AUTUMN AND THE GODS
It was Sunday afternoon and a hazy, golden, late September sun was
swimming lazily in the blue arc of sky, flooding the lower gallery of
the Circle Bar ranchhouse, but not reaching a secluded nook in which sat
Hollis and Nellie Hazelton. Mrs. Norton was somewhere in the house and
Norton had gone down to the bunkhouse for a talk with the men--Hollis
and Nellie could see him, sitting on a bench in the shade of the eaves,
the other men gathered about him.
Below the broad level that stretched away from the ranchhouse sank the
big basin, sweeping away to the mountains. Miles into the distance the
Circle Bar cattle could be seen--moving dots in the center of a great,
green bowl. To the right Razor-Back ridge loomed its bald crest upward
with no verdure saving the fringe of shrubbery at its base; to the left
stretched a vast plain that met the distant horizon that stretched an
interminable distance behind the cottonwood. Except for the moving dots
there was a total absence of life and movement in the big basin. It
spread in its wide, gradual, downward slope, bathed in the yellow
sunshine of the new, mellow season, peacefully slumberous, infinitely
beautiful.
Many times had Hollis sat in the gallery watching it, his eyes
glistening, his soul stirred to awe. Long since had he ceased regretting
the glittering tinsel of the cities of his recollection; they seemed
artificial, unreal. When he had first gazed out over the basin he had
been oppressed with a sensation of uneasiness. Its vastness had appalled
him, its silence had aroused in him that vague disquiet which is akin to
fear. But these emotions had passed. He still felt awed--he would always
feel it, for it seemed that here he was looking upon a section of the
world in its primitive state; that in forming this world the creator had
been in his noblest mood--so far did the lofty mountains, the wide,
sweeping valleys, the towering buttes, and the mighty canyons dwarf the
flat hills and the puny shallows of the land he had known. But he was no
longer appalled; disquietude had been superseded by love.
It all seemed to hold some mystery for him--an alluring, soul-stirring
mystery. The tawny mountains, immutable guardians of the basin, whose
peaks rose somberly in the twilight glow--did they hold it? Or was it
hidden in the basin, in the great, green sweep that basked in the
eternal sunlight?
Perhaps there was no mystery. Perhaps he felt merely the romance that
would inevitably come to one who deeply appreciated the beauty of a land
into which he had come so unwillingly? For romance was here.
He turned his head slightly and looked at the girl who sat beside him.
She also was looking out over the basin, her eyes filled with a light
that thrilled him. He studied her face long, noting the regular
features, the slight tan, through which shone the dusky bloom of perfect
health; the golden brown hair, with the wind-blown wisps straggling over
her temples; he felt the unaccountable, indefinable something that told
him of her inborn innocence and purity--qualities that he had worshiped
ever since he had been old enough to know the difference between right
and wrong.
A deep respect moved him, a reverent smile wreathed his lips. Motherly?
Yes, that world-thrilling word aptly described her. And as he continued
to look at her he realized that this world held no mystery for him
beyond that which was enthroned in the heart of the girl who sat beside
him, unconscious of his thoughts.
He turned again toward the basin. He did not want to uncover the
mystery--yet. There were still several things to be done before he would
feel free to speak the words that he had meditated upon for some weeks.
Meanwhile--if the gods were with him--the solving of the mystery would
be the more enjoyable.
Two weeks of inaction had followed the primary incident. Several of Ten
Spot's friends were now in his employ; in spite of the drought the
Circle Bar had so far experienced a very prosperous season, and, though
the addition of the men represented quite an item of expense, he felt
that it was much better to employ them than to allow them to be
re-engaged by Dunlavey.
He had been able to save considerable money. This he had transferred to
a bank in Santa Fe, for he had determined to stay in the West. He had
told his mother of this decision and had asked her to come, but she had
written that she preferred to remain East for a time--at least until the
following spring.
Hollis was satisfied. Affairs were progressing beyond his anticipations.
Dunlavey's influence in the county had received a mighty blow in the
defeat of Watkins at the primary; he had received notice of the
enactment of several new laws that would appreciably assist him in his
fight; he had succeeded in winning many friends because of his attitude
on the water question; the increased number of advertisements appearing
in the _Kicker_ would soon necessitate the addition of an extra
sheet. It all presaged prosperity. Yes, he was satisfied. And yet--
He turned again and looked at the girl. This time he caught her watching
him. Evidently she had been watching him for a long time for her gaze
was fixed and meditative, as though she had been studying him. She
started and blushed when he turned and caught her, looking down in
sudden and complete confusion. But she looked up again instantly,
meeting his gaze steadily, her lips in a frank smile.
"You have been thinking of this country," she said.
"You have guessed it," he returned gravely and gently; "I have been
thinking of this country--and its people." He smiled at her, his eyes
shining with a light that caused hers to waver and droop. "But how did
you discover that?" he questioned. "I was not aware that I had been
speaking my thoughts."
"Do you think it is always necessary to speak?" she answered, looking at
him with a quiet smile. "Don't you think there are times when one's
thoughts find expression in one's eyes? When we can not conceal them--no
matter how hard we try? I know that you were thinking of the country,"
she went on earnestly, "because a few moments ago I had been thinking of
it too and I know that my emotions were exactly the same as those
expressed in your eyes. It is magnificent, isn't it?" she said in an
awed, eager voice. "It is so big, so mighty, so soul-stirring. It
allures with its vastness, it dazzles with its beauty; it makes one feel
closer to the Creator, even while pressing home a disquieting sense of
one's own insignificance.
"For instance," she went on, her eyes large and luminous, a new, quiet
color coming into her face "there are times when our tasks seem
stupendous, when we are filled with an overpowering consciousness of the
importance of them; when we feel that we are carrying such a burden that
the addition of another would make the load too heavy. Then we look upon
God's work and immediately a still, small voice within us cries: 'What
have ye done in comparison to this?' And what have we done?" she
suddenly demanded.
"Nothing," he returned gravely, awed by this fleeting illuminating
glimpse into her soul.
She leaned back into her chair with a smile. "Those were the things I
was thinking about. And you, too, were thinking of them," she added.
"Now, don't deny it!" she warned, "for I saw it in your eyes!"
"No!" he said with a quick smile; "I don't deny it. But I was thinking
of the people also."
"Oh, the people!" she said with a frown.
"Perhaps I should have said 'person,'" he modified with a quick glance
at her, under which her eyes drooped in swift confusion--as they had
drooped on another occasion which he remembered.
"Oh!" she said merely.
"I have been comparing this person to God's other works," he said, a
light in his eyes which told that the former decision to postpone an
attempt to uncover the mystery had been ruthlessly put aside, "and I
have come to the conclusion that in spite of the infinite care he took
in forming the beautiful world out yonder he did not neglect this person
to whom I refer."
Her eyes met his in a glance of swift comprehension. She drew a slow,
deep breath and averted her face, which was now crimson.
"As you have been able to illustrate man's insignificance in comparison
to God's mighty creations, so has my own inferiority been forced upon me
by my attempting to compare myself to the sweet character of the person
of whom I speak," said Hollis, his voice low and earnest. "It has been a
question whether--when I speak to her of a thing which has been on my
mind for many days--she could not with justice paraphrase the question
asked by the still, small voice and say: What have you done to deserve
this? And I should have to reply--nothing." He had moved closer to her,
leaning forward to look into her eyes.
She sat very still, her gaze on the basin. "Perhaps this very estimable
person holds other views?" she returned, with a flash of mischief in her
eyes. She turned suddenly and looked straight at him, meeting his gaze
unwaveringly, a demure smile on her face. "I told you that sometimes a
person's thoughts were expressed in their eyes," she said--and now her
lashes flickered--"perhaps you can tell what my thoughts are?"
It was a challenge, a defiance, and an unconditional surrender. Like a
flash one of Hollis's arms went out--she was drawn, vainly protesting,
toward him.
"You haven't answered," she laughed, in a smothered voice; "you are not
certain----"
She did not finish the sentence. Mrs. Norton, coming to the door for a
breath of fresh air, halted on the threshold, looked, smiled, and then
quietly--very quietly--slipped back into the house.
Away out over the basin a Mexican eagle circled, winging his slow way
through the golden sunshine of the afternoon. Miles away the mountain
peaks rose somberly, a mysterious, golden halo rising slowly above them.
Perhaps there would always be mystery in the mountains, but a certain
mystery that had troubled Hollis mightily had been successfully solved.
The gods had favored him.