LOVE IN THE DESERT
"While I was teaching my boy obedience, I would teach him his next
great obligation, service. So only could his manhood be a full
one."--_Enoch's Diary_.
Shortly after two o'clock, Diana announced that she was ready to start.
But the good-bys consumed considerable time and it was nearly three
before they were really on their way. Enoch's eyes were a little dim
as he shook hands with Milton.
"Curly has my address, Milton," he said, "drop me a line once in a
while. I shall be more deeply interested in your success than you can
realize."
"I'll do it, Judge, and when I get back East, I'll look you up. You're
a good sport, old man!"
"You're more than that, Milton! Good-by!" and Enoch hurried out in
response to Jonas' call.
They were finally mounted and permitted to go. Na-che rode first,
leading a pack mule, Jonas second, leading two mules, Diana followed,
Enoch bringing up the rear. Much to Jonas' satisfaction, Enoch had
been obliged to abandon the overalls and flannel shirt which he had
worn into the Canyon. Even the tweed suit was too ragged and shrunk to
be used again. So he was clad in the corduroy riding breeches and coat
that Jonas had brought. But John Red Sun's boots were still doing
notable service and the soft hat, faded and shapeless, was pulled down
over his eyes in comfort if not in beauty.
There was a vague trail to the spring which lay southwest of the Ferry.
It led through the familiar country of fissures and draws that made
travel slow and heavy. The trail rose, very gradually, wound around a
number of multi-colored peaks and paused at last at the foot of a
smooth-faced, purple butte. Here grew a cottonwood, sheltering from
sun and sand a lava bowl, eroded by time and by the tiny stream of
water that dripped into it gently. There was little or no view from
the spring, for peaks and buttes closely hemmed it in. The November
shadows deepened early on the strange, winding, almost subterranean
trail, and although when they reached the cottonwood, it was not
sundown, they made camp at once. Diana's tent was set up in the sand
to the right of the spring. Enoch collected a meager supply of wood
and before five o'clock supper had been prepared and eaten.
For a time, after this was done, Enoch and Diana sat before the tiny
eye of fire, listening to the subdued chatter with which Jonas and
Na-che cleared up the meal.
Suddenly, Enoch said, "Diana, how brilliant the stars are, to-night!
Why can't we climb to the top of the butte for a little while? I feel
smothered here. It's far worse than the river bottom."
"Aren't you too tired?" asked Diana.
"Not too tired for as short a climb as that, unless you are feeling
done up!"
"I!" laughed Diana. "Why, Na-che will vouch for it that I've never had
such a lazy trip before! Na-che, the Judge and I are going up the
butte. Just keep a little glow of fire for us, will you, so that we
can locate the camp easily."
"Yes, Diana, and don't be frightened if you hear noises. I'm going to
teach Jonas a Navajo song."
"We'll try not to be," replied Diana, laughing as she rose.
It was an ascent of several hundred feet, but easily made and the view
from the top more than repaid them for the effort. In all his desert
nights, Enoch never had seen the stars so vivid. For miles about them
the shadowy peaks and chasms were discernible. And Diana's face was
delicately clear cut as she seated herself on a block of stone and
looked up at him.
"Diana," said Enoch, abruptly, "you make me wish that I were a poet,
instead of a politician."
"But you aren't a politician!" protested Diana. "You shall not malign
yourself so."
"A pleasant comment on our American politics!" exclaimed Enoch. "Well,
whatever I am, words fail me utterly when I try to describe the appeal
of your beauty."
"Enoch," there was a note of protest in Diana's voice, "you aren't
going to make love to me on this trip, are you?"
Enoch's voice expressed entire astonishment. "Why certainly I am,
Diana!"
"You'll make it very hard for me!" sighed Diana.
Enoch knelt in the sand before her and lifted her hands against his
cheek.
"Sweetheart," he said softly, his great voice, rich and mellow although
it hardly rose above a whisper, "my only sweetheart, not for all the
love in the world would I make it hard for you. Not for all your love
would I even attempt to leave you with one memory that is not all that
is sweet and noble. Only in these days I want you to learn all there
is in my heart, as I must learn all that is in yours. For, after that,
Diana, we must never see each other again."
Diana freed one of her hands and brushed the tumbled hair from Enoch's
forehead.
"Do you realize," he said, quietly, "that in all the years of my memory
no woman has caressed me so? I am starved, Diana, for just such a
gentle touch as that."
"Then you shall be starved no more, dearest. Sit down in the sand
before me and lean your head against my knee. There!" as Enoch turned
and obeyed her. "Now we can both look out at the stars and I can
smooth your hair. What a mass of it you have, Enoch! And you must
have been a real carrot top when you were a little boy."
"I was an ugly brat," said Enoch, comfortably. "A red-headed,
freckled-faced, awkward brat! And unhappy and disagreeable as I was
ugly."
"It seems so unfair!" Diana smoothed the broad forehead, tenderly. "I
had such a happy childhood. I didn't go to school until I was twelve.
Until then I lived the life of a little Indian, out of doors, taking
the trail trips with dad or geologizing with mother. I don't know how
many horses and dogs I had. Their number was limited only by what
mother and father felt they could afford to feed."
"There was nothing unfair in your having had all the joy that could be
crammed into your childhood," protested Enoch. "Nature and
circumstance were helping to make you what you are. I don't see that
anything could have been omitted. Listen, Diana."
Plaintively from below rose Na-che's voice in a slow sweet chant.
Jonas's baritone hesitatingly repeated the strain, and after a moment
they softly sang it together.
"Oh, this is perfect!" murmured Enoch. "Perfect!" Then he drew
Diana's hand to his lips.
How long they sat in silence listening to the wistful notes that
floated up to them, neither could have told. But when the singing
finally ceased, Diana, with a sudden shiver said,
"Enoch, I want to go back to the camp."
Enoch rose at once, with a rueful little laugh. "Our first precious
evening is ended, and we've said nothing!"
"Nothing!" exclaimed Diana. "Enoch, what was there left to say when I
could touch your hair and forehead so? We can talk on the trail."
"Starlight and you and Na-che's little song," murmured Enoch; "I am
hard to satisfy, am I not?" He put his arms about Diana and kissed her
softly, then let her lead the way down to the spring. And shortly,
rolled in his blankets, his feet to the dying fire, Enoch was deep in
sleep.
Sun-up found them on the trail again. All day the way wound through
country that had been profoundly eroded. Na-che led by instinct, it
seemed, to Enoch, for when they were a few miles from the spring, as
far as he, at least, could observe, the trail disappeared, entirely.
During the morning, they walked much, for the over-hanging ledges and
sudden chasms along which Na-che guided them made even the horses
hesitate. They were obliged to depend on their canteens for water and
there was no sign of forage for the horses and mules. Every one was
glad when the noon hour came.
"It will be better, to-night," explained Diana. "There are water holes
known as Indian's Cups that we should reach before dark. They're sure
to be full of water, for it has rained so much lately. The way will be
far easier to-morrow, Enoch, so that we can talk as we go."
They were standing by the horses, waiting for Jonas and Na-che to put
the dishes in one of the packs.
"Diana, do you realize that you made no comment whatever on what I told
you yesterday? Didn't the story of Lucy seem wonderful to you?"
"I was too deeply moved to make any very sane comment," replied Diana.
"Enoch, will you let me see the diary?"
"When I die, it is to be yours, but--" he hesitated, "it tells so many
of my weaknesses, that I wouldn't like to be alive and feel that you
know so much about them." He laughed a little sadly.
"Yet you told Lucy them, didn't you?" insisted Diana with a smile.
"Don't make me jealous of that person, Enoch!"
"She was you!" returned Enoch, briefly. "To-night, I'll tell you,
Lucy, some of the things you have forgotten."
"You're a dear," murmured Diana, under her breath, turning to mount as
Jonas and Na-che clambered into their saddles.
All the afternoon, Enoch, riding under the burning sun, through the
ever shifting miracles of color, rested in his happy dream. The past
and the future did not exist for him. It was enough that Diana,
straight and slender and unflagging rode before him. It was enough
that that evening after the years of yearning he would feel the touch
of Lucy's hand on his burning forehead. For the first time in his
life, Enoch's spirit was at peace.
The pools were well up on the desert, where pinnacles and buttes had
given way at last to a roughly level country, with only occasional
fissures as reminders of the canyon. Bear grass and yucca, barrel and
fish-hook cactus as well as the ocotilla appeared. The sun was sinking
when the horses smelled water and cantered to the shallow but grateful
basins. Far to the south, the chaos out of which they had labored was
black, and mysterious with drifting vapors. The wind which whirled
forever among the chasms was left behind. They had entered into
silence and tranquillity.
After supper and while the last glow of the sunsets still clung to the
western horizon, Na-che said,
"Jonas, you want to see the great Navajo charm, made by Navajo god when
he made these waterholes?"
Jonas pricked up his ears. "Is it a good charm or a hoo-doo?"
"If you come at it right, it means you never die," Na-che nodded her
head solemnly.
Jonas put a cat's claw root on the fire. "All right! You see, woman,
that I come at it right."
Na-che smiled and led the way eastward.
"Bless them!" exclaimed Enoch. "They're doing the very best they can
for us!"
"And they're having a beautiful time with each other," added Diana. "I
think Jonas loves you as much as Na-che loves me."
"I don't deserve that much love," said Enoch, watching the fire glow on
Diana's face. "But he is the truest friend I have on earth."
Diana gave him a quick, wide-eyed glance.
"Ah, but you don't know me, as Jonas does! I wouldn't want you to know
me as he does!" exclaimed Enoch.
"I'll not admit either Lucy or Jonas as serious rivals," protested
Diana.
Enoch laughed. "Dearest, I have told you things that Jonas would not
dream existed. I have poured out my heart to you, night after night.
All a boy's aching dreams, all a man's hopes and fears, I've shared
with you. Jonas was not that kind of friend. I first met him when I
became secretary to the Mayor of New York. He was a sort of porter or
doorman at the City Hall. He gradually began to do little personal
things for me and before I realized just how it was accomplished, he
became my valet and steward, and was keeping house for me in a little
flat up on Fourth Avenue.
"And then, when I was still in the City Hall I had a row with Luigi.
He spoke of my mother to a group of officials I was taking through
Minetta Lane.
"Diana, it was Luigi who taught me to gamble when I was not over eight
years old. I took to it with devilish skill. What drink or dope or
women have been to other men, gambling has been to me. After I came
back from the Grand Canyon with John Seaton, I began to fight against
it. But, although I waited on table for my board, I really put myself
through the High School on my earnings at craps and draw poker. As I
grew older I ceased to gamble as a means of subsistence but whenever I
was overtaxed mentally I was drawn irresistibly to a gambling den. And
so after the fight with Luigi--"
Enoch paused, his face knotted. His strong hands, clasping his knees
as he sat in the sand, opposite Diana, were tense and hard. Diana,
looking at him thought of what this man meant to the nation, of what
his service had been and would be: she thought of the great gifts with
which nature had endowed him and she could not bear to have him humble
himself to her.
She sprang to her feet. "Enoch! Enoch!" she cried. "Don't tell me
any more! You are entitled to your personal weaknesses. Even I must
not intrude! I asked you about them because, oh, because, Enoch, you
are letting your only real weakness come between you and me."
Enoch had risen with Diana, and now he came around the fire and put his
hands on her shoulders. "No! No! Diana! not my weaknesses keep us
apart, bitterly as they mortify me."
Diana looked up at him steadily. "Enoch, your great weakness is not
gambling. Who cares whether you play cards or not? No one but Brown!
But your weakness is that you have let those early years and Luigi's
vicious stories warp your vision of the sweetest thing in life."
"Diana! I thought you understood. My mother--"
"Don't!" interrupted Diana, quickly. "Don't! I understand and because
I do, I tell you that you are warped. You are America's only real
statesman, the man with a vision great enough to mold ideals for the
nation. Still you are not normal, not sane, about yourself."
Enoch dropped his hands from her shoulders and stood staring at her
sadly.
"I thought you understood!" he whispered, brokenly.
Diana wrung her hands, turned and walked swiftly toward a neighboring
heap of rocks whose shadows swallowed her. Enoch breathed hard for a
moment, then followed. He found Diana, a vague heap on a great stone,
her face buried in her hands. Enoch sat down beside her and took her
in his arms.
"Sweetheart," he whispered, "what have I done?"
Diana, shaken by dry sobs, did not reply. But she put her arms about
his neck and clung to him as though she could never let him go. Enoch
sat holding her in an ecstasy that was half pain. Dusk thickened into
night and the stars burned richly above them. Enoch could see that
Diana's face against his breast was quiet, her great eyes fastened on
the desert. He whispered again,
"Diana, what have I done?"
"You have made me love you so that I cannot bear to think of the
future," she replied. "It was not wise of us to take this trip
together, Enoch."
Enoch's arms tightened about her. "We'll be thankful all our lives for
it, Diana. And you haven't really answered my question, darling!"
Diana drew herself away from him. "Enoch, let's never mention the
subject again. The things you understand by weakness--why, I don't
care if you have a thousand of them! But, dear, I want the diary.
When you leave El Tovar, leave that much of yourself with me."
Enoch's voice was troubled. "I have been so curiously lonely! You can
have no idea of what the diary has meant to me."
"I won't ask you for it, Enoch!" exclaimed Diana. Suddenly she leaned
forward in the moonlight and kissed him softly on the lips.
Enoch drew her to him and kissed her fiercely. "The diary! It is
yours, Diana, yours in a thousand ways. When you read it, you will
understand why I hesitated to give it to you."
"I'll find some way to thank you," breathed Diana.
"I know a way. Give me some of your desert photographs. Choose those
that you think tell the most. And don't forget Death and the Navajo."
"Oh, Enoch! What a splendid suggestion! You've no idea how I shall
enjoy making the collection for you. It will take several months to
complete it, you know."
"Don't wait to complete the collection. Send the prints one at a time,
as you finish them. Send them to my house, not my office."
Soft voices sounded from the camping place. "We must go back," said
Diana.
"Another evening gone, forever," said Enoch. "How many more have we,
Diana?"
"Three or four. One never knows, in the Canyon country."
They moved slowly, hand in hand, toward the firelight. Just before
they came within its zone, Enoch lifted Diana's hand to his lips.
"Good night, Diana!"
"Good night, Enoch!"
Jonas and Na-che, standing by the fire like two brown genii of the
desert, looked up smiling as the two appeared.
"Ain't they a handsome pair, Na-che?" asked Jonas, softly. "Ain't he a
grand looking man?"
Na-che assented. "I wish I could get each of 'em to wear a love ring.
I could get two the best medicine man in the desert country made."
"Where are they?" demanded Jonas eagerly.
"Up near Bright Angel."
"You get 'em and I'll pay for 'em," urged Jonas.
"We can't buy 'em! They got to be taken."
"Well, how come you to think I couldn't take 'em, woman? You show me
where they are. I'll do the rest."
"All right," said Na-che. "Diana, don't you feel tired?"
"Tired enough to go to bed, anyway," replied Diana. "It's going to be
a very cold night. Be sure that you and the Judge have plenty of
blankets, Jonas. Good night!" and she disappeared into the tent.
The night was stinging cold. Ice formed on the rain pools and they ate
breakfast with numbed hands. As usual, however, the mercury began to
climb with the sun and when at mid-morning, they entered a huge purple
depression in the desert, coats were peeled and gloves discarded.
The depression was an ancient lava bed, deep with lavender dust that
rose chokingly about them. There was a heavy wind that increased as
they rode deeper into the great bowl and this, with the swirling sand,
made the noon meal an unpleasant duty. But, in spite of these
discomforts, Enoch managed to ride many miles, during the day, with his
horse beside Diana's. And he talked to her as though he must in the
short five days make up for a life time of reticence.
He told her of the Seatons and all that John Seaton had done for him.
He told her of his years of dreaming of the Canyon and of his days as
Police Commissioner. He told of dreams he had had as a Congressman and
as a Senator and of the great hopes with which he had taken up the work
of the Secretary of the Interior. And finally, as the wind began to
lessen with the sinking sun, and the tired horses slowed to the trail's
lifting from the bowl, he told her of his last speaking trip, of its
purpose and of its results.
"The more I know you," said Diana, "the more I am confirmed in the
opinion I had of you years before I met you. And that is that however
our great Departments need men of your administrative capacity and
integrity--and I'm perfectly willing to admit that their need is
dire--your place, Enoch Huntingdon, is in the Senate. Yet I suppose
your party will insist on pushing you on into the White House. And it
will be a mistake."
"Why?" asked Enoch quickly.
"Because," replied Diana, brushing the lavender dust from her brown
hands thoughtfully, "your gift of oratory, your fundamental, sane
dreams for the nation, your admirable character, impose a particular
and peculiar duty on you. It has been many generations since the
nation had a spokesman. Patrick Henry, Daniel Webster, have been dead
a long time. Most of our orators since have killed their own influence
by fanatical clinging to some partisan cause. You should be bigger
than any party, Enoch. And in the White House you cannot be. Our
spoils system has achieved that. But in the Senate is your great,
natural opportunity."
Enoch smiled. "Without the flourishes of praise, I've reached about
the same conclusion that you have," he said. "I have been told," he
hesitated, "that I could have the party nomination for the presidency,
if I wished it. You know that practically assures election."
Diana nodded. "And it's a temptation, of course!"
"Yes and no!" replied Enoch. "No man could help being moved and
flattered, yes, and tempted by the suggestion. And yet when I think of
the loneliness of a man like me in the White House, the loneliness, and
the gradual disillusionment such as the President spoke of you, the
temptation has very little effect on me."
"How kind he was that day!" exclaimed Diana, "and how many years ago it
seems!"
They rode on in silence for a few moments, then Diana exclaimed, "Look,
Enoch dear!"
Ahead of them, along the rim of the bowl, an Indian rode. His long
hair was flying in the wind. Both he and his horse were silhouetted
sharply against the brilliant western sky.
"Make a picture of it, Diana!" cried Enoch.
Diana shook her head. "I could make nothing of it!"
Na-che gave a long, shrill call, which the Indian returned, then pulled
up his horse to wait for them. When Enoch and Diana reached the rim,
the others already had overtaken him.
"It's Wee-tah!" exclaimed Diana, then as she shook hands, she added:
"Where are you going so fast, Wee-tah?"
The Indian, a handsome young buck, his hair bound with a knotted
handkerchief, glanced at Enoch and answered Diana in Navajo.
Diana nodded, then said: "Judge, this is Wee-tah, a friend of mine."
Enoch and the Indian shook hands gravely, and Diana said, "Can't you
take supper with us, Wee-tah?"
"You stay, Wee-tah," Na-che put in abruptly. "Jonas and I want you to
help us with a charm."
"Na-che says you know a heap about charms, Mr. Wee-tah!" exclaimed
Jonas.
Wee-tah grinned affably. "I stay," he said. "Only the whites have to
hurry. Good water hole right there." He jerked his thumb over his
shoulder, then turned his pony and led the way a few hundred yards to a
low outcropping of stones, the hollowed top of which held a few
precious gallons of rain water.
"My Lordy!" exclaimed Jonas, as he and Enoch were hobbling their
horses, "if I don't have some charms and hoo-doos to put over on those
Baptist folks back home! Why, these Indians have got even a Georgia
nigger beat for knowing the spirits."
"Jonas, you're an old fool, but I love you!" said Enoch.
Jonas chuckled, and hurried off to help Na-che with the supper. The
stunted cat's claw and mesquite which grew here plentifully made
possible a glorious fire that was most welcome, for the evening was
cold. Enoch undertook to keep the big blaze going while Wee-tah
prepared a small fire at a little distance for cooking purposes. After
supper the two Indians and Jonas gathered round this while Enoch and
Diana remained at what Jonas designated as the front room stove.
"What solitary trip was Wee-tah undertaking?" asked Enoch. "Or mustn't
I inquire?"
"On one of the buttes in the canyon country," replied Diana, "Wee-tah's
grandfather, a great chief, was killed, years ago. Wee-tah is going up
to that butte to pray for his little son who has never been born."
"Ah!" said Enoch, and fell silent. Diana, in her favorite attitude,
hands clasping her knees, watched the fire. At last Enoch roused
himself.
"Shall you come to Washington this winter, Diana?"
"I ought to, but I may not. I may go into the Havesupai country for
two months, after you go East, and put Washington off until late
spring."
"Don't fear that I shall disturb you, when you come, dear." Enoch
looked at Diana with troubled eyes.
She looked at him, but said nothing, and again there was silence.
Enoch emptied his pipe and put it in his pocket.
"After you have finished this work for the President, then what, Diana?"
She shook her head. "There is plenty of time to plan for that. If I
go into the angle of the children's games and their possible relations
to religious ceremonies, there's no telling when I shall wind up! Then
there are their superstitions that careful study might separate clearly
from their true spiritism. The great danger in work like mine is that
it is apt to grow academic. In the pursuit of dry ethnological facts
one forgets the artistry needed to preserve it and present it to the
world."
"Whew!" sighed Enoch. "I'm afraid you're a fearful highbrow, Diana!
Hello, Jonas, what can I do for you?"
"We all are going down the desert a piece with Wee-tah. They's a charm
down there he knows about. They think we'll be gone about an hour.
But don't worry about us."
"Don't let the ghosts get you, old man,", said Enoch. "After all
you've lived through, that would be too simple."
Jonas grinned, and followed the Indians out into the darkness.
"Now," inquired Enoch, "is that tact or superstition?"
"Both, I should say," replied Diana. "We'll have to agree that Na-che
and Jonas are doing all they can to make the match. I gather from what
Na-che says that they're working mostly on love charms for us."
"More power to 'em," said Enoch grimly. "Diana, let's walk out under
the stars for a little while. The fire dims them."
They rose, and Enoch put his arm about the girl and said, with a
tenderness in his beautiful voice that seemed to Diana a very part of
the harmony of the glowing stars:
"Diana! Oh, Diana! Diana!"
She wondered as they moved slowly away from the fire, if Enoch had any
conception of the beauty of his voice. It seemed to her to express the
man even more fully than his face. All the sweetness, all the
virility, all the suffering, all the capacity for joy that was written
in Enoch's face was expressed in his voice, with the addition of a
melodiousness that only tone could give. Although she never had heard
him make a speech she knew how even his most commonplace sentence must
wing home to the very heart of the hearer.
They said less, in this hour alone together, than they said in any
evening of their journey. And yet they both felt as if it was the most
nearly perfect of their hours.
Perhaps it was because the sky was more magnificent than it had been
before; the stars larger and nearer and the sky more deeply, richly
blue.
Perhaps it was because after the dusk and heat of the day, the uproar
of the sand and wind, the cool silence was doubly impressive and thrice
grateful.
And perhaps it was because of some wordless, intangible reason, that
only lovers know, which made Diana seem more beautiful, more pure, her
touch more sacred, and Enoch stronger, finer, tenderer than ever before.
At any rate, walking slowly, with their arms about each other, they
were deeply happy.
And Enoch said, "Diana, I know now that not one moment of the
loneliness and the bitterness of the years, would I part with. All of
it serves to make this moment more perfect."
And suddenly Diana said, "Enoch, hold me close to you again, here,
under the stars, so that I may never again look at them, when I'm alone
in the desert, without feeling your dear arms about me, and your dear
cheek against mine."
And when they were back by the fire again, Enoch once more leaned
against Diana's knee and felt the soft touch of her hand on his hair
and forehead.
The three magic-makers returned, chanting softly, as magic-makers
should. Faint and far across the desert sounded the intriguing rhythm
long before the three dark faces were caught by the firelight. When
they finally appeared, Jonas was bearing an eagle's feather.
"Miss Diana," he said solemnly, "will you give me one of your long
hairs?"
Quite as solemnly, Diana plucked a long chestnut spear and Jonas
wrapped it round the stem of the feather. Then he joined the other two
at the water hole. Enoch and Diana looked at each other with a smile.
"Do you think it will work, Diana?" asked Enoch.
"Eagle feather magic is strong magic," replied Diana. "I shall go to
sleep believing in it. Good night, Enoch."
"Good night, Diana."
Wee-tah left them after breakfast, cantering away briskly on his pony,
his long hair blowing, Na-che and Jonas shouting laughingly after him.
It was a brisk, clear morning, with ribbons of mist blowing across the
distant ranges. By noon, their way was leading through scattered
growths of stunted cedar and juniper with an occasional gnarled,
undersized oak in which grew mistletoe thick-hung with ivory berries.
Bear grass and bunch grass dotted the sand. Orioles and robins sang as
they foraged for the blue cedar berry. All the afternoon the trees
increased in size and when they made camp at night, it was under a
giant pine whose kindred stretched in every direction as far as the eye
could pierce through the dusk. There was water in a tiny rivulet near
by.
"It's heavenly, Diana!" exclaimed Enoch, as he returned from hobbling
the horses. "We must be getting well up as to elevation. There is a
tang to the air that says so."
Diana nodded a little sadly. "One night more, after this, then you'll
sleep at El Tovar, Enoch."
"I'm not thinking even of to-morrow, Diana. This moment is enough.
Are you tired?"
"Tired? No!" but the eyes she lifted to Enoch's were faintly shadowed.
"Perhaps," she suggested, "I'm not living quite so completely in the
present as you are."
"Necessity hasn't trained you during the years, as it has me," said
Enoch. "If the trail had not been so bad to-day and I could have
ridden beside you, I think I could have kept your thoughts here,
sweetheart."
"I think you could have, Enoch," agreed Diana, with a wistful smile.
The hunting had been good that day. Amongst them, the travelers had
bagged numerous quail and cottontails, and Jonas had brought in at noon
a huge jack rabbit. This they could not eat but its left hind foot,
Jonas claimed, would make a sensation in Washington. Supper was a
festive meal, Na-che producing a rabbit soup, and Jonas broiling the
quail, which he served with hot biscuit that the most accomplished chef
might have envied.
After the meal was finished and Enoch and Diana were standing before
the fire, debating the feasibility of a walk under the pines, Jonas and
Na-che approached them solemnly.
Jonas cleared his throat. "Boss and Miss Diana, Na-che and me, we want
you to do something for us. We know you all trust us both and so we
don't want you to ask the why or the wherefore, but just go ahead and
do it."
"What is it, Jonas?" asked Diana.
"Well, up ahead a spell in these woods, there's a round open space and
in the middle of it under a big rock an Injun and his sweetheart is
buried. Something like a million years ago he stole her from over
yonder from the--" he hesitated, and Na-che said softly:
"Hopis."
"Yes, the Hopis. And her tribe come lickety-cut after her, and
overtook 'em at that spot yonder, and her father give her the choice of
coming back or both of 'em dying right there. They chose to die, and
there they are. Wee-tah and Na-che and all the Injuns believe--"
Na-che pulled at his sleeve.
"Oh, I forgot! We ain't going to tell you what they believe, because
whites don't never have the right kind of faith. Let me alone, Na-che.
How come you think I can't tell this story? But what we ask of you is,
will you and Miss Allen, boss, go up to that stone yonder, and lay this
eagle's feather beside it, then sit on the stone until a star falls."
Enoch and Diana looked at each other, half smiling.
"Don't say no," urged Na-che. "You want to take a walk, anyhow."
"And what happens, if the star falls?" asked Diana.
"Something mighty good," replied Jonas.
"It's pretty cold for sitting still so long, isn't Jonas?" asked Enoch.
"You can take a blanket to wrap round yourselves. Do it, boss! You
know you and Miss Diana don't care where you are as long as you get a
little time alone together."
Enoch laughed. "Come along, Diana! Who knows what Indian magic might
do for us!"
"That's right," Na-che nodded approval. "There's an old trail to it,
see!" she led Diana beyond the camp pine, and pointed to the faint
black line, that was traceable in the sand under the trees. The pine
forest was absolutely clear of undergrowth.
"Come on, Enoch," laughed Diana, and Enoch, chuckling, joined her,
while the two magicians stood by the fire, interest and satisfaction
showing in every line of their faces.
Diana had little difficulty following the trail. To Enoch's
unaccustomed eyes and feet, the ease with which she led the way was
astonishing. She walked swiftly under the trees for ten minutes, then
paused on the edge of a wide amphitheater, rich in starlight. In the
center lay a huge flat stone. They made their way through the sand to
this. Dimly they could discern that the sides of the rock were covered
with hieroglyphics. Diana laid the eagle's feather in a crevice at the
end of the rock.
"See!" exclaimed Enoch. "Other lovers have been here before!" He
pointed to feathers at different points in the rock. "It must indeed
be strong magic!"
He folded one blanket for a seat, another he pulled over their
shoulders, for in spite of the brisk walk, they both were shivering
with the cold.
"What do you suppose the world at large would say," chuckled Diana, "if
it would see the Secretary of the Interior, at this moment."
"I think it would say that as a human being, it was beginning to have
hope of him," replied Enoch.
Then they fell silent. The great trees that widely encircled them were
motionless. The heavens seemed made of stars. Enoch drew Diana close
against him, and leaned his cheek upon her hair. Slowly a jack rabbit
loped toward the ancient grave, stopped to gaze with burning eyes at
the two motionless figures, twitched his ears and slowly hopped away.
Shortly a cottontail deliberately crossed the circle, then another and
another. Suddenly Diana touched Enoch's hand softly.
"In the trees, opposite!" she breathed.
Two pairs of fiery eyes moved slowly out until the starlight revealed
two tiny antelope, gray, graceful shadows of the desert night. The
pair stared motionless at the ancient grave, then gently trotted away.
Now came a long interval in which neither sound nor motion was
perceptible in the silvery dusk. Then like little gray ghosts with
glowing eyes half a dozen antelope moved tranquilly across the
amphitheater. Enoch and Diana watched breathlessly but for many
moments more there was no sign of living creature. And suddenly a
great star flashed across the radiant heavens.
"The magic!" whispered Diana, "the desert magic!"
"Diana," murmured Enoch in reply, "this is as near heaven as mortals
may hope to reach."
"Desert magic!" repeated Diana softly. "Come, dear, we must go back to
camp."
Enoch rose reluctantly and put his hands on Diana's shoulders. "Those
lovers, long ago," he said, his deep voice tender and wistful, "those
lovers long ago were not far wrong in their decision. I'm sure, in the
years to come, when I think of this evening, and this journey, I shall
feel so."
Diana touched his cheek softly with her hand. "I love you, Enoch," was
all she said, and they returned in silence to the camp.
"We saw the star fall!" exclaimed Jonas, waiting by the fire with
Na-che.
Enoch nodded and, after a glance at his face, Jonas said nothing more.
All the next day they penetrated deeper and deeper into the mighty
forest. All day long the trail lifted gradually, the air growing rarer
and colder as they went.
It was biting cold when they made their night camp deep in the woods.
But a glorious fire before a giant tree trunk made the last evening on
the trail one of comfort. Na-che and Jonas had run out of excuses for
leaving the lovers alone, but nothing daunted, after supper was cleared
off they made their own camp fire at a distance and sat before it,
singing and laughing even after Diana had withdrawn to her tent.
"Enoch," said Diana, "I have something that I want to say to you, but
I'll admit that it takes more courage than I've been able to gather
together until now. But this is our last evening and I must relieve my
mind."
Enoch, surprised by the earnestness of Diana's voice, laid down his
pipe and put his hand over hers. "I don't see why you need courage to
say anything under heaven to me!"
"But I do on this subject," returned Diana, raising wide, troubled eyes
to his. "Enoch, you have made me love you and then have told me that
you cannot marry me. I think that I have the right to tell you that
you are abnormal toward marriage. You are spoiling our two lives and I
am entering a most solemn protest against your doing so."
"But, Diana--" began Enoch.
"No!" interrupted Diana. "You must hear me through in silence, Enoch.
I remember my father telling me that Seaton believed that you had been
made the victim of almost hypnotic suggestion by that beast, Luigi.
Not that Luigi knew anything about auto-suggestion or anything of the
sort! He simply wanted to enslave a boy who was a clever gambler. And
so he planted the vicious suggestion in your mind that you were
necessarily bad because your mother was. And all these years, that
suggestion has held, not to make you bad but to make you fear that your
children would be or that disease, mental or physical, is latent in you
which marriage would uncover. Enoch, have you never talked your case
over with a psychologist?"
"No!" replied Enoch. "I've always felt that I was perfectly normal and
I still feel so. Moreover, I've wanted to bury my mother's history a
thousand fathoms deep. Consider too, that I've never wanted to marry
any woman till I met you."
"And having met me," said Diana bitterly, "you allow a preconceived
idea to wreck us both. You astonish me almost as much as you make me
suffer. Enoch, did you ever try to trace your father?"
"Diana, what chance would I have of finding my father when you consider
what my mother was? Nevertheless, I have tried." And Enoch told in
detail both Seaton's and the Police Commissioner's efforts in his
behalf.
Diana rose and paced restlessly up and down before the fire. Enoch
rose with her and stood leaning against the tree trunk, watching her
with tragic eyes. Finally Diana said:
"I'm not clever at argument, but every woman has a right to fight for
her mate. I insist that your reasons for not marrying are chimeras.
And if I'm willing to risk marrying the man who may or may not be the
son of Luigi's mistress, he should be willing to risk marrying me."
"But, you see, you do admit it's a risk!" exclaimed Enoch.
"No more a risk than marriage always is," declared Diana, with a smile
that had no humor in it. "Enoch, let's not be cowardly. Let's 'set
the slug horn dauntless to our lips.'"
Enoch covered his eyes with his hands. Cold sweat stood on his brow.
All the ugly, menacing suggestions of thirty years crowded his answer
to his lips.
"Diana, we must not!" he groaned.
Diana drew a quick breath, then said, "Enoch, I cannot submit tamely to
such a decision. I have a friend in Boston who is one of the great
psycho-analysts of the country. When I return to Washington in the
spring I shall go to see him."
"God! Shall I never be able to bury Minetta Lane?" cried Enoch.
"Not until you dig the grave yourself, my dear! Yours has been a case
for a mind specialist, all these years, not a detective. I, for one,
refuse to let Minetta Lane hag ride me if it is possible to escape it."
Suddenly she smiled again. "I'll admit I'm not at all Victorian in my
attitude."
"You couldn't be anything that was not fine," returned Enoch sadly.
"But I cannot bear to have you buoy yourself with false hopes."
"A drowning woman grasps at straws, I suppose," said Diana, a little
brokenly. "Good night, my dearest," and Diana went into the tent,
leaving Enoch to ponder heavily over the fire until the cold drove him
to his blankets.
Breaking camp the next morning was dreary and arduous enough. Snow was
still falling, the mules were recalcitrant and a bitter wind had piled
drifts in every direction. The four travelers were in a subdued mood,
although Enoch heartened himself considerably by urging Diana to
remember that they had still to look forward to the trip down Bright
Angel.
They floundered through the snow for two heavy hours before Diana
looked back at Enoch to say,
"We're only a mile from the cabin now, Enoch!"
"Only a mile!" exclaimed Enoch. "Diana, I wonder what your father will
say when he sees me!"
"He thinks you are two thousand miles from here!" laughed Diana.
"We'll see what he will say."
"And so," murmured Enoch to himself, "any perfect journey is ended."
BOOK IV
THE PHANTASM DESTROYED
CHAPTER XV
THE FIRING LINE AGAIN
"When I shall have given you up, Diana, I shall love my own solitude as
never before. For you will dwell there and he who has lovely thoughts
is never lonely."--_Enoch's Diary_.
The cabin was built of cedar logs. Frank had added to it as necessity
arose or his means permitted, and it sprawled pleasantly under the
pines, as if it belonged there and enjoyed being there. Na-che gave
her peculiar, far-carrying call, some moments before the cabin came
into view, and when the little cavalcade jingled up to the door, it was
wide open, a ruddy faced, white-haired man standing before it.
"Hello, Diana!" he shouted. "Where in seven thunders have you been!
You're a week late!"
Then his eyes fastened wonderingly on Enoch's face. He came slowly
across the porch and down the steps. Enoch did not speak, and for a
long moment the two men stared at each other while time turned back its
hands for a quarter of a century. Suddenly Frank's hand shot out.
"My God! It's Enoch Huntingdon!"
"Yes, Frank, it's he," replied Enoch.
"Where on earth did you come from? Come in, Mr. Secretary! Come in!
Or do you want to go up to the hotel?"
"Hotel! Frank, don't try to put on dog with me or snub me either!"
exclaimed Enoch, dismounting. "And I am Enoch to you, just as that
cowardly kid was, twenty-two years ago!"
"Cowardly!" roared Frank. "Well, come in! Come in before I get
started on that."
"This is Jonas," said Na-che gravely.
"I know who Jonas is," said Frank, shaking hands. "Come in! Come in!
Before I burst with curiosity! Diana girl, I've been worried sick
about you. I swear once more this is the last trip you shall take
without me."
The living-room was huge and beautiful. A fire roared in the great
fireplace. Indian blankets and rugs covered the floor. There were
some fine paintings on the walls and books and photographs everywhere.
After Enoch and Diana had removed their snowy coats, Frank impatiently
forced them into the arm-chairs before the fire, while he stood on the
bearskin before them.
"For the love of heaven, Diana, where did you folks meet?"
"You begin, Enoch," said Diana quietly.
At the use of the Secretary's name, Frank glanced at Diana quickly,
then turned back to Enoch.
"Well, Frank, I was on a speaking trip, and the pressure of things got
so bad that I decided to slip away from everybody and give myself a
trip to the Canyon. That was about a month ago. I outfitted at a
little village on the railroad, and shortly after that I joined some
miners who were going up to the Canyon to placer prospect. We had been
at the Canyon several days when Jonas and Diana and Na-che found us.
Diana stayed a day or so, then Jonas and I went with a Geological
Survey crew for a boating trip down the river. We had sundry
adventures, finally landing at Grant's Ferry, our leader, Milton, with
a broken leg. Here we found Diana and Na-che. Jonas and I left the
others and came on here because I want to go down the trail with you.
That, in brief, is my story."
"Devilish brief!" snorted Frank. "Thank you for nothing! Diana,
suppose you pad the skeleton a little."
"Yes, I will, Dad, if you'll let Enoch go to his room and get into some
dry clothes. I told Na-che to help herself for him from your supply."
"Surely! Surely! What a rough bronco, I am! Let me show you to the
guest room, Mr. Secretary--Enoch, I should say," and Frank led the way
to a comfortable room whose windows gave a distant view of the Canyon
rim.
When Enoch returned to the living-room after a bath and some strenuous
grooming at Jonas' hands, Diana had disappeared and Frank was standing
before the fire, smoking a cigarette. He tossed it into the flames at
Enoch's approach.
"Enoch, my boy!" he said, then his voice broke, and the two men stood
silently grasping each other's hands.
Enoch was the first to find his voice. "Except for the white hair,
Frank, the years have forgotten you."
"Not quite, Enoch! Not quite! I don't take those trails as easily as
I did once. You, yourself are changed, but one would expect that!
Fourteen to thirty-six, isn't it?"
Enoch nodded. "Will the snow make Bright Angel too difficult for you,
Frank?"
"Me? My Lord, no! Do I look a tenderfoot? We'll start to-morrow
morning and take two days to it. Sit down, do! I've a thousand
questions to ask you."
"Before I begin to answer them, Frank, tell me if there is any way in
which I can send a telegram. I must let my office know where I am,
much as I regret the necessity."
"You can telephone a message to the hotel," replied Frank. "They'll
take care of it. But you realize that your traveling incog. will be
all out if you do that?"
"Not necessarily!" Enoch chuckled.
Frank called the hotel on the telephone and handed the instrument to
Enoch, who smiled as he gave the message.
"Mr. Charles Abbott, 8946 Blank Street, Washington, D. C. The boss can
be reached now at El Tovar, Jonas."
"But won't Abbott wire you?" asked Frank.
"No, he'll wire Jonas. See if he doesn't," replied Enoch. "And now
for the questions. Oh, Diana!" rising as Diana, in a brown silk house
frock, came into the room. "How lovely you look! Doesn't she, Frank?"
"She looks like her mother," said Frank. "Only she'll never be quite
as beautiful as Helen was."
"'Whose beauty launched a thousand ships'!" Enoch exclaimed, smiling at
Diana. "My boyish memoir of Mrs. Allen is that she was dark."
"She was darker than Diana, and not so tall. Just as high as my
breast; a fine mind in a lovely body!" Frank sighed deeply and stared
at the fire.
Enoch, lying back in the great arm-chair, watched Diana with
thoughtful, wistful eyes, until Frank roused himself, saying abruptly,
"And now once more for the questions. Enoch, what started you in
politics?"
"Well," replied Enoch, "that's a large order, but I'll try to tell the
story." He began the tale, but was so constantly interrupted by
Frank's questions that luncheon was announced by Na-che, just as he
finished.
After luncheon they returned again to the fire, and Frank, urged on by
Enoch, told the story of his early days at the Canyon. Perhaps Frank
guessed that Enoch and Diana were in no mood for speech themselves, for
he talked on and on, interrupted only by Enoch's laughter, or quick
word of sympathy. Diana, her hands clasped loosely in her lap, watched
the fire or stared at the snow drifts that the wind was piling against
the window. It seemed to Enoch that the shadows about her great eyes
were deepening as the hours went on.
Suddenly Frank looked at his watch. "Four o'clock! I must go out to
the corral. Want to come along, Enoch?"
"I think not, Frank. I'll sit here with Diana, if you don't mind."
"I can stand it, if Diana can," chuckled Frank, and a moment later a
door slammed after him.
Enoch turned at once to Diana. "Are you happy, dear?"
"Happy and unhappy; unbearably so!" replied Diana.
"Don't forget for a moment," said Enoch quickly, "that we have two
whole days after to-day."
"I don't," Diana smiled a little uncertainly. "Enoch, I wonder if you
know how well you look! You are so tanned and so clear-eyed! I'm
going to be jealous of the women at every dinner party I imagine you
attending!"
Enoch laughed. "Diana, my reputation as a woman hater is going to be
increased every year. See if it's not!"
The telephone rang and Diana answered the call.
"Yes! Yes, Jonas is here, Fred Jonas--I'll take the message." There
was a pause, then Diana said steadily, "See if I repeat correctly.
Tell the Boss the President wishes him to take first train East, making
all possible speed. Wire at once date of arrival. Signed Abbott."
Diana hung up the receiver and turned to Enoch, who had risen and was
standing beside her.
"Orders, eh, Enoch?" she said, trying to smile with white lips.
Enoch did not answer. He stood staring at the girl's quivering mouth,
while his own lips stiffened. Then he said quietly: "Will you tell me
where I can find Jonas, Diana?"
"He's in the kitchen with Na-che. I'll go bring him in."
"No, stay here, Diana, sweetheart. Your face tells too much. I'll be
back in a moment."
Jonas looked up from the potatoes he was peeling, as Enoch came into
the kitchen. "Jonas, I've just had a reply from the wire I sent Abbott
this morning. The President wants me at once. Will you go up to the
hotel and arrange for transportation out of here tonight? Remember, I
don't want it known who I am."
"Yes, Mr. Secretary!" exclaimed Jonas. Hastily wiping his hands, he
murmured to Na-che, as Enoch turned away: "No trip down Bright Angel,
Na-che. Ain't it a shame to think that love ring--" But Enoch heard
no more.
Diana stood before the fire in the gathering twilight. "Is there
anything Dad or I can do to facilitate your start, Enoch?"
"Nothing, Diana. Jonas is a past master in this sort of thing, and he
prefers to do it all himself. You and I have only to think of each
other until I have to leave."
He took Diana's face between his hands and gazed at it hungrily. "How
beautiful, how beautiful you are!" he said, his rich voice dying in a
sigh.
"Don't sigh, Enoch!" exclaimed Diana. "We must not make this last
moment sad. You are going back into the arena, fit for the fight.
That makes me very, very glad. And while you have told me nothing as
to your intentions concerning Brown, I know that your decision, when it
comes, will be right."
"I don't know what that decision will be, Diana. I have given my whole
mind to you for many days. But I shall do nothing rash, nor without
long thought. My dearest, I wish I could make you understand what you
mean to me. I had thought when we were in the Canyon to-morrow I could
tell you something of my boyhood, so that you would understand me, and
what you mean to me. But all that must remain unsaid. Perhaps it's
just as well."
Enoch sighed again and, turning to the table, picked up the flat
package he had laid there on entering the room.
"This is my diary, Diana," placing it in her hands. "Be as gentle as
you can in judging me, as you read it. If we were to be married, I
think I would not have let you see it, but as it is, I am giving to you
the most intimate thing in my possession, and I feel somehow as if in
so doing I am tying myself to you forever."
Diana clasped the book to her heart, and laid her burning cheek against
Enoch's. But she did not speak. Enoch held her slender body against
his and the firelight flickered on the two motionless forms.
"Diana," said Enoch huskily, "you are going on with your work, as
earnestly as ever, are you not?"
"Not quite so earnestly because, after I reach the East again, Minetta
Lane will be my job."
"Oh, Diana, I beg of you, don't soil your hands with that!" groaned
Enoch.
"I must! I must, Enoch!" Then Diana's voice broke and again the room
was silent. They stood clinging to each other until Frank's voice was
heard in the rear of the house.
"It's an infernal shame, I say. President or no President!"
"I'm going to my room for a little while," whispered Diana. And when
Frank stamped into the room, Enoch was standing alone, his great head
bowed in the firelight.
"Can't you stall 'em off a little while?" demanded Frank.
Enoch shook his head with a smile. "I've played truant too long to
dictate now. Jonas and I must pull out to-night. Perhaps it's best,
after all, Frank, and yet, it seemed for a moment as if it were
physically impossible for me to give up that trip down Bright Angel.
I've dreamed of it for twenty-two years. And to go down with Diana and
you--"
"It's life!" said Frank briefly. He sank into an armchair and neither
man spoke until Na-che announced supper.
Diana appeared then, her cheeks and eyes bright and her voice steady.
Enoch never had seen her in a more whimsical mood and the meal, which
he had dreaded, passed off quickly and pleasantly.
Not long after dinner, Frank announced the buck-board ready for the
drive to the station. He slammed the door after this announcement, and
Enoch took Diana in his arms and kissed her passionately.
"Good-by, Diana."
"Good-by, Enoch!" and the last golden moment was gone.
Enoch had no very clear recollection of his farewells to Na-che and
Frank. Outwardly calm and collected, within he was a tempest. He
obeyed Jonas automatically, went to his berth at once, and toward dawn
fell asleep to the rumble of the train. The trip across the continent
was accomplished without untoward incident. Enoch was, of course,
recognized by the trainmen, but he kept to the stateroom that Jonas had
procured and refused to see the reporters who boarded the train at
Kansas City and again at Chicago. After the first twenty-four hours of
grief over the parting with Diana, Enoch began to recover his mental
poise. He was able to crowd back some of his sorrow and to begin to
contemplate his whole adventure. Nor could he contemplate it without
beginning to exult, and little by little his spirits lifted and even
the tragedy of giving up Diana became a sacred and a beautiful thing.
His grief became a righteous part of his life, a thing he would not
give up any more than he would have given up a joy.
Undoubtedly Jonas enjoyed this trip more than any railway journey of
his experience. Certainly he was a marked man. He wore the broadest
brimmed hat in Frank Allen's collection, and John Red Sun's high laced
boots. Strapped to his suitcase were the Ida's broken paddle and the
battered board with "a-che" on it. These stood conspicuously in his
seat in the Pullman, where he held a daily reception to all the porters
on the train. True to his orders, he never mentioned Enoch's name in
connection with his tale of the Canyon, but his own adventures lost
nothing by that.
Enoch did not wire the exact time of his arrival in Washington, as he
wished no one to meet the train. It was not quite three o'clock of a
cold December day when Charley Abbott, arranging the papers in Enoch's
private office, looked up as the inner door opened. Enoch, tanned and
vigorous, came in, followed by Jonas, in all his western glory.
Charley sprang forward to meet Enoch's extended hand. "Mr. Huntingdon!
Thank the Lord!"
"All set, Abbott!" exclaimed Enoch, "and ready to steam ahead. Let me
introduce old Canyon Bill, formerly known as Jonas!"
Charley clasped Jonas' hand, burst out laughing, and slapped him on the
back. "Some story goes with that outfit, eh, Jonas, old boy! Say! if
you let the rest of the doormen and messengers see you, there won't be
a stroke of work done for the rest of the day."
"I'm going to look Harry up, right now, if you don't need me, boss!"
exclaimed Jonas.
"Take the rest of the day, Jonas!"
"No, I'll be back prompt at six, boss!" and Jonas, with his luggage,
disappeared.
Enoch pulled off his overcoat and seated himself at the desk, then
looked up at Charley with a smile.
"I had a great trip, Abbott. I went with a mining outfit up to the
Canyon country. With Miss Allen's help, Jonas located me at the placer
mine, and after several adventures, we came back with her to El Tovar,
where I wired you."
Abbott looked at Enoch keenly. "You're a new man, Mr. Secretary."
Enoch nodded. "I'm in good trim. What happens first, Abbott?"
"I didn't know what time you'd be in to-day, so your appointments don't
begin until to-morrow. But the President wants you to call him at your
earliest convenience. Shall I get in touch with the White House?"
"If you please. In the meantime, I may as well begin to go through
these letters."
"I kept them down pretty well, I think," said Abbott, with justifiable
pride, as he picked up the telephone. After several moments he
reported that the President would see Enoch at five o'clock.
"Very well," Enoch nodded. "Then you'd better tell me the things I
need to know."
Abbott went into the outer office for his note book and, returning with
it, for an hour he reported to Enoch on the business of the Department.
Enoch, puffing on a cigar, asked questions and made notes himself.
When Charley had finished, he said:
"Thank you, Abbott! I don't see but what I could have remained away
indefinitely. Matters seem in excellent shape."
"Not everything, Mr. Secretary. Your oil bill has been unaccountably
blocked in the Senate. The intervention in Mexico talk has begun
again. The Geological Survey is in a mix-up and it looks as if a
scandal were about to burst on poor old Cheney's head. I'm afraid he's
outlived his usefulness anyhow. The newspapers in California are
starting a new states-rights campaign for water power control and,
every day since I've returned, Secretary Fowler's office has called and
asked for the date of your return."
"Interested in me, aren't they!" smiled Enoch. "Why is the President
in such a hurry to see me, Abbott?"
"I don't know, sir. I promised his secretary that the moment I heard
from you I'd send such a message as I did send you."
"All right, Abbott, I'll start along. Don't wait or let Jonas wait
after six. I'll go directly home if I'm detained after that."
The President looked at Enoch intently as he crossed the long room.
"Wherever you've been, Huntingdon, it has done you good."
"I took a trip through the Canyon country, Mr. President. I've always
wanted it."
The President waited as if he expected Enoch to say more, but the
younger man stood silently contemplating the open fire.
"How about this tale of Brown's?" the Chief Executive asked finally.
"I dislike mentioning it to you, Huntingdon, but you are the most
trusted member of my Cabinet, and you have issued no denial to a very
nasty scandal about yourself."
Enoch turned grave eyes toward the President. "I shall issue no
denial, Mr. President. But there is one man in the world I wish to
know the whole truth. If you have the time, sir, will you permit me to
go over the whole miserable story?"
The President studied the Secretary's face. "It will be a painful
thing for both of us, Huntingdon," he said after a moment, "but for the
sake of our future confidential relationship, I think I shall have to
ask you to go over it with me. Sit down, won't you?"
Enoch shook his head and, standing with his back to the fire, his
burning eyes never leaving the President's face, he told the story of
Minetta Lane. He ceased only at the moment when he dropped off the
train into the desert. He did not spare himself. And yet when the
quiet, eloquent voice stopped, there were tears in the President's
eyes. He made no comment until Enoch turned to the fire, then he said,
with a curious smile:
"A public man cannot afford private vices."
"I know that now," replied Enoch. "You may have my resignation
whenever you wish it. I think it probable that I'll never touch a card
again. But I dare not promise."
"I'm told," said the Chief Executive drily, "that you were not without
good company in Blank Street; that a certain famous person from the
British Legation, a certain Admiral of our own navy and an Italian
prince contributed their share to the entertainment."
Enoch flushed slightly, but did not speak.
"I don't want your resignation, Huntingdon. It's a most unfortunate
affair, but we cannot afford to lose you. Brown is a whelp, also he's
a power that must be reckoned with. That article turned Washington
over for a while. The talk has quieted now. It was the gambling that
the populace rolled under its tongue. Only he and the scandal mongers
like Brown gave any but a pitying glance at the other story. The fears
that I have about the affair are first as to its reaction on you and
second as to the sort of capital the opposite party will make of it. I
think you let it hit you too hard, Huntingdon."
Enoch lifted sad eyes to the chief executive. His lips were painfully
compressed and the President said, huskily:
"I know, my boy! I sensed long ago that you were a man who had drunk
of a bitter cup. I wish I could have helped you bear it!" There was
silence for a moment, then the President went on:
"What are you going to do to Brown, Huntingdon?"
"I haven't decided yet," replied Enoch slowly. "But I shall not let
him go unpunished."
The President shook his head and sighed. "You must feel that way, of
course, but before we talk about that let's review the political
situation. I'm ending my second term. For years, as you know, a large
portion of the party has had its eye on you to succeed me. In fact, as
the head of the party, I may modestly claim to have been your first
endorser! Long ago I recognized the fact that unless youth and
virility and sane idealism were injected into the old machine, it would
fall apart and radicalism would take its place."
"Or Tammanyism!" interjected Enoch.
"They are equally menacing in my mind," said the older man. "As you
know, too, Huntingdon, there has been a quiet but very active minority
very much against you. They have spent years trying to get something
on you, and they've never succeeded. But--well, you understand mob
psychology better than I do--if Brown evolves a slogan, a clever
phrase, built about your gambling propensities, it will damn you far
more effectively than if he had proved that you played crooked politics
or did something really harmful to the country."
Enoch nodded. "Whom do you think Brown is for, Mr. President?"
"Has it ever occurred to you that Brown often picks up Fowler's
policies and quietly pushes them?"
Again Enoch nodded and the President went on, "Brown never actively
plays Fowler's game. There's an old story that an ancient quarrel
separates them. But word has been carefully passed about that there is
to be a dinner at the Willard to-morrow night, of the nature of a love
feast, at which Fowler and Brown are to fall on each other's necks with
tears."
Enoch got up from his chair and prowled about the great room
restlessly, then he stood before the chief executive.
"Mr. President, why shouldn't Fowler go to the White House? He's a
brilliant man. He's done notable service as Secretary of State. I
don't think the cabinet has contained his equal for twenty-five years.
He has given our diplomatic service a distinction in Europe that it
never had before. He has a good following in the party. Perhaps the
best of the old conservatives are for him. I don't like his attitude
on the Mexican trouble and sometimes I have felt uneasy as to his
entire loyalty to you. Yet, I am not convinced that he would not make
a far more able chief executive than I?"
"Suppose that he openly ties to Brown, Huntingdon?"
"In that case," replied Enoch slowly, "I would feel in duty bound to
interfere."
"And if you do interfere," persisted the President, "you realize fully
that it will be a nasty fight?"
"Perhaps it would be!" Enoch's lips tightened as he shrugged his
shoulders.
The President's eyes glowed as he watched the grim lines deepen in
Enoch's face. Then he said, "Huntingdon, I'm giving a dinner to-morrow
night too! The British Ambassador and the French Ambassador want to
meet Señor Juan Cadiz. Did you know that your friend Cadiz is the
greatest living authority on Aztec worship and a hectic fan for
bullfighting as a national sport? My little party is entirely
informal, one of the things the newspapers ordinarily don't comment on.
You know I insist on my right to cease to be President on occasions
when I can arrange for three or four real people to meet each other.
This is one of those occasions. You are to come to the dinner too,
Huntingdon. And if the conversation drifts from bullfighting and Aztec
gods to Mexico and England's and France's ideas about your recent
speeches, I shall not complain."
"Thank you, Mr. President," said Enoch.
"I would do as much for you personally, of course," the older man
nodded, as he rose, "but in this instance, I'm playing politics even
more than I'm putting my hand on your shoulder. It's good to have you
back, Huntingdon! Good night!" and a few minutes later Enoch was out
on the snowy street.
It was after six and he went directly home. He spent the evening going
over accumulated reports. At ten o'clock Jonas came to the library
door.
"Boss, how would you feel about going to bed? You know we got into
early hours in the Canyon."
"I feel that I'm going immediately!" Enoch laughed. "Jonas, what have
your friends to say about your trip?" as he went slowly up the stairs.
"Boss, I'm the foremost colored man in Washington to-night. I'm
invited to give a lecture on my trip in the Baptist Church. They
offered me five bones for it and I laughed at 'em. How come you to
think, I asked 'em, that money could make me talk about my life blood's
escape. No, sir, I give my services for patriotism. I can't have the
paddle nor the name board framed till I've showed 'em at the lecture.
I'm requested to wear my costume."
"Good work, Jonas! Remember one thing, though! Leave me and Miss
Diana absolutely out of the story."
Jonas nodded. "I understand, Mr. Secretary."
When Enoch reached his office the next morning he said to Charley
Abbott: "When or if Secretary Fowler's office calls with the usual
inquiry, make no reply but connect whomever calls directly with me."
Charley grinned. "Very well, Mr. Secretary. Shall we go after those
letters?"
"Whenever you say so. You'd better make an appointment as soon as
possible with Cheney. He--" The telephone interrupted and Abbott took
the call, then silently passed the instrument to Enoch.
"Yes, this is the Secretary's office," said Enoch. "Who is
wanted? . . . This is Mr. Huntingdon speaking. Please connect me with
Mr. Fowler. . . . Good morning, Mr. Fowler! I'm sorry to have made
your office so much trouble. I understand you've been calling me
daily. . . . Oh, yes, I thought it was a mistake. . . . Late this
afternoon, at the French Ambassador's? Yes, I'll look you up there.
Good-by."
Enoch hung up the receiver. "Was I to go to tea at Madame Foret's this
afternoon, Abbott?"
"Yes, Mr. Secretary. Madame Foret called me up a few days ago and was
so kind and so explicit--"
"It's quite all right, Abbott. Mr. Fowler wondered, he said, if I was
to be invited!"
The two men looked at each other, then without further comment Enoch
began to dictate his long-delayed letters. The day was hectic but
Enoch turned off his work with zest.
Shortly after lunch the Director of the Geological Survey appeared.
Enoch greeted him cordially, and after a few generalities said, "Mr.
Cheney, what bomb are they preparing to explode now?"
Cheney ran his fingers through his white hair and sighed. "I guess I'm
getting too old for modern politics, Mr. Secretary. You'd better send
me back into the field. Neither you nor I knew it, but it seems that
I've been using those fellows out in the field for my own personal
ends. I have a group mining for me in the Grand Canyon and another
group locating oil fields for me in Texas."
Enoch laughed, then said seriously: "What's the idea, Mr. Cheney? Have
you a theory?"
Cheney shook his head. "Just innate deviltry, I suppose, on the part
of Congress."
"You've been chief of the Survey fifteen years, haven't you, Mr.
Cheney?"
"Yes, too long for my own good. Times have changed. People realized
once that men who go high in the technical world very seldom are
crooked. But your modern politician would believe evil of the
Almighty."
"What sort of timber are you developing among your field men, Cheney?"
"Only so-so! Young men aren't what they were in my day."
Enoch eyed the tired face under the white hair sympathetically. "Mr.
Cheney, you're letting these people get under your skin. And that is
exactly what they are aiming to do. You aren't the man you were a few
months ago. My advice to you is, take a vacation. When you come back
turn over the field work to a younger man and devote yourself to
finding who is after you and why. I have an idea that the gang is not
interested in you, personally."
Cheney suddenly sat up very straight. "You think that you--" then he
hesitated. "No, Mr. Secretary, this is a young man's fight. I'd
better resign."
"Perhaps, later on, but not now. After years of such honorable service
as yours, go because you have reached the fullness of years and have
earned your rest. Don't let these fellows smirch your name and the
name of the Service. Clear both before you go."
"What do I care for what they say of me!" cried Cheney with sudden
fire. "I know what I've given to the government since I first ran
surveys in Utah! You're an eastern man and a city man, Mr. Secretary.
If you had any idea of what a field man, in Utah, for example, or New
Mexico, or Arizona endures, of the love he has for his work, you'd see
why my pride won't let me justify my existence to a Congressional
Committee."
"And yet," insisted Enoch, "I am going to ask you to do that very
thing, Mr. Cheney. I am asking you to do it not for me or for
yourself, but for the good of the Survey. Find out who, what and why.
And tell me. Will you do it, Mr. Cheney?"
There was something winning as well as compelling in Enoch's voice.
The director of the Survey rose slowly, and with a half smile held out
his hand to the Secretary.
"I'll do it, Mr. Secretary, but for just one reason, because of my
admiration and friendship for you."
Enoch smiled. "Not the best of reasons, I'm afraid, but I'm grateful
anyhow. Will you let me know facts as you turn them up?"
Cheney nodded. "Good day, Mr. Secretary!" and Enoch turned to meet his
next visitor.
Shortly before six o'clock Enoch shook hands with Madame Foret in her
crowded drawing-room. He seemed to be quite unconscious of the more
than usually interested and inquiring glances that were directed toward
him.
"You had a charming vacation, so your smile says, Mr. Huntingdon!"
exclaimed Madame Foret. "I am so glad! Where did you go?"
"Into the desert, Madame Foret."
"Oh, into the desert of that beautiful Miss Allen! She and her
pictures together made me feel that that was one part of America I must
not miss. She promised me that she would show me what she called the
Painted Desert, and I shall hold her to the promise!"
"No one could show you quite so wonderfully as Miss Allen, I'm sure,"
said Enoch.
"Now, just what did you do to kill time in the desert, Huntingdon?"
asked Mr. Johns-Eaton, the British Ambassador. "Why didn't you go
where there was some real sport?"
"Oh, I found sport of a sort!" returned Enoch solemnly.
Johns-Eaton gave Enoch a keen look. "I'll wager you did!" he
exclaimed. "Any hunting?"
"Some small game and a great deal of boating!"
"Boating! Now you are spoofing me! Listen, Mr. Fowler, here's a man
who says he was boating in the desert!"
Fowler and Enoch bowed and, after a moment's more general conversation,
they drew aside.
"About this Mexican trouble, Huntingdon," said Fowler slowly. "I said
nothing as to your speaking trip, until your return, for various
reasons. But I want to tell you now, that I considered it an intrusion
upon my prerogatives."
"Have you told the President so?" asked Enoch.
"The President did not make the tour," replied Fowler.
"Just why," Enoch sipped his cup of tea calmly, "did you choose this
occasion to tell me of your resentment?"
"Because," replied Fowler, in a voice tense with repressed anger, "it
is my express purpose never to set foot in your office again, nor to
permit you to appear in mine. When we are forced to meet, we will meet
on neutral ground."
"Well," said Enoch mildly, "that's perfectly agreeable to me. But,
excepting on cabinet days, why meet at all?"
"You are agreed that it shall be war between us, then?" demanded Fowler
eagerly.
"Oh, quite so! Only not exactly the kind of war you think it will be,
Mr. Secretary!" said Enoch, and he walked calmly back to the tea table
for his second cup.
He stayed for some time longer, chatting with different people, taking
his leave after the Secretary of State had driven away. Then he went
home, thoughtfully, to prepare for the President's dinner.
The chief executive was a remarkable host, tactful, resourceful, and
witty. The dinner was devoted entirely at first to Juan Cadiz and his
wonderful stories of Aztec gods and of bullfighting. Gradually,
however, Cadiz turned to modern conditions in Mexico, and Mr.
Johns-Eaton, with sudden fire, spoke of England's feeling about the
chaos that reigned beyond the Texan border lines. Monsieur Foret did
not fully agree with the Englishman's general attitude, but when Cadiz
quoted from one of Enoch's speeches, the ambassadors united in praise
of the sanity of Enoch's arguments. The President did not commit
himself in any way. But when he said good night to Enoch, he added in
the hearing of the others:
"Thank you, old man! I wish I had a hundred like you!"
Enoch walked home through a light snow that was falling. And although
his mind grappled during the entire walk with the new problem at hand,
he was conscious every moment of the fact that a week before he had
tramped through falling snow with Diana always within hand touch.
Jonas, brushing the snow from Enoch's broad shoulders, said casually:
"I had a telegram from Na-che this evening, boss. She and Miss Diana
start for Havasu canyon to-morrow."
Enoch started. "Why, how'd she happen to wire you, Jonas?"
"I done told her to," replied Jonas coolly, "and moreover, I left the
money for her to do it with."