That Sunday afternoon at Sarita Creek! The dinner, so savoury, so
delectable; the two girls, arrayed in cool white lawn, rosy-cheeked,
beaming; the gay talk and banter and laughter; the blissful hours
together on the grass beneath the trees, with the wide mesa diffusing
an immense languor, with the mountains bestowing a vast peace, with
the brook at their feet murmuring an accompaniment to their
words--hours to treasure, hours of pure gold: Little wonder that Dave,
lying full length and gazing upward through the boughs at the blue
vault, allowed his eyelids to sink and at last to close. Little wonder
the girls' faces grew dreamy and their voices gentle. And none, none
at all, that Lee succumbed to the spell.
He was still under the enchantment when toward sunset Ruth suggested
they go up the cañon. But Imogene, arousing herself, declared that she
had letters to write; and Dave, still fast asleep, was already on
roamings of his own. Ruth and Lee therefore went alone up the path
through the trees and underbrush, until they emerged in the cool,
dusky gorge formed by the contracting of the rocky walls. The brook
rippled by over stones and moss. A few insects hovered over the stream
with their tiny bodies shining like bronze. From somewhere came a
sweet, honeyed smell of flowers.
"Imo writes letters regularly," Ruth explained concerning her friend,
"to an instructor in a university in the East. I don't think they're
exactly affianced, but expect to be. Waiting, apparently. Waiting
until he's a professor--and until her health is better, too, I
imagine. An agreement to let things rest as they are for the present,
one might say. Imogene talks very little about it, and of course I ask
no questions."
She sat down on a fallen tree, patting its trunk to signify a place
for him at her side. Pointing at crevises in the cañon wall, she began
to tell him the names she and Imogene had given them--Bandit's Stair,
Devil's Crack, Bear's Hole, and to enumerate those assigned the
jutting points and knobs along the rim that by a stretch of the
imagination bore a resemblance to animals or human heads.
As she talked, with her gray eyes at times turning to his to learn if
he was interested, he felt anew the charm of her youthfulness, of her
vivid personality. It dwelt in her small, firm hands pointing now
here, now there, in her slender, rounded form faced toward him, in her
red lips, her soft smooth cheek, her brow, in her glances and her
animated words. He noted again, as a quality altogether delicious, the
air of unconscious friendliness that he had perceived at their very
first encounter. It quite offset the slight touch of obstinacy in her
chin--but, in truth, did the latter require an offset? He had earlier
thought that with such a trait one could not foretell where its
possessor might go, or what do, or what exact, under stress of
feeling. He smiled at that now. How ridiculous the notion! Why
shouldn't a girl have a bit of determination in her make-up? Well, she
should. It gave force to her character. It made her more individual,
more attractive. It coloured a nature so essentially feminine as Ruth
Gardner's with elusive and delightful possibilities.
"See, up yonder at the top!" she exclaimed. "That piece of rock like a
man's head and shoulders I named Lee Bryant, after you."
"Do I look as block-headed as that?"
"No. It was not because of any resemblance, but because you kept your
back so long toward us. Now, however, since you've repented and ceased
to neglect us, I shall call it after someone else. Perhaps after the
stage-driver who takes our letters down to Kennard; he sits hunched up
like that. I'll seek a much nicer rock to represent you."
"That's wholly unnecessary, for I intend to keep before your eyes in
person."
"Which will be the nicest of all," said she, smiling.
He continued to gaze at her, to listen to her voice, with a pleasure
he made no effort to conceal. And she, on her part, seemed to
surrender herself to the enjoyment of the moment; her eyes remaining
longer on his, her tones softening to a slow, tender utterance almost
carrying a caress, her face keeping its languorous smile; as if the
honey-sweet fragrance from the unseen flowers had invaded her spirit.
A pause came in their talk. They sat unmoving, without stir of hand or
head, quiescent. Then Lee all at once experienced a feeling of
profound compassion for Ruth as he regarded her, a poignant stab in
his breast like pain. Sitting there without movement, with her hands
idle upon her lap, with her face a little lifted and her eyes
wistfully bent on the great wall opposite, she seemed so young and
small to be dwelling at such a place, so helpless, so solitary, that
her presence appeared a cruel irony of fate. Her homesteading was a
desperate clutch at security; and her situation was utterly different
from that of her friend, Imogene Martin, who viewed the matter as in
the nature of a health-seeking holiday, and who was sustained by the
knowledge that she had wealthy relations at Kennard to whom she could
return. Far different, indeed. At the thought of the homesickness that
at times Ruth must know, of the lonesomeness of mountain and mesa from
which she must suffer, of the deprivations, the hard bareness of the
life, the moments of despair, he had a sensation of the bitter
unfairness of things and a desire to snatch her safe away from the
harsh pass in which she stood. It would be only right, it would be
only just.
When presently she looked about and found his eyes rapt on her face, a
quick blush spread over her throat and cheeks.
"I think--think we should go home now," she said, with a catch of her
breath.
"Yes," said he, rising.
He leaped the log on which they had been sitting and then put up a
hand to help her mount. Holding his fingers she raised herself upon
the tree trunk. But suddenly the bark gave way; she slipped, lost her
balance, and pitched forward. Lee caught her in his arms.
For an instant she rested there in his clasp, her surprised eyes
gazing into his. A quiver passed over her form. Her lips were parted,
but she had ceased to breathe. Likewise in Bryant's breast the breath
had stopped. A fierce passion swept him to hold her always thus, warm
and close and secure. His arms trembled at the thought; at which her
eyelashes began to flutter and her breath to come once more, as
hurried as the beat of her heart. And then, yielding utterly to the
swirl of mad impulse, he kissed her--once, twice, and twice again.
Afterward he set her on her feet.
"I guess that ends our friendship," he said, with a wavering smile.
"Lost my head altogether. Couldn't help it. I looked at you and--and
it just happened. All my will and sense vanished in an instant.
Bewitched!"
The colour was still in her face, and her air was uncertain,
disturbed. But at his words, so palpably sincere and self
condemnatory, she began to smile.
"Perhaps--if we just forget----"
The smouldering fire in his eyes flared suddenly.
"Forget? I'll never forget that minute, those kisses," he exclaimed.
"Hanged if I want to, or will!"
"If, then, we don't repeat them, and are more circumspect, why, I'll
overlook it," she said, a little confusedly. "I know you meant no
discourtesy." He gave a savage shake of his head. "And Imogene and I
both prize your friendship."
"Thank you, Ruth. You take an awful load off my heart."
She glanced up at him, now once more composed. Her eyes gleamed with a
veiled impishness.
"No girl ever died from being kissed. But what a splendid lover you
would make!" Away she darted a few steps, to whirl and point and
waggle a finger at the dumfounded youth. "Are you coming? Because I
don't consider this a wise place to be with a flighty, irresponsible
man, first name Lee. Besides, it's beginning to grow dark in here."
Bryant joined her. The glow was still in his eyes, but in all other
respects he was his usual self, calm, collected. Together they went
down the cool, dim cañon, with its honey scent of flowers drifting
with them; and though they talked lightly of things of no importance,
there was a little smile on the lips of each and sometimes their eyes
met, as if sharing a new, sweet intimacy.
Thereafter, frequent as were Lee's calls at Sarita Creek of evenings,
he seldom had Ruth to himself and on more than one occasion had to
share her company with Charlie Menocal, much to his impatience. When
Imogene sometimes succeeded in detaining the fellow at her side,
Bryant silently gave her unutterable thanks. And Ruth seemed day by
day more receptive to his passion.
"I think of only two things, my canal and you," he declared to her one
night.
"When you put me first and the canal second, why, who knows what I may
think then?" she said, tantalizingly. "But to esteem an irrigation
ditch before me, the idea! What if you had to choose between us?" And
she continued thus to tease him, fanning the fires hotter in his
breast.
By the end of August Bryant had completed the survey of the canal line
down to a point where it touched the northern boundary of the ranch,
tapping the latter's system of distributing ditches. Pinas River,
Perro Creek, and the tract to be watered were thus united. Though
later, doubtless, it would be necessary to make minor corrections, as
always, the surveying was finished. One tracing showed the entire
irrigation scheme from the dam on the Pinas to the tips of the
laterals branching out in a gridiron over the land. There were other
tracings, too, on a larger scale and of successive sections, ready to
be taken to Kennard in order to make blueprints.
"Town for us to-morrow, Dave," Lee exclaimed one day, as he rolled and
tied his maps in a waterproof canvas. "We're due for a rest; our job
is done for the present. We'll leave the instruments and note-books
with the girls at Sarita Creek, who've agreed to keep them until we
return. The Mexicans are still hanging around."
Toward the middle of the afternoon they appeared at the cabins, where
they disengaged Dick from his burden of freight and turned him out to
graze. Imogene was nursing an obstinate headache in her darkened
bedroom, and Dave immediately settled himself under a tree with a
novel of the girls'. So Ruth and Lee were left to themselves.
"I'm going up the creek to gather raspberries, and you came just in
time to carry the basket," said she. "I discovered a large thicket of
them half way up the cañon; the more you pick, the more you'll have
for supper to-night. And if you don't bring Imo and me a box of
chocolates, and a big box, when you come back from wherever you're
going to-morrow, you need never show your lean brown face again at our
doors! I'm dying for some. Oh, Lee, I really am. They help so when
one's lonely."
The pathetic tone in which she uttered the final words sent Bryant off
in a fit of laughter.
"You may count on them," he said, at length.
"Your heart's of stone to laugh like that. Bonbons _do_ help when one
is low-spirited."
Nevertheless, her spirits were high enough on this afternoon. All the
while that they were gathering raspberries she kept up a lively
chatter, and when Lee suggested, now that the basket was full, leaving
it at the spot and making an excursion to the head of the gorge, she
readily assented. The sun was still far from setting; the air between
the rocky walls was pleasant; and the cañon held forth a fresh
enticement. They walked for an hour, and though they failed to gain
the end of the long mountain crevice they ascended to where the
springs that fed the brook had their source, and where the rivulet
trickled over ledges and among boulders, finding themselves in the
heavy timber that forested the upper mountains. There they sat on a
rock, Ruth holding the wild flowers she had plucked on the way, and
talked.
"Does your going now have to do with your project?" she questioned.
"Yes; I've finished the preliminary work."
"But Charlie Menocal said you were making no progress, that you were
blocked."
"What Charlie doesn't know would fill lots of space," Lee said. "In
spite of the Menocals' opposition and tricks, I've established my
survey--but don't breathe it yet! And now I'm ready for the financing
of the scheme. When that's done, I'll begin actual work."
Ruth considered him with shining eyes.
"I'm glad you succeeded; I knew you would succeed," she exclaimed.
"You've worked so hard. And I hope that it makes you famous and
wealthy."
"So do I," he laughed. "I need the money."
She nodded.
"One needs money to be happy in this world."
"Oh, I don't know about that," he responded, thoughtfully. "I've
probably been as happy while hammering out this survey as I'll ever
be, that is, happy in my work. Of course, money means comforts and
luxuries. But I doubt if it really ever brings contentment."
The obstinate touch grew in her chin.
"If I had plenty of money I'd have the contentment, or I'd soon find
it," she declared. "Pretty clothes, and fine furniture, and
automobiles, and servants, and parties, and so on, are things--at
least with women--that go a long way toward satisfaction. I sometimes
don't blame girls who marry rich old men; they can put up with them
for the pleasures their money will procure."
"Ruth, Ruth, don't utter such nonsense! At any rate, you've too much
common sense ever to waste yourself on a doddering money bags."
"I'll never have the chance," said she. "But if I had, I'd think it
over carefully. A young man with money I could be especially nice to,
and I might even set out to catch him. You see, I'm quite frank and
open about it."
"Nonsense," he repeated. "You'd marry no one just for his money."
"That depends whether or not he caught me at a moment when I was
feeling sick of everything and reckless. Look at my hands, all
calloused from work. If I have to work, I shall do it for myself; not
marry to work."
Bryant lifted her hands and regarded them.
"They please me immensely as they are; they're lovely hands," he
asserted.
"Then your vision is poor."
"It's clear enough when I look at you, Ruth. And when you talk as you
have, I become impatient because I know you don't mean it. But
nonetheless, you deserve the best that any man can give, and you ought
to have all the comforts and pretty things any woman has, for you're
too sweet and good for a bare, commonplace life." He pressed gently
the fingers he yet retained. "I told you once that you had bewitched
me. It was true; I am bewitched, have been ever since I touched your
dear lips. And I love you. It hurts my heart to think of you at this
homesteading business--"
"What else was there for me?" she asked. "I've had no business
training, nothing but two years in a college, no knowledge of anything
that a girl needs to hold a position. And I'm not even a good
homesteader." Her tone rang with a trace of bitterness.
"You ought not to have to do it--and you shall not, Ruth, if I have my
way. I want to save you from it, and make life pleasant and happy for
you. The money I have now is little, but I'm going ahead; I'm going
ahead, and nothing shall stop me, I tell you. Soon I shall have ample
means. Within a year or two. Already I've told you I love you, though
this you must have known, for I've made no effort to conceal my love.
To me you're the dearest, sweetest girl in the world; and all I ask is
the chance to strive and toil for you, and make a home for you, and
relieve you of anxiety and care, and have you for a joyous companion
and mate."
Ruth closed her hands on his, while her eyes grew wet.
"You mean it, Lee?"
"Ah, I do, I do! I love you; I hold you dearer than anything in the
world."
The smile she gave was tender, trustful.
"I believe you," she said.
She yielded to his arms. Her head fell back upon his shoulder and her
look lifted to his blissfully. When he kissed her a thrill of passionate
desire answered, as when on that fragrant evening in the cañon he first
had fiercely pressed her lips. This was happiness--happiness. If it
could but last forever!
"And my love is yours, too, Lee," she exclaimed, so earnestly that he
felt his heart quiver. "I want to be happy; I want to be loved; I
don't want to live a life of just dreary commonplaceness, alone,
uncared for, with no outlook, with no prospect of joys. I want the
most there is in happiness--every girl wants that; and this monotonous
existence has been robbing me, stifling me, until sometimes I've been
wild enough to leap off a high rock. But now!"
Bryant's arms went closer about her.
"It shall be different now," he murmured.
"Yes, yes; it must, it shall. There's no sense in people not being
happy when the world was made for that very purpose."
"Whenever you say, we'll be married," Lee stated.
Ruth was silent for a time, considering this. It, indeed, left her a
little startled.
"But it mustn't be too soon," she replied, at last. "We had best go on
as we are while your project is being started, for I wouldn't be so
selfish as to make a command on your time at a critical moment, Lee
dear. And I must plan clothes and things. Knowing that happiness is
ahead of us, oh, homesteading then will be only a lark! I'll never
need follow it up, but just abandon it when we're ready. Kiss me
again, Lee, and then we must start back."
They retraced their steps down the cañon, obtaining the basket of
berries on the way. Once, as they neared the cabins, Ruth paused,
gazing at her lover.
"I had actually come to hate these claims," she said. "I felt chained
to the spot, as if something would keep me in the miserable place for
the rest of my life. Had I known how lonely I should be here, I never
would have come."
"But that's over now, Ruth. A little while longer, that's all."
She gazed at him with an odd, intent, anxious expression upon her
countenance.
"You'll not let your irrigation project keep you here always?" she
asked. "Or live in other places like it? These mountains and this
desolate mesa get on my nerves. If I thought you were going to stay
away from other people, foregoing all the pleasures of cities and the
like, I think I should lose my courage and not be able to love you
enough to stand it. I want you most of all, but shall want other
things, too."
He smiled indulgently.
"A few years perhaps," he replied. "Till I'm solid on my feet--till I
get going well--we're both young--and then----" He dismissed the
matter with a wave of the hand.
But that evening, when Lee and Dave had gone, when Imogene was asleep,
when the soft darkness was thickening over the mesa, Ruth walked forth
to the edge of the sagebrush.
"I wonder," she murmured, leaving her thought unfinished.
The hush of the mountains, the silence of the plain, the vastness, the
emptiness, the seeming purposelessness of it all, irritated and
oppressed her spirit. And she so yearned to be where the world was
alive and throbbing!
"I wonder if I really love him enough, or if I made a little fool of
myself this afternoon?" she muttered to herself. "I wonder!"