NIGHT ON THE RANGE
The cowboys and cowlasses had long been back on the range, and the
attendance at the clubs had decreased in consequence.
Many still came to the Sunday service in the timber; and the children
remained in the school, notwithstanding the increasing heat.
Continuous labor, and the intense heat, were beginning to tell on
Esther Bright. As June approached, she occasionally spoke of going
home; but whenever she did so, there was a chorus of protests,
especially from Kenneth Hastings. Couldn't she spend the summer in
Arizona, and they would camp on one of the forest mesas, a party of
them? It would give her new life and strength.
She shook her head listlessly. One idea grew and possessed her: she
must go home, home to her grandfather.
Into Esther's manner, when in the presence of Kenneth Hastings, had
come a deepening reserve. And yet, from time to time, she spoke with
feeling of her gratitude to him for rescuing Edith and herself on the
day of his return. Her erstwhile gayety had departed, and in its place
was a seriousness that seemed akin to sadness.
Kenneth Hastings studied her, puzzled. He shared the solicitude the
Claytons evidently felt for her. All knew she had drawn too lavishly
upon her strength in her unselfish service for others. They also knew
that warnings and protests availed nothing; that she must learn
through experience the necessity of conservation of energy. Too useful
a woman, Kenneth Hastings said of her, to wear herself out in service
for a lot of common people. But he did not understand. He was to
learn.
At the close of a fatiguing day, a day of withering heat, John Clayton
came home to dinner, bringing Kenneth with him. Esther Bright and
Edith Clayton sat on the veranda as they approached.
"Miss Bright," said the host, "I have a proposition to make:--that you
and Mrs. Clayton accompany Mr. Hastings and me to Clifton to-morrow.
Fortunately, to-morrow will be Friday. We can start soon after school
is dismissed, and return Saturday, riding in the cool of the day."
"Delightful!" she exclaimed, with evident pleasure, "How far is it?"
"About twenty miles, I think," he answered.
"Twenty miles? On horseback? I'm afraid I can't endure the fatigue of
so long a ride. I am already so tired!"
"Really!" said Kenneth, in a mocking tone. "You at last acknowledge
that you are tired! I am astonished."
But she was unresponsive.
As the plans were discussed for the long ride, Esther gradually
roused, and entered into the occasion with spirit. It was decided that
the four should go in the surrey. Carla and Edith were to remain at
home; and as Jack Harding was still in camp, he was to be general
protector of the girls until the return of the party.
As the sun began to lower, Friday afternoon, the party drove away from
camp, first north, then east, toward Clifton. They crossed and
recrossed the Gila River for some distance, passing many of the
abandoned cliff dwellings along the canyon. Everywhere, the desert
foothills, and the crevices of jagged, cliffs were ablaze with cactus
blossoms. As the cool came on, the air grew delightful, and Esther
seemed to awaken once more to the pure joy of living.
Could they tell her anything of the cliff dwellers? They certainly
could. And John Clayton told her of the Hopi Indians, and their
customs. People of peace they were; keepers of sheep, lovers of the
heavens, and knew the mystery of the stars as no one else did. Their
men honored their women, he said. And then he laughingly told her that
the Hopi Indians were women suffragists. The Hopi women, he said, were
given more rights than were the women of civilization.
"What rights?" she asked.
Then he described his visit to Hopi land, telling her of the superior
place the Hopi woman occupies in the life of the Hopi people.
The talk drifted to Indians in general, Esther Bright asking many
questions, indicating on her part a deep and growing interest in these
native lords of the valleys and mesas.
Just as they were crossing a bridge over the river, they met Lord
Kelwin on horseback. It was the first time they had met him since the
race. John Harding had not seen fit to tell Kenneth or the Claytons of
his experiences with the Irishman, as long as he himself was in camp
to protect Esther Bright.
John Clayton reined in his horses to greet Lord Kelwin. The Irishman
spoke to them, but looked at Esther. After learning their destination
and the probable time of their return, he lifted his cap and rode on.
Esther Bright was annoyed. She could hardly have told why.
"Lord Kelwin is a genial fellow," John Clayton remarked, turning to
speak to Esther; but, observing the expression of her face, he asked
in a surprised tone:
"Don't you like Lord Kelwin, Miss Bright?"
"No," she answered, quietly.
Kenneth laughed. Then, turning around, he said in a bantering tone:
"But he told me you had gone horseback riding with him, daily, while I
was away."
"He's mistaken, Kenneth," responded John Clayton. "Miss Bright went
riding with him about three times."
"Three times too many," said Kenneth, apparently teasing, but with an
undertone of seriousness. Mrs. Clayton adroitly turned the
conversation.
"John, tell Miss Bright about your meeting General C."
Then he told how the general came to Arizona, and of his wise dealings
with the red men. He explained the reason for the great unrest of the
Indians after the general withdrew. He told how he was summoned from
the Department of the Platte in 1882, and of the capture of Geronimo
and his band.
"And Geronimo is supposed to be the father of our little Wathemah!"
Esther exclaimed.
"Some think so," he said. "I have my doubts. He looks as though he
might be a mixture of Apache, Mexican and Spanish."
"Whatever he is, he is an attractive child," she said. "How did you
come to meet General C.?"
"He and his troops marched through Gila. I entertained the officers at
the ranch over night."
As he spoke, they came upon a pappoose, tied to a tree, and blinking
in the afternoon sunshine. Just beyond, they found a group of Apaches.
The women were cooking fish over live coals of fire. The men seemed to
recognize John Clayton. He greeted them in the tongue of the Mexicans,
as he drove by, while the Indians jabbered and gesticulated violently.
At the bridge just beyond, they crossed the Gila for the last time
before turning northward. There, they saw a young Apache catching
fish. He glanced up, and Esther recognized in him the visitor who had
found her at the schoolhouse. It was evident he knew her, for he
started towards the surrey.
"He is one of the friendly Apaches," explained John Clayton. "He's
often on the range, and has adopted some of the cowboy regimentals,
you see."
The driver stopped his horses.
The Indian came forward, offering John Clayton a number of fish strung
on a withe. As he did so, he turned towards Esther, and said:
"N[=e]-sh[=e]-aed-nl[)e]h'."
"What does he mean?" asked Esther.
"I think he wants to buy you from me with these fish," answered John
Clayton, turning to her with an amused smile.
Putting his hand into a tin box, he took from it a handful of cookies,
gave them to the young Indian, and drove on. As they looked back, the
last cake was about to disappear down the Indian's throat.
"Poor things," said Esther, "they have had no chance."
Then Kenneth rallied her on becoming a missionary to the Indians.
"I'd be glad to help them as the early Jesuit priests did," she
answered. "I cannot but feel that the Indian policy has been very
faulty, and that the Indians have been the victims of grafters, some
unprincipled Indian agents, and the scum of the white race. You tell
me, Mr. Clayton, that the Mexican government offered a bounty of $100
for every Apache man's scalp, $50 for every Apache woman's scalp, and
$25 for every Apache child's scalp? I'd fight, too," she continued,
indignantly. "I know I'd fight. Poor things!"
The company laughed at her championship, and told her how vicious the
Apaches were, and many more matters of Indian history.
The company were approaching a narrow canyon, through which they must
pass for some distance. The waters dashed and boiled in eddies, where
huge bowlders obstructed the way, making a pleasant murmur to the ear,
soft and musical and low.
And Esther Bright listened. Her heart, stirred to sudden anger by the
stories of injustice and cruel wrong, was soothed into quiet by this
slumber song of the ages. Oh, the music of the waters of the canyon!
How, once heard, it echoes in the heart forever! In the midst of the
unrest and discord of the world, how the memory of it keeps one close
to the very heart of things! How it lingers! How it sings!
They drove under, then around, an overhanging rock, beyond which, like
ruins of ancient castles, storm-scarred, majestic, towered cliffs to a
height of a thousand feet or more. The shadows had deepened in the
canyon, adding to the solemn grandeur of it all. From every cleft of
rock, apparently, a cactus had sprung into life, and had blossomed
into flowers of exquisite beauty. All the journey was like a triumphal
way, garlanded with flowers.
At last they reached an open place in the canyon, and followed a
track leading upward to a level plain. A short drive up a rocky way
brought them to a vast mesa. Here they halted for the night.
Some distance to the west, Esther spied a covered wagon with horses
tethered near. There was a man busying himself about the wagon, and
about the bonfire. John Clayton explained to Esther that this was the
cook for the squads of cowboys, and that near where the man was
working, the men would camp for the night. She watched the movements
of the cook with some curiosity.
The Clayton party had now stepped from the surrey, and removed from it
the seats, blankets, and provisions. The two men returned to the
canyon to gather dry driftwood for their fire for the night.
During the ride of the afternoon, as the company had wound around the
foothills, they had seen great herds of cattle, thousands of cattle,
on the hills and mesas. But now, Esther was to see with her own eyes,
the great event of life on the range. This vast out-of-doors was all
so novel to her, so intensely interesting! She stood and drew in great
breaths of air. Her eyes darkened. The pupils of her eyes had a way of
dilating whenever she felt deeply.
Although the cowboys and cowlasses had told Esther much about the
round-ups, she felt quite ignorant of the whole matter. They had
explained to her about the free range, how it was divided into
imaginary sections, and how the "boss" cattleman would send groups of
cow-punchers to each of these various sections to look after the
cattle.
John Clayton and Kenneth Hastings returned from the canyon, bringing a
can of water, and dry driftwood. They at once began to build their
bonfire, and to prepare their evening meal. As they worked, they
talked.
"If you watch from here," suggested Kenneth, "you'll see the close of
the round-up, comfortably."
"What do they mean by 'cutting out' the cattle?" asked Esther.
"Don't you know that yet?" laughed John Clayton. "That is cowboy
slang. As the cow-punchers approach (cow-punchers are cowboys, you
know--)"
"Yes, I know that much."
"Well, as they approach you will see them weaving in and out among the
cattle, lashing some with their quirts, and driving them out from the
mass of cattle. This is called 'cutting out.' The cattle of different
owners all run together on the range until time for the round-ups."
"How often do they have these?" she asked.
"There are two general round-ups, spring and fall; and others, when
necessary for extra shipments of cattle."
"How can they tell which belongs to which?"
"By the brand," explained Kenneth. "Each cattle owner brands every one
of his cattle with a certain mark, which determines whose property the
animal is."
The two women now placed cushions on the carriage seats, and sat down
to watch the close of the round-up.
The sunset was one of unusual splendor, the glory of color falling
over the mesa, and the mountain peaks that loomed up far away. As they
watched the sky, they spied a cloud of dust in the distance.
"At last the cattle are coming!" exclaimed Mrs. Clayton.
The dust cloud grew, coming nearer and nearer. It had a fascination
for Esther. While they were speculating as to the probable number of
cattle, and the cowboys and cowlasses who might be with them, Kenneth
Hastings and John Clayton sauntered over to the mess wagon to await
the closing scene. From that point, the men watched; and from their
location, the women watched the on-coming herds. The dust cloud grew
larger. The great mass of struggling cattle came steadily on. After a
while, cowboys could be seen, and whirling of ropes. Nearer and nearer
they came, the cowboys dealing stinging blows with their quirts. The
bellowing of cattle, the cursing of men, and the choking fog of dust,
all mingled together, came to the two women, who watched from a safe
distance. In their intense interest, they forgot that the supper hour
was long past, and watched. They saw cow-punchers, weaving in and out
among the cattle, whirling ropes, and yelling, and cursing by turns,
until each cowboy had separated the cattle in his charge from the
others. It was an enormous task. The men were still cursing and
lashing, when the last soft color of the afterglow faded from the sky.
When the work of the round-up was finally over, and the men were free
for the night, Esther heard the cook call out to them:
"Grub's ready! Cut out y'r talkin'!" adding profanity, as if to whet
the appetites of the hungry men. Then the cowboys, dirt begrimed, fell
to, and were soon eating with a relish that would have made dyspeptics
green with envy.
Slowly, John Clayton and Kenneth Hastings sauntered back, finding
their own repast ready for them. They, too, had found a keen edge to
their appetite. Esther even went so far as to suggest that they might
have done well to have accepted the Apache's fish.
"Whom do you suppose we found over there?" asked Mr. Clayton.
"Our boys," suggested Esther.
"Yes, several who have been at the club and at the meetings. They know
you are here, Miss Bright. Let's see what they'll do."
Before the meal was over, the stars began to appear in the heavens.
John Clayton threw great quantities of driftwood on the bonfire, and
in a few moments, the flames were licking the logs.
The voices of the cow-punchers came to them now and then, but the
profanity had ceased. Suddenly, singing was heard. They listened. The
cowboys were singing, "There were ninety and nine."
From the singing, it was evident that the men were approaching the
Clayton camp. In a moment more, they were there.
Would they be seated? John Clayton had asked. So, around the camp fire
they grouped, their faces and forms indistinct in the flickering
light. They made a weird and picturesque group against the darkness of
the night.
"An' phwat do yez think now of a round-up?" asked Mike Maloney, of
night school celebrity. Mike had been the star pupil in arithmetic.
"Splendid!" said Esther, with contagious enthusiasm. "To see that host
of cattle approach, the ropes swinging, the horses rearing and plunging,
and the magnificent setting of the mountains at sunset,--why, it was
glorious!"
The men grinned their delight.
Bill Weeks then grew eloquent about cattle.
"We come across a herd o' antelopes to-day," interrupted another.
Bill Weeks returned again to his favorite theme. Cattle were his life.
In the midst of a dissertation on their good points, he was again
interrupted with:
"Oh, cut that out! Ye kin talk cattle any old day. We wants ter hear
Miss Bright sing."
"Yes, sing," all clamored. "_Do_ sing!"
"What shall I sing?"
"'Oft in the Stilly Night,'" one suggested.
But they were not satisfied with one song, and called loudly for
another. Then she sang, "Flee as a bird to Your Mountain."
Esther Bright, as she stood and sang that night, was a picture one
could never forget.
Then around the crackling fire, story after story was told. The fire
burned low. The dome above sparkled with myriads of stars. At last the
cowboys rose, and returned to their camp.
"Now we'll heap up the fire for the night, Kenneth," said John
Clayton, "and arrange our shakedowns."
"'Shakedowns,' John?" said his wife. "You don't call a blanket and
cushion on a mesa a shakedown, do you?"
"Why not?"
Then the two men withdrew to the farther side of the fire. The women
crawled into their blankets, and soon felt the warmth of the still
heated earth upon which they lay.
"Good night!" called the men's voices, and "Good night!" returned the
women. Then silence brooded over the camp.
For the first time in her life, Esther was bedded on the ground. Her
face was turned upward, her eyes, fixed upon the starry deeps. Hour
after hour went by. The regular breathing of her fellow-travelers
assured her that all were asleep. She could not sleep.
The marvelous scene above her grew upon her. She lay still, looking,
looking into the infinite, that infinite around her, above her, beyond
and beyond forever, who knows whither?
The air, at first dark about her, grew into a weird, wonderful light.
The dome grew vaster and vaster; and, with the marvelous expansion,
she began to realize stars. They seemed to move from their solid ebon
background, and to float in space.
Stars! What do stars mean to the ordinary human? Just stars that come
and go as a matter of course; just as men eat and drink, buy and sell,
live and die. I say Esther Bright began to _realize_ stars. I do not
mean by that that she was unfamiliar with certain astronomical facts
all intelligent people are supposed to know. Far from it. She knew
much of mathematical astronomy. It had a fascination for her. But she
had not _realized_ stars, _felt_ stars, as she was to realize them
this night. All the world was shut out from her vision, save that
marvelous dome of sky, alight with myriads and myriads of stars, from
zenith to horizon. She recalled Milton's description of the floor of
heaven, and reveled in the thought. She gazed on one tremulous star,
till it seemed a soul in space, beckoning to her to join it, in the
company of the glorified. Her vision intensified. Into the Milky Way
she gazed, till it seemed to her the pathway up to God. God! What was
God?
Then the stillness grew till it seemed the Infinite Presence. The
stars, she was sure, made a shining pathway straight to her. Across
the pathway, flashed shooting stars. She saw it all so clearly. Then
the vast space, up to the shadowy shores of the Infinite Sea, filled
with a strange, unearthly light. God! Was this _God_? Then she must be
on holy ground! She felt herself lifted into the Everlasting Arms. The
wind rose and whispered softly. And Esther Bright slept. Who shall say
she did not sleep close to the very heart of God?