THE EAGLES' NEST
In ancient days, before taking any action, men stopped to consult the
oracle or looked for omens in the flight of birds; but now, with equal
results, we make our own augeries and follow what we call a psychic
hunch. If we feel lucky we play, and if we feel unlucky we quit; and no
system has been devised that will bring better results, for all that
the fortune-tellers say. Hall had felt a strong hunch the moment he
smashed in the sealed _olla_ and found it a fountain of water; it had
seemed an intervention, an interposition of that Providence which he
believed had raised him from the dead. The hand which he could not see
seemed to be leading him again, where before all had been darkness and
doubt; to be smoothing out his way and solving the difficulties which
before had seemed insuperable. And if it could give him water and a
shelter for his beloved, then surely it could guide his footsteps and
so order his goings and comings that he would succeed at last in his
quest.
All that night as he rode on, with Allifair close behind, he was
conscious of a hand that led him on; and at daylight, when he rode down
to the crossing at Cold Spring, he did not hesitate to plunge into
the flood. Their horses were weak and the creek was still high, but
they fought their way through anyhow and led their mounts up the chasm
without a slip or a fall. It was a miracle of good luck and as they
took shelter in the cave the rain-clouds lowered as if to cover them.
The lightning began to play a weird devil's dance along the summit of
the eastern ridge, the thunder smote their crags and called for rain;
and as they stood in the court of their castle-in-the-air, they saw
their pursuers ride into the canyon below.
They were weary and bedraggled but still leaning beside their
saddle-horns to trace the line of horse-tracks through the mud; a
band of four horsemen, shrouded to the chin in sluicing slickers but
following grimly on their trail. Who they were they could not tell
in the blinding rain, but as they gazed over their rampart they saw
one essay the crossing and go down as if he had stepped into a well.
The others shook out their ropes and rode to his rescue, dragging
horse and man to the shore; and then in disgust they rode up to the
low cliff-dwellings and took shelter from the fury of the storm. Hall
glanced down at Allifair who stood clutching his hand and they turned
back and entered their new home.
She had held out bravely but now she sank down, bereft of the last of
her strength; and after he had made a fire Hall spread her bed beside
it, for she was drenched and chilled to the bone. He boiled coffee
over the fireplace and held a cupful to her lips, and after she had
drunk she opened her eyes and lay gazing at the strange, tomblike
dwelling. No light came in except through the low doorway, the fire
cast strange shadows among the rafters; and yet somehow she felt a
sweet contentment steal over her as she watched her lover by the fire.
He was there, he would provide for her, and no one would ever find
them--they were hidden away like twin eagles.
She fell into a deep sleep and when she awoke he was standing above
her, smiling. Food was simmering on the fire but there was rain on his
hat and he had brought in the breath of outdoors.
"They are looking for us," he said, and smiled again. "But they'll
never find us--here."
"No, not here," she answered, and sat up quickly for he had laid a
young turkey by the fire.
"Oh, did you shoot it?" she cried, and he stooped down and kissed her,
then lifted her quickly to her feet.
"No, sweetheart," he laughed, "I didn't dare to shoot, but I drove it
into my trap. And while you were asleep I took our horses up the chasm
and hid them in a little lost valley. Now all we have to do is to keep
out of sight and let the chase go by."
He drew her closer to him and she leaned against his breast, smiling
softly as he told her of his love; and then they sat down to their
first meal together while the storm swept by outside. Nothing mattered
to them now, they were sheltered and warmed and fed and their dream
had at last come true; and far into the night, though sleep made them
nod, they sat up and talked of the past. Hall spoke of the time when
he had seen her first, when he had crept to the Randolph's very door;
and how she had saved him from Ewing and Cal when a word would have
meant his death. And from there they drifted on through the maze of
their wanderings; since she, like a culprit, had been sent to Arizona
and he had followed on her trail. It was a tale of true love, in which
neither had ever wavered; until now in the chamber of some ancient
cliff-dweller they sat nodding by their fire.
They slept then at last and in the morning the bright sunshine shot a
shaft of golden light through the door. All the great world without
was awake and on the move but nature had demanded its toll--and when
Hall roused up their broad cave was in the shadow and the sun had
passed over the crags. He stepped softly to the rampart and looked down
into the canyon, where the creek was still roaring in flood; and up
and down its course, for he could view it for miles, he saw trailers,
out cutting for sign. There was a fire in the fireplace when he came
back from his watch, but after they had eaten he covered it with ashes
lest the odor of the smoke betray them. They settled down in the broad
court, watching their pursuers from the protecting darkness and talking
tranquilly as the search went on; and when evening came on they leaned
over the low wall and gazed down at the camp by Cold Spring.
More men had come in, until now there were ten of them, and the flame
of their camp-fire illuminated the windows of the lower cliff-dwelling
until they glowed like the port-holes of a fort. Even their voices
could be heard above the rush of the flood, which had subsided to a
tumbling stream. But seeing their pursuers below only added to their
contentment and they found time to look up at the stars. It was a soft
and balmy night and no lions were abroad to waken the echoes with their
yells; all their world seemed at peace and yet now there fell a silence
in which each followed out his own thoughts. The past was not enough,
nor yet the tranquil present; but each must quest on into the future.
"When these men have all gone," spoke up Allifair at last, "and my
brothers have given up the search; shall we--I mean--well, what do you
plan to do then?"
"What is there to do?" answered Hall, "except to work out our destiny?
But how we can be married is more than I know--are you brave enough to
stay here alone?"
"Alone!" she repeated with a catch in her voice; and then she reached
for his hand. "No, Hall," she said, "we are too happy, you must not
leave me. But I am brave enough to go with you--anywhere!"
"Ours is always the hardest way," he said at last. "Have you thought
what is going to become of us? Every day that I stay here I shall eat
up by so much the food that should be kept to feed you; and when that
is gone can you live on turkeys and acorns, as I was compelled to do
for days?"
"I can do what you can do," she answered resolutely. "But why do you
have to go? Why can't we stay here together until the search for us is
over----"
"Because," he broke in gently, "we are living in the world--and you
know what people will say."
"Yes, I know," she sighed, "but why can't we be married? Why can't we
ride into Tonto as soon as they leave and be married and start back
home?"
"Because the trails will be watched--and your brothers will kill me if
they ever find us together."
"Not if we're married!" she protested, but he took her in his arms and
his silence questioned even that.
"They are hard men," he said, "and they came out here to kill me--but
behind it all is your aunt. She told you in my presence that she would
rather shoot you down than see you married to a McIvor; and I believe,
Allifair, she would do it. But here you will be safe, and when I have
finished with Isham----"
"Oh, Hall!" she reproached, "can't you learn to forgive? Does all that
I have suffered count for nothing? I read killing in your eyes, that
day that Sharps was shot--but I'll never forgive you if you do! You
are determined to kill Isham, I know by your silence; but think what
it means to me. He is my uncle after all, because he married Aunt
Zoolah, and the McIvors have killed enough of my kin. But it isn't that
alone--I want you to stop killing, and the only time to stop is now!"
"God knows," began Hall, and then he paused and sighed. "I am weary
of this killing," he said. "God only knows how sick of it I am, but
a man must keep his self-respect. I would give my right hand if the
circumstances could be different, but it's either him or me. I can
forgive him for myself, but for what he has done to others--well, we
won't talk about it, dear, any more."
"Yes we will!" she answered back, "because I won't marry a
murderer--and that's what you are at heart. Not that I blame you for
it, Hall, for I know how you were brought up--all I ask is that now you
should stop. Is that too much to ask?"
"No! not too much at all," he replied at length, "provided your uncle
will stop. I fled like a coward when I heard your brothers had come,
because I would rather be killed than kill them; but I ask you, is
it right that I should promise to spare Isham when he is hunting me
everywhere like an animal? Who is paying those men who are camped down
below us? I tell you they have chased me far enough."
His voice was tense with passion and he drew his hand away, but she
reached out and caught it back.
"Hall, dear," she pleaded, "don't you know what I mean? I'm afraid that
Isham will kill you."
He laughed softly as she kissed him and crept back into his arms, where
she shuddered and laid her head on his breast.
"No," he said, "he will never kill me. I've got too much to live for
now."