A DESERT PICTURE.
As far as the eye could see, and for leagues beyond the reach of vision,
one of the most wonderful landscapes of the world was outspread in every
direction. Castles of massive build with battlemented towers, Greek
temples, slender spires, columns, arches, and walled cities with lofty
buildings rising tier above tier met the view on every side. Not only
were these structures of the most graceful modelling, but they were of
such a brilliancy and variety of coloring as may only be seen in that
land of wonders. While the prevailing tints were red or crimson, these
were toned and contrasted with every shade of yellow from orange to
buff, by greens, purples, and pinks, white, brown, and in fact every
variety and combination of color known to nature. Some of the slender
columns were even frosted as with silver, while others were surmounted
by groups of statuary.
Broad avenues wound in and out among these gaudily tinted structures,
and from them wide terraces--red, yellow, pink, or white--swept back
and up smooth and regular, as though built of squared marble blocks.
Apparently interspersed among these beautiful objects were shady groves,
blue lakes, rippling streams, and cool, snow-capped mountains; but these
were of such a curious nature that they came and went like the moving
pictures of a vitascope. Even the solid objects that one might be
certain were real were so sharply reflected in the heated atmosphere
above them that it was impossible to discern where substance ended and
its pictured counterfeit began.
In thorough keeping with these wonders was another close at hand, which
was the strangest of all. It was nothing more nor less than a forest of
prostrate trees lying in the wildest confusion, as though levelled by a
hurricane. Although they were broken and scattered over a wide area,
everything was there to prove that they had once been of vigorous growth
and noble proportions. Great trunks, limbs, branches, and even twigs,
many of them still retaining their covering of bark, were strewn on
every side; but all, even to the tiniest sliver, were turned into stone.
Not ordinary gray stone such as appears in the more common fossil forms,
but stone of the most exquisite color and shading, such as red jasper,
clouded agate, opalescent chalcedony, shaded carnelian, or banded onyx.
These substances are deemed precious even in the palace of a Czar, but
here they appeared in greatest profusion, many of them retaining so
clearly the markings and general aspect of wood that they could not be
mistaken for anything else. It was a fossil forest of what had been in
some dimly remote geologic age stately pine-trees, with waving tops and
whispering branches, perhaps filled with joyous birds, and sheltering
the strange animal life of a prehistoric world.
Now all was silent and motionless, with no more sign of life among the
fossil trees or their gorgeous surroundings than if the whole region lay
beneath the spell of some evil magic. Not a blade of grass was to be
seen, nor a living green thing of any kind. There was no sound of
running waters, nor of birds, nor of human activity. A sky of pale blue
arched overhead, and from it the sun poured down a parching heat that
rose in glimmering waves above tower and turret, battlement and spire.
These things are not imaginary, nor are they located in some remote and
unheard-of corner of the world, but they exist to-day right here in our
own land, as terribly beautiful and changeless at the close of the
nineteenth century as they were when first seen by a European nearly
four hundred years ago. They are the same as when the long-vanished
cliff-dwellers roamed amid their wonders, and gazed on them with
reverent awe ages before history began, for this is the Painted Desert
of Arizona. It is a region almost as little known as the deserts of the
moon, and one shunned with superstitious dread by the Indian tribes who
dwell on its borders as a place of departed spirits. So desolate is it,
and so void of life or the means of sustaining life, that not more than
a score of white men have ever gazed on its marvels and lived to tell of
them. It is a place to be avoided by all men, and yet we must penetrate
to its very heart, for there, with the opening of this story, shall we
find our hero.
He is a boy not more than seventeen years of age, seated on a fossil
tree trunk that, turned into jasper, resembles a huge stick of red
sealing-wax, and he is gazing with despairing eyes at the terrors by
which he is surrounded. Beside him, with drooping head, stands a
clean-limbed pony, bridled and saddled. A rifle, a roll of blankets, a
picket-rope, and a canteen are attached to the saddle, and one of the
boy's arms is slipped through the bridle-rein. He is clad in a gray
flannel shirt, a pair of blue army trousers that are protected to the
knees by fringed buck-skin leggings, a broad-brimmed white sombrero, and
well-worn walking-shoes. A silk handkerchief is loosely knotted about
his neck, and a belt of cartridges, from which also depends a
hunting-knife, is buckled about his waist.
The lad's name is Todd Chalmers, his home is in Baltimore, and on the
day before our introduction to him he was a member of a well-equipped
scientific expedition that was traversing the valley of the Colorado
Chiquito in the interests of a great Eastern college. Mortimer Chalmers,
Todd's elder and only brother, and a distinguished geologist, is in
charge of the expedition. Our lad, who is an honest, well-meaning
fellow, but of an adventurous disposition and extremely impatient of
control, had never been West until now, and only by persistent effort
had he induced his brother to allow him to accompany his exploring party
and remain with it during the long summer vacation. Three-fourths of the
journey to their point of destination had been made by rail, and only
ten days have elapsed since the party left the cars at Holbrook, where
they purchased an equipment of pack and saddle animals. From there they
set forth on their independent progress into the wild regions of the
Colorado Chiquito, whose valley bounds the Painted Desert on the south.
For a few days, or until the first novelty of this new life wore off,
all went well with Todd, who proved obedient to orders and attentive to
the duties devolving upon him. Then came trouble. One of the party left
camp on a private hunting expedition, became lost, and was only found
after a long delay and much organized searching. To provide against
further accidents of a similar nature, Mortimer Chalmers ordered that
thereafter no member of the party should stroll alone more than one
hundred yards from camp, or from the pack-train when it was in motion,
without receiving permission from him.
Now Todd was passionately fond of hunting, and, as already stated, was
impatient of restraint. He had anticipated unrestricted opportunities
for indulging in his favorite sport on this expedition. At the same time
not being a paid member of the party he did not feel bound in quite the
same way as the others to obey the orders of one whom he regarded with
the familiarity of a brother rather than with the respect due one in
authority. Therefore the order regarding hunting had hardly been issued
before he disobeyed it by galloping half a mile from the pack-train in
pursuit of a jack-rabbit, which he finally got, and with which he
returned in triumph.
In answer to his brother's query why he had thus disobeyed orders, the
boy replied that he did not suppose that particular order applied to
him, and that at any rate he was perfectly well able to take care of
himself.
"Do you mean, Todd, that you intend to continue in your disobedience of
orders?" asked the chief of party, sternly.
"Certainly not, when they are reasonable," answered the lad, flushing at
the other's tone. "But you know, Mort, I came out here especially for
the hunting, and it does seem rather hard--"
"No matter how it seems," interrupted the other. "I asked you if you
intended to continue in your disobedience of my orders."
"And I gave you my answer," replied Todd.
"Which means that you propose to pass your own judgment on them, and
then obey them or not, as seems to you best?"
"You can think as you please about it," retorted the other, angrily. "I
know, though, that I am not going to submit to being treated like a
child by my own brother just because he happens to be a few years older
than I am."
"Very well," replied the chief of party, calmly; "unless you will
promise implicit obedience to any order I may see fit to issue for the
welfare of the party, I shall disarm you, at the same time forbidding
you to borrow any other rifle or go upon any sort of a hunting
expedition until you do promise what I ask."
"I certainly sha'n't promise to obey any order so foolish as the one in
question, and if you choose to play the tyrant, why, you can, that's
all. Only remember, if anything unpleasant happens in consequence, the
fault will be wholly yours." Thus saying, the lad flung himself out of
the tent in which this unhappy interview had taken place, and strode
angrily away.
So the boy's cherished rifle was taken from him, and, filled with
mingled rage, mortification, and repentance, he passed a very unhappy
night. Although impatient and quick-tempered, he was not of a sullen
disposition, nor one who could long cherish anger. He was manly enough
to acknowledge to himself that he was wholly in the wrong, but was too
proud, or rather too cowardly--which is what so-called pride generally
means--to confess his fault to his brother and ask his forgiveness.
In vain did Mortimer Chalmers gaze wistfully at his younger brother on
the following morning, and long for a reconciliation. As for himself, he
could not weaken his authority by showing partiality toward any one
member of his party, and must be even more strict with Todd than with
the others because of the relationship between them. Thus his position
forbade his making the first friendly advances, and when the younger
brother, assuming a careless cheerfulness that he did not feel,
pointedly avoided him, the other turned to his own duties with a heavy
heart.
In the early afternoon of that day, when the leader was riding at some
distance in advance of his party, a small herd of black-tailed deer,
alarmed by the echoes behind them, suddenly sprang from a small side
cañon or ravine, halted abruptly on the edge of the bottom-land, gazed
for a moment in startled terror at the strange beings not fifty yards
from them, and then dashed madly back into the place whence they had
come.
"Give me a shot--quick!" cried Todd to his nearest neighbor, and
snatching the other's rifle as he spoke, he fired wildly at the
retreating animals. Then clapping spars to his pony, he bounded after
them in hot pursuit.