The next morning was Wednesday, and Glendon announced that he would
start East with Donnie on Saturday of the following week.
Katherine made no reply, uttered no protest. He supposed the silence of
despair meant submission, as he and Juan started for Allan Flats, half
way to Willcox, to be gone several days.
"I'll be home Sunday night," were his last words as he spurred his horse
and headed it toward the road leading out of the canyon. Juan lingered a
few seconds to say "Adios" to the mother and child. The old Mexican
carried a heavy heart, for no one but the child was ignorant of the
impending separation.
The day passed happily for Donnie, while his mother devoted her entire
time to him. They strolled down the canyon, picking wild-flowers, then
returning home, decorated the rooms and discovered that Juan had made a
chocolate layer cake for their enjoyment. After supper they sat talking
of the wonderful things Donnie was to do when he was grown. Then
followed an hour in the dining-room with the beloved Galahad.
The next morning at breakfast, Donnie asked, "What are we going to do
today, Marmee?"
"Just whatever you wish," she answered with smiling lips, but sad eyes.
"Can't we go on a picnic, Marmee?"
"Yes, dear," was her reply. "I'll fix a lunch and saddle the ponies and
we'll be adventurers riding out to discover a new country, and we won't
come home till the stars are out."
Donnie waited happily as his mother prepared the lunch. With practised
fingers she saddled their ponies; on the boy's saddle, tied a canteen of
water and the flour-sack containing lunch, while on her own was fastened
a roll of Navajo blankets.
Katherine determined to snatch all the happiness possible for the child
and herself during her husband's absence. Today she would forget that
there must be a tomorrow; today the child was her own, despite his
father, despite the laws of the Territory which said she had no right to
her boy. So her smile met the child's laughter as they mounted their
ponies and rode down the slope of the canyon to the place where the trail
struck up the divide leading to Jackson Flats.
It was a tortuous trail. At times, going up the brushy mountain sides,
where cat-claw, mesquite, cacti and mescal struggled between immense
rocks. Disturbed quail, rabbits, an enormous lizard--the harmless
brother of the poisonous Gila Monster--dashed across the trail. Each
tiny incident was food for animated conversation between the two riders;
a new flower, a change of view as they reached a certain point. In
places there was hardly room for their sure-footed ponies to travel
single file. One side of the trail was a high, rocky cliff, while the
other side dropped a thousand feet below. A displaced rock clattered
down the gully, startling a mountain-lion which leaped from a freshly
killed calf and skulked away. A coyote appeared between boulders on the
opposite side of the canyon, squatted down and watched the riders
curiously.
Half way up the mountain they rode into a cave that was large enough to
shelter twenty horses and men. The domed roof rose forty feet and the
sides of the cave were painted with curious emblems of a dead and
unknown people. The floor was strewn with bits of broken earthen
pottery, decorated with the same characters as the walls. A few
arrowheads of green and black flint were scattered among the fragments
of pottery; all that was left to tell the history of those who had
loved, hated, laughed and wept--then died.
It had been a favourite ride for the mother and child, and the relics
had made foundation for many games and stories. So the boy gathered
pieces of the pottery and amused himself trying to match them together,
in emulation of his mother. As they worked she told him the history of
those who had lived in this cave and fashioned the earthen jars. After a
couple of hours the novelty wore off, and Donnie wanted to ride further.
"We can go to the top of the Box," said his mother. "You've never been
there yet; but it will be a hard climb."
The child begged to try it, for she had told him that when they reached
the top of the mountain they could see far across other hill-tops,
beyond the San Pedro River--an unknown world to him.
After she had tightened the cinches of the saddles and they were
mounted, she instructed the boy, "Lean well forward in your saddle and
hold the horn tightly, dear. Give Pet a loose rein and you will not have
any trouble at all. He will follow Fox. It is a hard climb, and if you
jerk on the reins you will make Pet fall back."
The horses headed what appeared almost a perpendicular wall. Donnie saw
Fox stretch his body like a greyhound and fairly hurl himself in leaps
at the steep incline, scattering stones in every direction. Pet stood a
moment, undecided, then with a shrill whinny started after Fox. Donnie
grasped the horn of the saddle and clung to it desperately, leaning
forward and shutting his eyes. His back jerked, his head wouldn't keep
still, his heart beat violently.
"If Pet would only keep still a minute," thought the child. "Suppose Fox
were to fall with Marmee, what would I do?"
He pulled on the reins, but Pet, watching Fox, fought the bit, and
lunged ahead.
As if in answer to Donnie's thoughts, his mother's voice drifted
cheerily back to him: "Almost there, dear. Tired?"
"Just a little bit," he replied, trying to be brave, but wishing he
could ride up beside her and hold her hand a minute. Then he remembered
Galahad had ridden alone, and knights were not afraid of anything. He
pretended that the trail led to the castle of an enemy and he was going
to rescue those held prisoners, so with bolstered courage, he kept his
eyes open and fixed on the horse ahead of him.
They reached a sharp knoll that formed the apex of the mountain; and
after slipping from the ponies and tying them to a stunted bit of scrub
oak, Katherine clasped Donnie's hand in her own, and together they
approached the edge of the cliff, and peered cautiously over.
Two thousand feet below was the canyon, but where they gazed, four solid
walls arose like a gigantic box without a cover. There was no entrance
or exit. The Mexicans called the place El Cajon, or the Box. Grass,
flowers, trees and a trickling stream from a spring lay at the bottom of
the Box, but nothing living could reach there. The walls were as
straight and sheer as the name of the place implied.
They drew back from inspecting it, and at Katherine's suggestion Donnie
gathered wild flowers to decorate the table on which she spread the
lunch. The mother made a pretense at eating, but the memory of the
impending separation thrust itself on her despite her determination to
forget it this one day. Neither she nor Glendon had told the child, so
no shadow of tragedy spoiled his enjoyment.
The ride had tired him, and after lunch was over, she arranged the
Navajo blankets. He stretched out lazily, watching his mother draw his
favourite book from her saddlebag. Then he curled up with a sigh of
ecstasy.
"Where shall I read?" she asked, smiling down at him.
"How Sir Galahad was made a knight," he answered, "and about the Siege
Perilous."
So she read until the brown head nodded and the eyes closed slowly, then
seeing the boy slept, she laid the book aside, sitting motionless and
watching him with miserable eyes.
A white-winged butterfly flitted past her and hovered over the boy's
hand, finally settling lightly on it then darting on its way. She
recalled the story of the baby Galahad in his mother's arms and the
white dove that had flown through the window, and the words of the
maiden who bore the Sangreal, "And he shall be a much better knight than
his father."
A mother-quail with her tiny brood slipped from the brush, peering about
as she came forward. Fearing nothing from the sleeping child or the
mother who did not move, the quail called her little ones about her and
shared with them the discovery of some crumbs. Katherine watched them
enviously; then her eyes strayed to the child. Rebellion against the
law, against her husband, his father, and life itself, overwhelmed her.
The quail had more right to its brood than she had to her child.
The shadows lengthened as she sat fighting her battle, all the training
and beliefs of years falling from her.
What was the use of fighting any longer? She looked at the Box. It was
so quiet down there; no one could take Donnie away from her. Just a
step, and they would be safe together.
Her lips grew tense, and smoothing a piece of paper that had been
wrapped about the lunch, she searched the saddle pocket until she found
a stump of pencil, with which she wrote:
_Jim:_
I could not give up my boy to have him learn that money was the
only thing worth-while--to be cruel and self-indulgent as your
father wants him to be. I told you that you owed him to me in
payment of your debt. The law refuses my child to me; you, too,
would rob me of him, even though you know it will break his heart
and mine.
I prayed God to aid me, and He will not answer my prayers. When you
read this, Donnie and I will be together at the bottom of the Box.
I did the best I could for you, and failed; but I will not fail
with the boy.