should see the inside. It's not so bad as it looks. I only wish I could
take you that way, but the fact is it's somewhat out of the way to the
railroad, and we must take the short cut if we want to shorten your
father's anxiety. Do you feel able to go on further now?"
"Oh, yes, quite," she said with sudden trouble in her face. "Papa will
be very much worried, and Aunt Maria--oh, Aunt Maria will be wild with
anxiety. She will tell me that this is just what she expected from my
going out riding in this heathen land. She warned me not to go. She said
it wasn't ladylike."
As they went on gradually she told him all about her people, describing
their little idiosyncrasies; her aunt, her brother, her father, her maid
and even the fat man cook. The young man soon had the picture of the
private car with all its luxuries, and the story of the days of travel
that had been one long fairy tale of pleasure. Only the man Hamar was
not mentioned; but the missionary had not forgotten him. Somehow he had
taken a dislike to him from the first mention of his name. He blamed him
fiercely for not having come after the maiden, yet blessed the fortune
that had given himself that honour.
They were descending into the canyon now, but not by the steep trail up
which the pony had taken her the night before. However it was rough
enough and the descent, though it was into the very heart of nature's
beauty storehouse, yet frightened Hazel. She started at every steep
place, and clutched at the saddle wildly, pressing her white teeth hard
into her under lip until it grew white and tense. Her face was white
also, and a sudden faintness seemed to come upon her. Brownleigh noticed
instantly, and walking close beside the horse, guiding carefully his
every step, he put his free arm about her to steady her, and bade her
lean towards him and not be afraid.
His strength steadied her and gave her confidence; and his pleasant
voice pointing out the beauties of the way helped her to forget her
fright. He made her look up and showed her how the great ferns were
hanging over in a fringe of green at the top of the bare rocks above,
their delicate lacery standing out like green fretwork against the blue
of the sky. He pointed to a cave in the rocks far above, and told her of
the dwellers of old who had hollowed it out for a home; of the stone
axes and jars of clay, the corn mills and sandals woven of yucca that
were found there; and of other curious cave-houses in this part of the
country; giving in answer to her wondering questions much curious
information, the like of which she had never heard before.
Then when they were fairly down in the shadows of the canyon he brought
her a cooling draught of spring water in the tin cup, and lifting her
unexpectedly from the horse made her sit in a mossy spot where sweet
flowers clustered about, and rest for a few minutes, for he knew the
ride down the steep path had been terribly trying to her nerves.
Yet all his attentions to her, whether lifting her to and from the
saddle, or putting his arm about her to support her on the way, were
performed with such grace of courtesy as to remove all personality from
his touch, and she marvelled at it while she sat and rested and watched
him from the distance watering Billy at a noisy little stream that
chattered through the canyon.
He put her on the horse again and they took their way through the
coolness and beauty of the canyon winding along the edge of the little
stream, threading their way among the trees, and over boulders and rough
places until at last in the late afternoon they came out again upon the
plain.
The missionary looked anxiously at the sun. It had taken longer to come
through the canyon than he had anticipated. The day was waning. He
quickened Billy into a trot and settled into a long athletic run beside
him, while the girl's cheeks flushed with the exercise and wind, and her
admiration of her escort grew.
"But aren't you very tired?" she asked at last when he slowed down and
made Billy walk again. Billy, by the way, had enjoyed the race
immensely. He thought he was having a grand time with a princess on his
back and his beloved master keeping pace with him. He was confident by
this time that they were bringing the princess home to be there to
welcome them on all returns hereafter. His horse-sense had jumped to a
conclusion and approved most heartily.
"Tired!" answered Brownleigh and laughed; "not consciously. I'm good for
several miles yet myself. I haven't had such a good time in three years,
not since I left home--and mother," he added softly, reverently.
There was a look in his eyes that made the girl long to know more. She
watched him keenly and asked:
"Oh, then you have a mother!"
"Yes, I have a mother,--a wonderful mother!" He breathed the words like
a blessing. The girl looked at him in awe. She had no mother. Her own
had died before she could remember. Aunt Maria was her only idea of
mothers.
"Is she out here?" she asked.
"No, she is at home up in New Hampshire in a little quiet country town,
but she is a wonderful mother."
"And have you no one else, no other family out here with you?"
Hazel did not realize how anxiously she awaited the answer to that
question. Somehow she felt a jealous dislike of any one who might belong
to him, even a mother--and a sudden thought of sister or wife who might
share the little shanty cabin with him made her watch his face narrowly.
But the answer was quick, with almost a shadow like deep longing on his
face:
"Oh, no, I have no one. I'm all alone. And sometimes if it were not for
mother's letters it would seem a great way from home."
The girl did not know why it was so pleasant to know this, and why her
heart went out in instant sympathy for him.
"O-oo!" she said gently. "Tell me about your mother, please!"
And so he told her, as he walked beside her, of his invalid mother whose
frail body and its needs bound her to a couch in her old New England
home, helpless and carefully tended by a devoted nurse whom she loved
and who loved her. Her great spirit had risen to the sacrifice of
sending her only son out to the desert on his chosen commission.
They had been climbing a long sloping hill, and at the climax of the
story had reached the top and could look abroad again over a wide
expanse of country. It seemed to Hazel's city bred eyes as though the
kingdoms of the whole world lay spread before her awed gaze. A brilliant
sunset was spreading a great silver light behind the purple mountains in
the west, red and blue in flaming lavishness, with billows of white
clouds floating above, and over that in sharp contrast the sky was
velvet black with storm. To the south the rain was falling in a
brilliant shower like yellow gold, and to the east two more patches of
rain were rosy pink as petals of some wondrous flowers, and arching over
them a half rainbow. Turning slightly towards the north one saw the rain
falling from dark blue clouds in great streaks of white light.
"Oh-oo!" breathed the girl; "how wonderful! I never saw anything like
that before."
But the missionary had no time for answer. He began quickly to unstrap
the canvas from behind the saddle, watching the clouds as he did so.
"We are going to get a wetting, I'm afraid," he said and looked
anxiously at his companion.
VI
CAMP
It came indeed before he was quite ready for it, but he managed to throw
the canvas over horse and lady, bidding her hold it on one side while
he, standing close under the extemporized tent, held the other side,
leaving an opening in front for air, and so they managed to keep
tolerably dry, while two storms met overhead and poured down a torrent
upon them.
The girl laughed out merrily as the first great splashes struck her
face, then retreated into the shelter as she was bidden and sat quietly
watching, and wondering over it all.
Here was she, a carefully nurtured daughter of society, until now never
daring to step one inch beyond the line of conventionality, sitting afar
from all her friends and kindred on a wide desert plain, under a bit of
canvas with a strange missionary's arm about her, and sitting as
securely and contentedly, nay happily, as if she had been in her own
cushioned chair in her New York boudoir. It is true the arm was about
her for the purpose of holding down the canvas and keeping out the
rain, but there was a wonderful security and sense of strength in it
that filled her with a strange new joy and made her wish that the
elements of the universe might continue to rage in brilliant display
about her head a little longer, if thereby she might continue to feel
the strength of that fine presence near her and about her. A great
weariness was upon her and this was rest and content, so she put all
other thoughts out of her mind for the time and rested back against the
strong arm in full realization of her safety amidst the disturbance of
the elements.
The missionary wore his upward look. No word passed between them as the
panorama of the storm swept by. Only God knew what was passing in his
soul, and how out of that dear nearness of the beautiful girl a great
longing was born to have her always near him, his right to ever protect
her from the storms of life.
But he was a man of marked self-control. He held even his thoughts in
obedience to a higher power, and while the wild wish of his heart swept
exquisitely over him he stood calmly, and handed it back to heaven as
though he knew it were a wandering wish, a testing of his true self.
At the first instant of relief from necessity he took his arm away. He
did not presume a single second to hold the canvas after the wind had
subsided, and she liked him the better for it, and felt her trust in him
grow deeper as he gently shook the raindrops from their temporary
shelter.
The rain had lasted but a few minutes, and as the clouds cleared the
earth grew lighter for a space. Gently melting into the silver and
amethyst and emerald of the sky the rainbow faded and now they hurried
on, for Brownleigh wished to reach a certain spot where he hoped to find
dry shelter for the night. He saw that the excitement of travel and the
storm had sorely spent the strength of the girl, and that she needed
rest, so he urged the horse forward, and hurried along by his side.
But suddenly he halted the horse and looked keenly into the face of his
companion in the dying light.
"You are very tired," he said. "You can hardly sit up any longer."
She smiled faintly.
Her whole body was drooping with weariness and a strange sick faintness
had come upon her.
"We must stop here," he said and cast about him for a suitable spot.
"Well, this will do. Here is a dry place, the shelter of that big rock.
The rain was from the other direction, and the ground around here did
not even get sprinkled. That group of trees will do for a private room
for you. We'll soon have a fire and some supper and then you'll feel
better."
With that he stripped off his coat and, spreading it upon the ground in
the dry shelter of a great rock, lifted the drooping girl from the
saddle and laid her gently on the coat.
She closed her eyes wearily and sank back. In truth she was nearer to
fainting than she had ever been in her life, and the young man hastened
to administer a restorative which brought the colour back to her pale
cheeks.
"It is nothing," she murmured, opening her eyes and trying to smile. "I
was just tired, and my back ached with so much riding."
"Don't talk!" he said gently. "I'll give you something to hearten you up
in a minute."
He quickly gathered sticks and soon had a blazing fire not far from
where she lay, and the glow of it played over her face and her golden
hair, while he prepared a second cup of beef extract, and blessed the
fortune that had made him fill his canteen with water at the spring in
the canyon, for water might not be very near, and he felt that to have
to move the girl further along that night would be a disaster. He could
see that she was about used up. But while he was making preparations for
supper, Billy, who was hobbled but entirely able to edge about slowly,
had discovered a water-hole for himself, and settled that difficulty.
Brownleigh drew a sigh of relief, and smiled happily as he saw his
patient revive under the influence of the hot drink and a few minutes'
rest.
"I'm quite able to go on a little further," she said, sitting up with an
effort, "if you think we should go further to-night. I really don't feel
bad at all any more."
He smiled with relief.
"I'm so glad," he said; "I was afraid I had made you travel too far. No,
we'll not go further till daylight, I think. This is as good a place to
camp as any, and water not far away. You will find your boudoir just
inside that group of trees, and in half an hour or so the canvas will be
quite dry for your bed. I've got it spread out, you see, close to the
fire on the other side there. And it wasn't wet through. The blanket was
sheltered. It will be warm and dry. I think we can make you
comfortable. Have you ever slept out under the stars before--that is, of
course, with the exception of last night? I don't suppose you really
enjoyed that experience."
Hazel shuddered at the thought.
"I don't remember much, only awful darkness and howling. Will those
creatures come this way, do you think? I feel as if I should die with
fright if I have to hear them again."
"You may hear them in the distance, but not nearby," he answered
reassuringly; "they do not like the fire. They will not come near nor
disturb you. Besides, I shall be close at hand all night. I am used to
listening and waking in the night. I shall keep a bright fire blazing."
"But you--you--what will you do? You are planning to give me the canvas
and the blanket, and stay awake yourself keeping watch. You have walked
all day while I have ridden, and you have been nurse and cook as well,
while I have been good for nothing. And now you want me to rest
comfortably all night while you sit up."
There was a ring in the young man's voice as he answered her that
thrilled her to the heart.
"I shall be all right," he said, and his voice was positively joyous,
"and I shall have the greatest night of my life taking care of you. I
count it a privilege. Many a night have I slept alone under the stars
with no one to guard, and felt the loneliness. Now I shall always have
this to remember. Besides, I shall not sit up. I am used to throwing
myself down anywhere. My clothing is warm, and my saddle is used to
acting as a pillow. I shall sleep and rest, and yet be always on the
alert to keep up the fire and hear any sound that comes near." He talked
as though he were recounting the plan of some delightful recreation, and
the girl lay and watched his handsome face in the play of the firelight
and rejoiced in it. Somehow there was something very sweet in
companionship alone in the vast silence with this stranger friend. She
found herself glad of the wideness of the desert and the stillness of
the night that shut out the world and made their most unusual
relationship possible for a little while. A great longing possessed her
to know more and understand better the fine personality of this man who
was a man among men, she was convinced.
Suddenly as he came and sat down by the fire not far from her after
attending to the few supper dishes, she burst forth with a question:
"Why did you do it?"
He turned to her eyes that were filled with a deep content and asked,
"Do what?"
"Come here! Be a missionary! Why did you do it? You are fitted for
better things. You could fill a large city church, or--even do other
things in the world. Why did you do it?"
The firelight flickered on his face and showed his features fine and
strong in an expression of deep feeling that gave it an exalted look.
There seemed a light in his eyes that was more than firelight as he
raised them upward in a swift glance and said quietly, as though it were
the simplest matter in the universe:
"Because my Father called me to this work. And--I doubt if there can be
any better. Listen!"
And then he told her of his work while the fire burned cheerfully, and
the dusk grew deeper, till the moon showed clear her silver orb riding
high in starry heavens.
The mournful voice of the coyotes echoed distantly, but the girl was not
frightened, for her thoughts were held by the story of the strange
childlike race for whom this man among men was giving his life.
He told her of the Indian hogans, little round huts built of logs on
end, and slanting to a common centre thatched with turf and straw, an
opening for a door and another in the top to let out the smoke of the
fire, a dirt floor, no furniture but a few blankets, sheepskins, and
some tin dishes. He carried her in imagination to one such hogan where
lay the little dying Indian maiden and made the picture of their barren
lives so vivid that tears stood in her eyes as she listened. He told of
the medicine-men, the ignorance and superstition, the snake dances and
heathen rites; the wild, poetic, conservative man of the desert with his
distrust, his great loving heart, his broken hopes and blind
aspirations; until Hazel began to see that he really loved them, that he
had seen the possibility of greatness in them, and longed to help
develop it.
He told her of the Sabbath just past, when in company with his distant
neighbour missionary he had gone on an evangelistic tour among the
tribes far away from the mission station. He pictured the Indians
sitting on rocks and stones amid the long shadows of the cedar trees,
just before the sundown, listening to a sermon. He had reminded them of
their Indian god Begochiddi and of Nilhchii whom the Indians believe to
have made all things, the same whom white men call God; and showed them
a book called the Bible which told the story of God, and of Jesus His
Son who came to save men from their sin. Not one of the Indians had ever
heard the name of Jesus before, nor knew anything of the great story of
salvation.
Hazel found herself wondering why it made so very much difference
whether these poor ignorant creatures knew all this or not, and yet she
saw from the face of the man before her that it did matter, infinitely.
To him it mattered more than anything else. A passing wish that she were
an Indian to thus hold his interest flashed through her mind, but he was
speaking yet of his work, and his rapt look filled her with awe. She was
overwhelmed with the greatness and the fineness of the man before her.
Sitting there in the fitful firelight, with its ruddy glow upon his
face, his hat off and the moon laying a silver crown upon his head, he
seemed half angel, half god. She had never before been so filled with
the joy of beholding another soul. She had no room for thoughts of
anything else.
Then suddenly he remembered that it was late.
"I have kept you awake far too long," he said penitently, looking at
her with a smile that seemed all tenderness. "We ought to get on our way
as soon as it is light, and I have made you listen to me when you ought
to have been sleeping. But I always like to have a word with my Father
before retiring. Shall we have our worship together?"
Hazel, overcome by wonder and embarrassment, assented and lay still in
her sheltered spot watching him as he drew a small leather book from his
breast pocket and opened to the place marked by a tiny silken cord. Then
stirring up the fire to brightness he began to read and the majestic
words of the ninety-first psalm came to her unaccustomed ears as a
charmed page.
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under
the shadow of the Almighty."
"He shall cover thee with His feathers and under His wings shalt thou
trust." The words were uttered with a ringing tone of trust. The
listener knew little of birds and their ways, but the phrasing reminded
her of the way she had been sheltered from the storm a little while
before and her heart thrilled anew with the thought of it.
"Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night!"
Ah! Terror by night! She knew what that meant. That awful night of
darkness, steep riding, howling beasts and black oblivion! She shuddered
involuntarily at the remembrance. Not afraid! What confidence the voice
had as it rang on, and all at once she knew that this night was free
from terror for her because of the man whose confidence was in the
Unseen.
"He shall give His angels charge over thee," and looking at him she half
expected to see flitting wings in the moonlit background. How strong and
true the face! How tender the lines about the mouth! What a glow of
inner quietness and power in the eyes as he raised them now and again to
her face across the firelight! What a thing it would be to have a friend
like that always to guard one! Her eyes glowed softly at the thought and
once again there flashed across her mind the contrast between this man
and the one from whom she had fled in horror the day before.
The reading ended, he replaced the little marker, and dropping upon one
knee on the desert with his face lifted to the sky and all the radiance
of the moon flooding over him he spoke to God as a man speaks with his
friend, face to face.
Hazel lay with open, wondering eyes and watched him, awe growing within
her. The sense of an unseen Presence close at hand was so strong that
once she lifted half frightened eyes to the wide clear sky. The light on
the face of the missionary seemed like glory from another world.
She felt herself enfolded and upborne into the Presence of the infinite
by his words, and he did not forget to commend her loved ones to the
care of the Almighty. A great peace came upon her as she listened to the
simple, earnest words and a sense of security such as she had never
known before.
After the brief prayer he turned to her with a smile and a few words of
assurance about the night. There was her dressing-room behind those
trees, and she need not be afraid; he would not be far away. He would
keep the fire bright all night so that she would not be annoyed by the
near howling of the coyotes. Then he moved away to gather more wood, and
she heard him singing, softly at first, and then gathering volume as he
got further away, his rich tenor voice ringing clear upon the night in
an old hymn. The words floated back distinctly to her listening ears:
"My God, is any hour so sweet
From flush of dawn to evening star,
As that which calls me to Thy feet,
The hour of prayer?
"Then is my strength by Thee renewed;
Then are my sins by Thee forgiven;
Then dost Thou cheer my solitude
With hopes of heaven.
"No words can tell what sweet relief
There for my every want I find;
What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
What peace of mind!"
She lay down for the night marvelling still over the man. He was singing
those words as if he meant every one, and she knew that he possessed
something that made him different from other men. What was it? It seemed
to her that he was the one man of all the earth, and how was it that she
had found him away out here alone in the desert?
The great stars burned sharply in the heavens over her, the white
radiance of the moon lay all about her, the firelight played at her
feet. Far away she could hear the howling of the coyotes, but she was
not afraid.
She could see the broad shoulders of the man as he stooped over on the
other side of the fire to throw on more wood. Presently she knew he had
thrown himself down with his head on the saddle, but she could hear him
still humming softly something that sounded like a lullaby. When the
firelight flared up it showed his fine profile.
Not far away she could hear Billy cropping the grass, and throughout the
vast open universe there seemed to brood a great and peaceful silence.
She was very tired and her eyelids drooped shut. The last thing she
remembered was a line he had read from the little book, "He shall give
His angels charge----" and she wondered if they were somewhere about
now.
That was all until she awoke suddenly with the consciousness that she
was alone, and that in the near distance a conversation in a low tone
was being carried on.
VII
REVELATION
The moon was gone, and the luminous silver atmosphere was turned into a
clear dark blue, with shadows of the blackness of velvet; but the stars
burned redder now, and nearer to the earth.
The fire still flickered brightly, with a glow the moon had paled before
she went to sleep, but there was no protecting figure on the other side
of the flames, and the angels seemed all to have forgotten.