THE SECRET VALLEY
Morton Stamford may not have been a sick man when he arrived at the
H-Lazy Z ranch; he was at least a stronger man at the end of his
month's stay. His riding he continued only as practice, always with
the thought that he might require it. But he walked more, diving out
of sight daily into the chaos of the river banks, there to piece
together his clues and plan new attacks on the problem he was working
into shape for presentation to the Mounted Police.
Also he now and then caught sight of Isabel Bulkeley on the other
cliff, and that in itself was reward enough.
As the days passed he felt a new thrill in his veins, a virility that
clamoured for physical exertion, and his walks extended further and
further along the river, a lunch strapped over his shoulders.
Eastward the south bank often fell to an uninteresting flatness,
lined still by the grass-covered trails of the buffalo herds of
comparatively recent years. Westward it was different. There the
prairie level dropped to the river in one great leap, confining the
current sometimes between high cliffs, sometimes with steep rocky
wall on one side and an almost inaccessible valley on the other to
the foot of the opposite cliff. It was a canyon of varying
tightness, but always a canyon, the water dashing down here and there
with frothy roar, everywhere with a force and depth that defied
fording. The glamour of its fury appealed more and more as he
tramped further up-stream.
Hundreds of miles still to the west, in the foothills of the Rockies,
the main branch was a glacier torrent that rolled onward through
uninhabited wilds until it cut the Calgary-Edmonton line of
homesteaders at the village of Red Deer. Thereafter it dived once
more into the unknown, never once touching the haunts of men until it
reached the H-Lazy Z.
Stamford used to sit overlooking the torrent, picturing that long
trail in the wilderness, where thousands of years ago great animals
had been covered by the earth's convulsions. His uncontrolled
imagination knit fantastic stories about them, and the fettered life
of the little man longed to break into the heart of it and listen to
its tale before soulless man tamed it.
One day he found himself far above any point he had reached before.
He had clung to the top of the cliff, stopping only here and there to
peer over the precipice to the water's edge, and his progress had
been faster than he realised. Amid scenes new and vastly interesting
he munched his lunch. Below him the face of the cliff was rent by
huge fissures and lined with ledges, and the river valley spread and
narrowed in infinite variety. Across the river the hitherto unbroken
height showed signs of relenting, and great dips almost approached
the nature of valleys.
Uncertain how far he had come, he was about to turn back, when a
sudden noise sent him crouching to the upper rocks. It was the
barking of huge dogs. At the first note he recognised them. He
wondered if they had seen him, and he peered carefully out. The dogs
were on the other side of the river, higher up.
He began to creep toward them, the condition of the cliffs favouring
him. Gradually he sank lower and lower toward the river. He did not
dare look out. With an instinctive anxiety he did not stop to
analyse, he felt that other eyes were there; also he dreaded some
unthrilling explanation for the thing that was thrilling him.
When at last the clamour told him that he had come far enough, he
raised his head to an opening in the rocks and looked.
Across from him, partially hidden by a line of slender crags at the
river edge, was a beautiful valley, a low-lying patch of verdant
meadow as different from the dead wastes above as a garden from a
wilderness. Almost half a mile long by four hundred yards deep, it
was backed by a straight wall of cliff, broken only by two ledges.
Several tiny waterfalls tumbled from the face of the cliff, splashing
to the upper ledge, where they joined and widened for the plunge to
the meadow below.
In that deserted country the Red Deer had scooped out for its own
amusement a veritable oasis, and enclosed it with unscalable walls.
That was Stamford's fleeting idea. But several flaws chased the
romantic thought away. The valley was neither reserved for the
amusement of the river, nor was it inaccessible.
A herd of cattle was browsing in the succulent grass. To the east
the cliff sloped away behind the obtruding crags. There undoubtedly
was the entrance. And with his field-glasses Stamford picked out on
the lower ledge a rude shack that, to the bare eye, merged in the
general greyness of the background.
Nothing else of life could he find, though the valley was only a few
hundred yards from him. Then where were the dogs? And where were
dogs must be humans.
Suddenly the barking broke out afresh, and two great dogs burst from
behind a concealing rock, their noses pointing upward to the slope at
the eastern end of the valley. Stamford swept his glasses all about,
but for a time saw nothing to focus the clamour.
Then, climbing along the higher levels beyond the reach of the dogs,
came into view the big form of Cockney Aikens.
In and out among the rocks Cockney moved, now visible, now hidden
from view, examining every rock, every foothold; climbing downward,
the dogs seeming to tear themselves to pieces to get at him. He
lifted himself to the top of a rock and stood looking across the
valley at the cattle, ignoring the canine protest. Then, as if
startled, he leaped out of sight and did not reappear. The barks
rumbled away to grunts and growls, and presently the dogs returned to
the lower level.
Stamford was still watching with fascination their slinking muscular
movements, when one of them raised his head to the top of the cliff
and growled, and in a moment both were filling the valley with their
disturbing din.
The field-glasses were turned on the top of the cliff. A man's head
came slowly in sight and peered over. Then a long rope dropped away,
and, hand over hand, the man descended rapidly to the upper
ledge--sixty feet of descent without a pause.
So absorbed was the watcher in the remarkable grace and muscle of the
descent, that he did not at first recognise this second visitor to
the valley. When he did he rubbed his eyes, directed his glasses
again, and gasped.
Professor Bulkeley!
The big man walked fearlessly along the narrow ledge, a hundred feet
above the valley, disappeared from Stamford's sight, and after a time
came into view again on the lower ledge. The dogs bounded up rude
steps cut in the rock before the shack, welcoming him with waving
tails and whimpering barks. He stooped to rub their ears, then at a
word they quieted and fell in at his heels as he dropped to the
valley. A second command sent them to their stomachs, while the
Professor advanced slowly toward the cattle. The nearer ones raised
their heads from the long grass and examined him suspiciously, but he
stood still, and they returned to their feeding. Slowly the
Professor moved round the herd, eyeing them from every angle. After
a time he came down to the water's edge and looked up and down the
river, intently examining the opposite cliff.
Stamford lay motionless, only his eyes showing.
Whistling to the dogs, the Professor went off to the eastern side of
the valley and began to pick his way upward, peering about him as
Cockney had done. On the very rock where Cockney had stood he paused
a long time, looking across the valley and all about at his back.
Below, the dogs watched him with clumsily wagging tails. When next
he came into sight it was on the ledge beside the shack. This he
skirted back and forward but did not enter. Then, with a farewell
pat to the dogs, he disappeared the way he had come and came out on
the upper ledge.
Hand over hand he went up the rope almost as rapidly as he had
descended a half-hour before, and a few seconds later two lolling
dogs and a herd of feeding cattle were the only life in the valley.
Stamford lay where he was for a long time. He had no hope of seeing
more that day, but he did not wish to be seen. The dogs lay on the
lower edge, their heads outstretched on their paws. Below them
contented steers sank their noses into such grass as they had never
before eaten, and drank from sparkling streams that were nectar to
their alkali-parched throats. A heavy-footed farmer might have
issued from the unsightly shack and whistled lazily to the dogs to
fetch the cows for milking.
Stamford smiled at the fancy.
Thoughtfully he retraced his steps under cover of the jagged cliff
for almost a mile, where he emerged on the prairie and made swiftly
for home.
He was late for dinner, but they were holding it for him. Cockney
had not returned.
"Deep down in my innards," protested the Professor, with mock
displeasure, "I've an irresistible impulse to be nasty. I'd like to
think it righteous indignation--but it may be only hunger. At any
rate, here goes: Anyone who can delay a meal in this boarding-house
should have his rates raised. He insults the fare--as well as the
f-a-i-r." He bowed to their hostess.
"I nearly lost myself," apologised Stamford. "Deep down in my
innards is only hunger; and I'm not going to make it an excuse for
mushy compliments. I'll leave contrition until I've satisfied my
hunger."
"Indigestion is the most likely result," laughed the Professor.
"Were you really lost?" asked Isabel anxiously. "You know how
dangerous----"
"Isabel Bulkeley"--the Professor was shaking a stern finger at
her--"I refuse to share your anxiety with Mr. Stamford."
"Having made such a failure of mothering you," she retorted,
flushing, "I'm inclined to transfer my anxiety."
"I wasn't really lost," Stamford assured her, "for I stuck to the
river-bank. But I've been further than I ever was before--many miles
to the west."
He regarded the Professor significantly as he said it.
"I, too, went far afield," returned the Professor mysteriously. "And
I found promising signs. But before I say more I want to be certain;
it's disappointing to hope too much. It's very interesting up there,
isn't it?"
"It is--very," Stamford replied into his soup-spoon.
All evening the Professor was plainly trying to get a word alone with
him, but Stamford had no wish to be questioned, and he gave no
opportunity.