THE HEAVENS OPEN
Conrad and Lucy rode along a street skirting the brow of the _mesa_
until the houses of the town in the valley below became few and
straggling. Down the last roadway cut across the sides of the canyon
they descended to the bottom of the ravine. Thence upward it was so
narrow that the bed of the creek and the road left only scant margins of
rocky soil. In these grew cottonwoods, willows, and a few other trees,
whose overarching branches made a green and pleasant vista. The creek
wound crookedly down the valley, frequently crossing the road, while
here and there the walls of the gulch drew so close together that the
track was forced into the bed of the stream. Notwithstanding the recent
rains, the water was too shallow to reach above their horses' knees.
The way was quite deserted, and after leaving the town they saw no other
travellers. A cool, damp wind came down the ravine and Lucy took off
her hat and let it toss back her brown curls. They had grown longer
since the early Spring, and now clustered in soft rings around her ears
and neck. A touch of sadness lingered upon her spirits, because of the
distressing scene with Miss Dent. It was the first difference that had
ever arisen between them. A poignant longing filled her heart, also,
because this was to be her final interview with the man she loved. The
painful duty she had set herself filled the background of her
consciousness and laid upon her manner an unusual reserve.
But these more sombre emotions mingled with the gladness of the
knowledge that she was beloved, and all combined to invest her with a
new maturity of womanliness, a sweet dignity that sent filtering through
Conrad's eager love a sensation of wonder and reverence. It could not be
possible that this lovely, this adorable being would receive his homage,
would consent to love him! But he would try. She was willing to ride
with him, and there was hope in that. And, yes, he would not forget that
he must tell her about his unworthy life--he must tell her even before
he asked her to marry him. But oh, how beautiful she was, how sweet!
Every movement of her head, her arm, her body, every twinkling smile,
every fleeting dimple, poured fresh wine into his blood. A torrent of
love and admiration was sweeping through him, and from it were
constantly breaking off and flowing over their friendly talk little
cascades of compliment, of admiring speech, of sentences glowing with
hints of his feeling.
But Lucy quickly caught the trend of every one and turned it back with
laughing retort and merry speech. He could not get within her guard, and
every deft turn of her jesting, foiling replies made him only the more
eager. He forgot that he was going to make confession, forgot to watch
the dark clouds that were rising above the mountain tops, forgot
everything but this alluring creature, who grew more alluring every
moment, and yet would not let him loose the torrents of loving speech.
And Lucy, in the sweet excitement of letting him say a little, and again
a little, and then a little more, yet keeping up her guard and never
letting him reach the danger point, Lucy also forgot what she had meant
to keep constantly in mind. Now and then duty put out a warning hand.
But--the exhilaration of the present moment, the precious consciousness
of his love, the thrilling pleasure of this Cupid's dance--she could not
give it up so quickly. Presently she would tell him.
Thus has it been Love's habit, ever since Love came to live in this
world, to dance with happy and forgetful foot over volcanoes ready to
engulf him in their fires, beneath clouds ready to drown him with their
pouring sorrows. No matter what the dangers, when the maid lures and the
man pursues, Love knows only his own delight. So went Lucy and Curtis up
the beautiful canyon road, thrilling with the happiness that can be but
once,--before the first kiss has brushed away the exquisite bloom of
love,--forgetting alike the bonds they had put upon themselves and the
dangers that lurked in the threatening storm.
At last the darkening atmosphere caused Conrad to notice how high the
clouds had risen. "I'm afraid there's going to be a bad storm, Miss
Bancroft," he said, "and perhaps we'd better turn back. When we started
I didn't think it would rain before night, but those clouds are piling
up fast and they look as if they meant business. I'm sorry, for a little
ways above here there's a beautiful place, where the walls of the canyon
spread out and you get a splendid view. I wanted to take you there, and
tell you--" It was not so easy after all, to loose the torrents of
speech, and for a bare instant he hesitated. It was enough to give Lucy
her chance.
She shot at him a single sparkling glance, and broke in with, "Oh, I'll
race you there!" As she spoke she touched her horse and darted ahead,
leaving him alone in the middle of the road at the very beginning of his
declaration. The wind blew her curls into a tangled frame for her
laughing face as she looked back over her shoulder. He quickly spurred
Brown Betty forward, but she had got so much the start that it was some
moments before he was again at her side.
"You took me by surprise," he said as they slowed their horses at the
foot of a steeper incline, "and handicapped me, or you wouldn't have got
so far away. When we go back I'll race you all the way down the canyon,
if you like."
"Agreed!" she laughed. "Wouldn't it be jolly to go at a gallop all the
way down the canyon, from the mountains to Golden? But the poor horses!"
"I think we'd better turn back, Miss Bancroft. I don't like the look of
those clouds. It's going to be a regular deluge, I'm afraid. But first,
I want to tell you--"
"Oh, my hat! I've dropped it!" she exclaimed. Curtis leaned over easily,
picked it up, and hung it on his own pommel. Her eyes were twinkling and
the dimples were playing hide-and-seek with a wilful little smile that
hovered around her mouth. "So awkward of me," she said apologetically,
"and how readily you picked it up! I wish I could do that! Do you know,
Mr. Conrad, you've never given me those lessons in the cowboy's art,
roping and riding and all that, you promised ever so long ago."
"We'll begin them whenever you say the word. After I tell you--"
"About that beautiful place? Oh, yes! Can't we go that far? I'd love to
see it!" She was bounding ahead again, but he was quickly beside her. A
quizzical look was on his face and a touch of mastery in his manner as
he leaned toward her and rested his hand upon her horse's neck.
"Now, if you try to run away again," he said banteringly, "it's you who
will have the handicap!" She gathered up her bridle and with a touch of
her quirt wheeled her horse half way around and away from his detaining
hand. The whim had seized her to start flying back down the road, "just
a little way," she thought, "just to tease him." But as she turned she
met a glowing look that checked her impulse.
"Lucy!" he was saying, and his voice lingered over her name like a soft
and warm caress, "Lucy! I love you. Will you be my wife?"
It had come, the question she had meant not to let him ask, and at once
it sobered her spirits and brought back the remembrance of what she must
tell him. Her head drooped until her brown curls half hid her crimsoning
face, and her voice was low and troubled. "Indeed, Mr. Conrad, I can
never be any man's wife. My father needs me. I shall never marry, and I
shall stay with him as long as he lives."
"I know how devoted you are to your father, Lucy--" he stopped, and
repeated her name as if he loved the sound of it it--"Lucy, and it is so
sweet and beautiful that it makes me love you even more. Tell me, Lucy,
do you love me?"
The question took her unawares, and he saw her hand tremble. She
hesitated for a moment before replying, with dignity: "I have told you
I could not marry you. Isn't that enough?" Unconsciously they had again
headed their horses toward the mountains and were walking slowly up the
canyon.
"No, Lucy; it isn't enough!" he exclaimed eagerly. "Something tells me
that perhaps you do care a little for me, and if you do I want to know
it--I must know it!"
"I shall never see you again after to-day. You must be satisfied with
that," she replied, tossing her head and turning her face away from his
shining and pleading eyes.
"How can I be satisfied--" he began, and the wind blew her hair as she
turned her head away and showed one little pink-tinted ear nestling
among the curls. His gaze devoured it. "How can I," he went on, "when
you--when you have such a beautiful ear!"
"What difference does it make when we can never see each other again?"
Her manner was evasive and her speech hesitating, for she was trying
hard to bring herself to the point of telling him the fateful secret.
"All the difference in the world! Lucy, sweetheart! Tell me if you
care!" He leaned toward her and took her wrist in his hand.
[Illustration: "IT HAD COME, THIS QUESTION SHE HAD NOT MEANT TO LET HIM
ASK"]
"You've no right to ask that question again! I shall say no more than
I have said already." She made an effort to release her arm, but he
would not relax his firm, though gentle and caressing, grasp.
"Lucy, I would never beg for a woman's love, nor ask her to try to care
for me, if she didn't love me, of herself. But when the woman I love
with all my heart won't deny that she loves me, then I must hear her say
in her own sweet voice that she does. Lucy, darling, tell me that you
love me!"
She was trembling from head to foot, but she drew herself together with
fresh determination and held her head up proudly as she answered,
looking straight ahead: "I have told you that I shall never marry, and
that after to-day I shall never see you again. That must be enough, for
I shall say no more."
He let go her wrist, and she tapped her horse to a faster pace. She was
thinking intently, trying to frame in her mind the best words in which
to make her confession. Suddenly, over the top of a steep incline, they
came upon a wide and splendid view. The sides of the canyon seemed to
melt and flow back, giving far-ranging sight of the sombre purple
mountains towering toward heaven and of the hills dwindling down into
the plain.
"Lucy," he exclaimed, "here is the beautiful place of which I told you.
I wanted to bring you here to tell you of my love, because this is the
most beautiful spot I know. Lucy, darling, I love you with all my heart,
and if you cannot deny that you love me, then it is my right, the right
of my love, to hear you say that you do. Never mind about not leaving
your father and meaning never to marry. We'll talk about that
afterward. Won't you tell me now that you do love me?"
Her eyes dropped from the high and wide horizon to her horse's mane. She
tried to say, "I do not love you," but her heart rose in rebellion and
forbade the untruth. She opened her lips, but no sound came from them.
Curtis bent toward her, trying to take her hand, but she drew it away.
With all her strength she was contending for her determination against
both him and the traitor within her own heart. He leaned nearer,
pleading in tones that were half loving command and half loving
entreaty, "Lucy! Lucy, love! Look up! Let me see your eyes, your dear,
beautiful eyes!"
Lucy clasped her hands together hard and bowed her head. He was bending
over her, his shoulder touching hers. She heard his voice, soft and
rich with love, whispering, "Lucy, darling!" And suddenly, scarcely
knowing what she did, she lifted her head and looked into his eyes.
Instantly his arms were about her, and he heard her murmuring, "I do
love you! Oh, I do love you!" He bent his ardent face to hers, but
before their lips met she started away, freeing herself from his
encircling arms.
"Stop!" she cried, putting out a forbidding hand, as she moved her horse
away. "You have made me tell you, against my will, that I love you. Now
you must listen while I tell you who I am." There was a suggestion of
defiance in the poise of her head and in the flashing of her eyes as
they looked squarely into his.
"And you must understand," she went on, "that after I tell you this I
want you to forget everything that has passed between us this afternoon,
just as I shall do. For I am the daughter of Sumner L. Delafield!"
In an instant his arms were about her again. "Lucy, dearest, you've told
me no news! I've known it since yesterday."
She struggled to free herself. "But my father--you hate him--you--you
wish to kill him--I heard what you said to him that day at your ranch,
last Spring--and afterward I happened to find out who he is."
A wave of crimson deepened the color of his sunbrowned face. "All that
is dead and buried," he said, "and I am ashamed of it, now. I want you
to help me forget that I allowed such base thoughts to master me so
long. I'm going to your father this afternoon to tell him that I have
forgiven the old debt, and everything else, and to ask him to forgive
me. My poor little girl! I never dreamed your dear heart was being
worried by that affair!"
She let him fold her in his caress, whispering happily, "I knew all the
time you wouldn't do it--I knew you wouldn't hurt daddy, or anybody."
A loud clap of thunder rolled and echoed over the mountains, and a
splash of raindrops fell on their faces. Conrad looked at the dense
black clouds and at the gray veil dropping athwart the mountains, and
turned to Lucy with alarm in his face. "We must start back at once and
ride down that canyon for all we're worth! This storm is going to be a
corker, but maybe we can beat the worst of it. I've done wrong to bring
you so far--but I can't regret it now, sweetheart!"
They started at a gallop down the long canyon road. The patter of big
drops that had given them warning quickly increased to a steady, beating
downpour that drenched them to the skin. An almost tangible darkness was
sifting through the atmosphere. It filled the sky overhead, drifted down
the ravine, and seemed to settle, making a thick twilight under the
arching trees. Blinding zigzags of lightning slashed the clouds and
played through the middle air, and a terrific roar and boom and rattle
of thunder kept up in the mountains behind them and echoed back and
forth between the walls of the gulch.
The creek was already rising, and each time they had to cross it they
found its muddy torrent swifter and higher. The road was rocky, and in
many places had been made slippery by the rain, and there were frequent
steep inclines down which they dared not go at a rapid gait. They had
put behind them hardly more than a third of the distance when Conrad,
looking backward, saw a cloud of inky blackness settle and drop upon the
earth. A deep, booming sound mingled with a deafening clap of thunder.
The ground trembled. The horses quivered with fright and darted forward
at a faster pace. Lucy saw Curtis's face blench in the half darkness.
"What is it?" she asked, glancing backward anxiously.
"That was a cloudburst," he answered in a tone that thrilled with
comprehension. "It struck back there, just this side of our beautiful
spot, and a mountain of water will soon come tearing down behind us.
We've got to ride like the wind! Perhaps we can make the first road that
crosses the ravine, and you can go up there while I ride on and warn the
town."
"No! I'll ride on with you."
"I can't let you do that," was his swift reply. "Are you frightened,
dearest?"
"No," she answered in a steady tone; "I'm not frightened at all. And I'm
going to ride on with you. It would be easy to die with you, if we
must--but I couldn't live without you, now."
He bent toward her and touched her arm with loving reverence as they
galloped on at the swiftest speed possible. The horses needed neither
whip nor spur, but with ears laid back and necks outstretched were
fleeing down the dim canyon for their lives. As they bounded up a low
bank, where the road crossed the creek bed again, Lucy's horse
stumbled, slipped, and fell with his forelegs doubled under him. He gave
a scream of pain and terror. Lucy, freeing her foot from the stirrup as
he fell, jumped to one side. Curtis checked Brown Betty, leaned over,
and grasped the girl around the waist. She helped him with an upward
spring, and as he lifted her to the saddle he shifted his own seat to
the back, and they galloped on, leaving the crippled horse to his
certain fate.
Behind them they could hear the booming, rattling roar of the avalanche
of water that was sweeping down between the canyon walls. And presently,
piercing through even its rumbling tumult and the crashing thunder, they
heard the death cry of the horse they had left behind, and knew that he
had been engulfed in the mountainous wave that was rushing toward them
at a speed they could not hope to equal. Lucy trembled at the sound and
nestled her head against Conrad's shoulder.
As they neared the first road cutting across the gulch Curtis lowered
his head to Lucy's ear: "Sweetheart, we are almost at the first road
out. I can put you off and you can run up there and be safe."
"No," she whispered back; "don't stop for an instant. Every second will
mean many lives. I'm going with you to whatever end there is, and I'm
not afraid."
Brown Betty's flanks were steaming. The froth from her mouth flecked her
neck and legs and body, to be quickly washed off by the drenching rain.
Behind them they could hear, coming nearer and nearer, the fateful roar
of the rushing waters. The canyon walls opened out, and, looming vaguely
in the dim light, they could see the first houses of the town. With full
lungs Conrad shouted at the top of his voice:
"Run! A cloudburst! A cloudburst is coming! Run for your lives!"
They dashed on, and the houses became more frequent. There were lights
in the windows, though it was little past mid-afternoon. Curtis,
shouting his warning over and over, put the bridle in Lucy's hands and
drew his revolver. They were rushing down the main street, through the
most thickly built portion of the town. Pointing upward, he added the
noise of pistol shots to his clamor. Men and women came to their doors,
caught the meaning of his cries, heard the roar of the coming flood, and
rushed out and up the side streets, shouting warnings as they ran.
"My father--the bank--can we go so far?" asked Lucy breathlessly.
"Yes--we'll call him," Conrad assured her, glancing back over his
shoulder. Behind them rose a din of shouts and yells and screams of
terror, mingling with the peals of thunder and the roar of the waters.
The street was full of people running this way and that. And a little
farther back, through the dusky light, he saw a brown, foaming wall of
water, its crest topping the roofs of the houses, its front a mass of
half-engulfed trees and houses and pieces of lumber and arms and legs
and bodies of men and animals that boiled up from its foot, tossed and
whirled a moment on its breast, and sank into the flood.
Curtis ground his teeth together. They were still three blocks from the
bank. "We'll never make it," he thought; "but we'll try!" His arm
gathered Lucy closer to his breast, his spur touched Brown Betty's
heaving flank, and with another loud shout of warning and an encouraging
cry to the mare they darted on with a fresh burst of speed.