knew that she couldn't possibly have been afraid of
that face anyway, unless, perhaps, she had ventured to disobey its
owner's orders. He had a strong, firm chin, and his lips though kindly
in their curve looked decided as though they were not to be trifled
with. On the whole if this was a missionary then she must change her
ideas of missionaries from this time forth.
She watched his light, free movements, now sitting back upon his heels
to hold the cup of boiling water over the blaze by a curiously contrived
handle, now rising and going to the saddle pack for some needed article.
There was something graceful as well as powerful about his every motion.
He gave one a sense of strength and almost infinite resource. Then
suddenly her imagination conjured there beside him the man from whom she
had fled, and in the light of this fine face the other face darkened and
weakened and she had a swift revelation of his true character, and
wondered that she had never known before. A shudder passed over her, and
a gray pallor came into her face at the memory. She felt a great
distaste for thinking or the necessity for even living at that moment.
Then at once he was beside her with a tin plate and the cup of steaming
tea, and began to feed her, as if she had been a baby, roast rabbit and
toasted corn bread. She ate unquestioningly, and drank her tea, finding
all delicious after her long fast, and gaining new strength with every
mouthful.
"How did I get here?" she asked suddenly, rising to one elbow and
looking around. "I don't seem to remember a place like this."
"I found you hanging on a bush in the moonlight," he said gravely, "and
brought you here."
Hazel lay back and reflected on this. He had brought her here. Then he
must have carried her! Well, his arms looked strong enough to lift a
heavier person than herself--but he had brought her here!
A faint colour stole into her pale cheeks.
"Thank you," she said at last. "I suppose I wasn't just able to come
myself." There was a droll little pucker at the corner of her mouth.
"Not exactly," he answered as he gathered up the dishes.
"I remember that crazy little steed of mine began to climb straight up
the side of a terrible wall in the dark, and finally decided to wipe me
off with a tree. That is the last I can recall. I felt myself slipping
and couldn't hold on any longer. Then it all got dark and I let go."
"Where were you going?" asked the young man.
"Going? I wasn't going anywhere," said the girl; "the pony was doing
that. He was running away, I suppose. He ran miles and hours with me and
I couldn't stop him. I lost hold on the bridle, you see, and he had
ideas about what he wanted to do. I was almost frightened to death, and
there wasn't a soul in sight all day. I never saw such an empty place in
my life. It can't be this is still Arizona, we came so far."
"When did you start?" the missionary questioned gravely.
"Why, this morning,--that is--why, it must have been yesterday. I'm sure
I don't know when. It was Wednesday morning about eleven o'clock that we
left the car on horseback to visit a mine papa had heard about. It seems
about a year since we started."
"How many were in your party?" asked the young man.
"Just papa and my brother, and Mr. Hamar, a friend of my father's,"
answered the girl, her cheeks reddening at the memory of the name.
"But was there no guide, no native with you at all?" There was anxiety
in the young man's tone. He had visions of other lost people who would
have to be looked after.
"Oh, yes, there was the man my father had written to, who brought the
horses, and two or three men with him, some of them Indians, I think.
His name was Bunce, Mr. Bunce. He was a queer man with a lot of wild
looking hair."
"Shag Bunce," said the missionary thoughtfully. "But if Shag was along I
cannot understand how you came to get so widely separated from your
party. He rides the fastest horse in this region. No pony of his outfit,
be he ever so fleet, could get far ahead of Shag Bunce. He would have
caught you within a few minutes. What happened? Was there an accident?"
He looked at her keenly, feeling sure there was some mystery behind her
wanderings that he ought to unravel for the sake of the girl and her
friends. Hazel's cheeks grew rosy.
"Why, nothing really happened," she said evasively. "Mr. Bunce was ahead
with my father. In fact he was out of sight when my pony started to run.
I was riding with Mr. Hamar, and as we didn't care anything about the
mine we didn't hurry. Before we realized it the others were far ahead
over a hill or something, I forget what was ahead, only they couldn't be
seen. Then we--I--that is--well, I must have touched my pony pretty hard
with my whip and he wheeled and started to run. I'm not sure but I
touched Mr. Hamar's horse, too, and he was behaving badly. I really
hadn't time to see. I don't know what became of Mr. Hamar. He isn't much
of a horseman. I don't believe he had ever ridden before. He may have
had some trouble with his horse. Anyway before I knew it I was out of
sight of everything but wide empty stretches with mountains and clouds
at the end everywhere, and going on and on and not getting any nearer to
any thing."
"This Mr. Hamar must have been a fool not to have given an alarm to your
friends at once if he could do nothing himself," said Brownleigh
sternly. "I cannot understand how it could happen that no one found you
sooner. It was the merest chance that I came upon your whip and other
little things and so grew anxious lest some one was lost. It is very
strange that no one found you before this. Your father will have been
very anxious."
Hazel sat up with flaming cheeks and began to gather her hair in a knot.
A sudden realization of her position had come upon her and given her
strength.
"Well, you see," she stumbled, trying to explain without telling
anything, "Mr. Hamar might have thought I had gone back to the car, or
he might have thought I would turn back in a few minutes. I do not think
he would have wanted to follow me just then. I was--angry with him!"
The young missionary looked at the beautiful girl sitting upright on the
canvas he had spread for her bed, trying vainly to reduce her bright
hair to something like order, her cheeks glowing, her eyes shining now,
half with anger, half with embarrassment, and for a second he pitied the
one who had incurred her wrath. A strange unreasoning anger towards the
unknown man took possession of him, and his face grew tender as he
watched the girl.
"That was no excuse for letting you go alone into the perils of the
desert," he said severely. "He could not have known. It was impossible
that he could have understood or he would have risked his life to save
you from what you have been through. No man could do otherwise!"
Hazel looked up, surprised at the vehemence of the words, and again the
contrast between the two men struck her forcibly.
"I am afraid," she murmured looking off towards the distant mountains
thoughtfully, "that he isn't much of a man."
And somehow the young missionary was relieved to hear her say so. There
was a moment's embarrassed silence and then Brownleigh began to search
in his pocket, as he saw the golden coil of hair beginning to slip loose
from its knot again.
"Will these help you any?" he asked handing out the comb and hairpins he
had found, a sudden awkwardness coming upon him.
"Oh, my own comb!" she exclaimed. "And hairpins! Where did you find
them? Indeed they will help," and she seized upon them eagerly.
He turned away embarrassed, marvelling at the touch of her fingers as
she took the bits of shell from his hand. No woman's hand like that had
touched his own, even in greeting, since he bade good-bye to his invalid
mother and came out to these wilds to do his work. It thrilled him to
the very soul and he was minded of the sweet awe that had come upon him
in his own cabin as he looked upon the little articles of woman's toilet
lying upon his table as if they were at home. He could not understand
his own mood. It seemed like weakness. He turned aside and frowned at
himself for his foolish sentimentality towards a stranger whom he had
found upon the desert. He laid it to the weariness of the long journey
and the sleepless night.
"I found them in the sand. They showed me the way to find you," he said,
trying vainly to speak in a commonplace tone. But somehow his voice
seemed to take on a deep significance. He looked at her shyly, half
fearing she must feel it, and then murmuring something about looking
after the horses he hurried away.
When he came back she had mastered the rebellious hair, and it lay
shining and beautiful, braided and coiled about her shapely head. She
was standing now, having shaken down and smoothed out the rumpled riding
habit, and had made herself look quite fresh and lovely in spite of the
limited toilet conveniences.
He caught his breath as he saw her. The two regarded one another
intensely for just an instant, each startlingly conscious of the other's
personality, as men and women will sometimes get a glimpse beyond mere
body and sight the soul. Each was aware of a thrilling pleasure in the
presence of the other. It was something new and wonderful that could not
be expressed nor even put into thoughts as yet but something none the
less real that flashed along their consciousness like the song of the
native bird, the scent of the violet, the breath of the morning.
The instant of soul recognition passed and then each recovered
self-possession, but it was the woman who spoke first.
"I feel very much more respectable," she laughed pleasantly. "Where is
my vicious little horse? Isn't it time we were getting back?"
Then a cloud of anxiety came over the brightness of the man's face.
"That is what I was coming to tell you," he said in a troubled tone.
"The wicked little beast has eaten off his hobble and fled. There isn't
a sight of him to be seen far or wide. He must have cleared out while we
were at dinner, for he was munching grass peaceably enough before you
woke up. It was careless of me not to make him more secure. The hobble
was an old one and worn, but the best I had. I came back to tell you
that I must ride after him at once. You won't be afraid to stay alone
for a little while, will you? My horse has had a rest. I think I ought
to be able to catch him."
V
THE TRAIL
But the look of horror in the eyes of the girl stopped him.
She gave a quick frightened glance around and then her eyes besought
him. All the terror of the night alone in the wideness returned upon
her. She heard again the howl of the coyotes, and saw the long dark
shadows in the canyon. She was white to the lips with the thought of it.
"Oh, don't leave me alone!" she said trying to speak bravely. "I don't
feel as if I could stand it. There are wild beasts around"--she glanced
furtively behind her as if even now one was slyly tracking her--"it was
awful--awful! Their howls! And it is so alone here!--I never was alone
before!"
There was that in her appealing helplessness that gave him a wild desire
to stoop and fold her in his arms and tell her he would never leave her
while she wanted him. The colour came and went in his fine bronzed face,
and his eyes grew tender with feeling.
"I won't leave you," he said gently, "not if you feel that way, though
there is really no danger here in daytime. The wild creatures are very
shy and only show themselves at night. But if I do not find your horse
how are you to get speedily back to your friends? It is a long distance
you have come, and you could not ride alone."
Her face grew troubled.
"Couldn't I walk?" she suggested. "I'm a good walker. I've walked five
miles at once many a time."
"We are at least forty miles from the railroad," he smiled back at her,
"and the road is rough, over a mountain by the nearest way. Your horse
must have been determined indeed to take you so far in one day. He is
evidently a new purchase of Shag's and bent on returning to his native
heath. Horses do that sometimes. It is their instinct. I'll tell you
what I'll do. It may be that he has only gone down in the valley to the
water-hole. There is one not far away, I think. I'll go to the edge of
the mesa and get a view. If he is not far away you can come with me
after him. Just sit here and watch me. I'll not go out of your sight or
hearing, and I'll not be gone five minutes. You'll not be afraid?"
She sat down obediently where he bade her, her eyes large with fear, for
she dreaded the loneliness of the desert more than any fear that had
ever visited her before.
"I promise I'll not go beyond your sight and call," he reassured her and
with a smile turned towards his own horse, and swinging himself into the
saddle galloped rapidly away to the edge of the mesa.
She watched him riding away, her fears almost forgotten in her
admiration of him, her heart beating strangely with the memory of his
smile. The protection of it seemed to linger behind him, and quiet her
anxiety.
He rode straight to the east, and then more slowly turned and skirted
the horizon, riding north along the edge of the mesa. She saw him shade
his eyes with his hand and look away in all directions. At last after a
prolonged gaze straight north he wheeled his horse and came quickly back
to her.
His face was grave as he dismounted.
"I've sighted him," he said, "but it's no use. He has three or four
miles start, and a steep hill climbed. When he reaches the top of the
next mesa he has a straight course before him, and probably down-hill
after that. It might take me three or four hours to catch him and it's a
question if I could do it then. We'll have to dismiss him from our
arrangements and get along with Billy. Do you feel equal to riding now?
Or ought you to rest again?"
"Oh, I can ride, but--I cannot take your horse. What will you do?"
"I shall do nicely," he answered smiling again; "only our progress will
be slower than if we had both horses. What a pity that I had not taken
off his saddle! It would have been more comfortable for you than this.
But I was searching so anxiously for the rider that I took little heed
to the horse except to hastily hobble him. And when I found you you
needed all my attention. Now I advise you to lie down and rest until I
get packed up. It won't take me long."
She curled down obediently to rest until he was ready to fold up the
canvas on which she lay, and watched his easy movements as he put
together the few articles of the pack, and arranged the saddle for her
comfort. Then he strode over to her.
"With your permission," he said and stooping picked her up lightly in
his arms and placed her on the horse.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "but you are not equal to the exertion of
mounting in the ordinary way. You will need every bit of strength for
the ride. You are weaker than you realize."
Her laugh rippled out faintly.
"You make me feel like an insignificant baby. I didn't know what was
happening until you had me here. You must have the strength of a giant.
I never felt so little before."
"You are not a heavy burden," he said smiling. "Now are you quite
comfortable? If so we'll start."
Billy arched his neck and turned his head proudly to survey his new
rider, a look of friendliness on his bay face and in his kindly eye.
"Oh, isn't he a beauty!" exclaimed the girl reaching out a timid hand to
pat his neck. The horse bowed and almost seemed to smile. Brownleigh
noticed the gleam of a splendid jewel on the little hand.
"Billy is my good friend and constant companion," said the missionary.
"We've faced some long, hard days together. He is wanting me to tell you
now that he is proud to carry you back to your friends."
Billy bowed up and down and smiled again, and Hazel laughed out with
pleasure. Then her face grew sober again.
"But you will have to walk," she said. "I cannot take your horse and
let you walk. I won't do that. I'm going to walk with you."
"And use up what strength you have so that you could not even ride?" he
said pleasantly. "No, I couldn't allow that, you know, and I am pleased
to walk with a companion. A missionary's life is pretty lonesome
sometimes, you know. Come, Billy, we must be starting, for we want to
make a good ten miles before we stop to rest if our guest can stand the
journey."
With stately steppings as if he knew he bore a princess Billy started;
and with long, easy strides Brownleigh walked by his side, ever watchful
of the way, and furtively observing the face of the girl, whose strength
he well knew must be extremely limited after her ride of the day before.
Out on the top of the mesa looking off towards the great mountains and
the wide expanse of seemingly infinite shades and colourings Hazel drew
her breath in wonder at the beauty of the scene. Her companion called
her attention to this and that point of interest. The slender dark line
across the plain was mesquite. He told her how when once they had
entered it it would seem to spread out vastly as though it filled the
whole valley, and that then looking back the grassy slope below them
would seem to be an insignificant streak of yellow. He told her it was
always so in this land, that the kind of landscape through which one was
passing filled the whole view and seemed the only thing in life. He said
he supposed it was so in all our lives, that the immediate present
filled the whole view of the future until we came to something else; and
the look in his eyes made her turn from the landscape and wonder about
him and his life.
Then he stooped and pointed to a clump of soapweed, and idly broke off a
bit of another bush, handing it to her.
"The Indians call it 'the weed that was not scared,'" he said. "Isn't it
an odd suggestive name?"
"It must be a brave little weed indeed to live out here all alone under
this terribly big sky. I wouldn't like it even if I were only a weed,"
and she looked around and shivered with the thought of her fearful ride
alone in the night. But she tucked the little spray of brave green into
the buttonhole of her riding habit and it looked of prouder lineage than
any weed as it rested against the handsome darkness of the rich green
cloth. For an instant the missionary studied the picture of the lovely
girl on the horse and forgot that he was only a missionary. Then with a
start he came to himself. They must be getting on, for the sun had
already passed its zenith, and the way was long before them. His eyes
lingered wistfully on the gleam of her hair where the sun touched it
into burnished gold. Then he remembered.
"By the way, is this yours?" he asked, and brought out of his pocket the
little velvet cap.
"Oh, where did you find it?" she cried, settling it on her head like a
touch of velvet in a crown. "I dropped it in front of a tiny little
cabin when my last hope vanished. I called and called but the wind threw
my voice back into my throat and no one came out to answer me."
"It was my house," he said. "I found it on a sage-bush a few feet from
my own door. Would that I had been at home to answer your call!"
"Your house!" she exclaimed, in wonder. "Oh, why, it couldn't have been.
It wasn't big enough for anybody--not anybody like you--to live in. Why,
it wasn't anything more than a--a shed,--just a little board shanty."