AT THE RAINBOW'S END
"Helen's lips are drifting dust;
Ilion is consumed with rust;
All the galleons of Greece
Drink the ocean's dreamless peace;
Lost was Solomon's purple show
Restless centuries ago;
Stately empires wax and wane--
Babylon, Barbary and Spain--
Only one thing, undefaced,
Lasts, though all the worlds lie waste
And the heavens are overturned,
--Dear, how long ago we learned!"
--FREDERICK LAWRENCE KNOWLES.
Starlit and moonlight leagues, the slow, fresh dawn; in the cool of the
morning, Bransford came to the crest of the ground-swell known as
Frenchman's Ridge, and saw low-lying Arcadia dim against the north, a
toy town huddling close to the shelter of Rainbow Range; he splashed
through the shallow waters of Alamo, failing to a trickle before it sank
in the desert sands; and so came at last to the moat of Arcadia. With
what joyous and eager-choking heart-beat you may well guess: not the
needlessness of those swift pulses or of that joy. For Ellinor was not
there. With Mrs. Hoffman, she had gone to visit the Sutherlands at
Rainbow's End. And Jeff could not go on. Arcadia rose to greet him in
impromptu Roman holiday.
Poor Bransford has never known clearly what chanced on that awful day.
There is a jumbled, whirling memory of endless kaleidoscopic troops of
joyful Arcadians: Billy White, Monte, Jimmy, Clarke, the grim-smiling
sheriff, the judge. It was dimly borne upon him by one or both of the
two last, that there were yet certain formalities to be observed in the
matter of his escape from custody of the Law and of the horse he had
borrowed from the court house square. Indeed, it seemed to Jeff, in a
hazy afterthought, that perhaps the sheriff had arrested him again. If
so, it had slipped Jeff's mind, swallowed up in a gruesome horror of
congratulations, hand-shakings, back-slappings, badinage and questions;
heaped on a hero heartsick, dazed and dumb. Pleading weariness, he tore
himself away at last, almost by violence, and flung himself down in a
darkened bedroom of the Arcadian Atalanta.
One thing was clear. Headlight was there, Aforesaid Smith, Madison: but
his nearest friends, Pringle, Beebe and Ballinger, though they had
hasted back to Arcadia to fight Jeff's battles, were ostentatiously
absent from his hollow and hateful triumph: Johnny Dines had pointedly
refused to share his night ride from Helm's: and Jeff knew why, sadly
enough. The gods take pay for the goods they give: and now that goodly
fellowship was broken. The thought clung fast: it haunted his tossing
and troubled slumbers, where Ellinor came through a sunset glow,
swift-footed to meet him: where his friends rode slow and silent into
the glimmering dusk, smaller and smaller, black against the sky.
* * * * *
The Sutherland place made an outer corner of Rainbow's End, bowered
about by a double row of close and interlaced cottonwoods on two sides,
by vigorous orchards on the other two.
The house had once been a one-storied adobe, heroically proportioned,
thick-walled, cool against summer, warm in what went by the name of
winter. The old-time princely hospitality was unchanged, but Sutherland
had bought lots in Arcadia of early days; and now, the old gray walls of
the house were smooth with creamy stucco, wrought of gypsum from the
White Sands; the windows were widened and there was a superimposed
story, overhanging, wide and low. The gables were double-windowed,
shingled and stained nut-brown, the gently sloping roof shingled,
dormered and soft green: the overflow projecting to broad verandas on
either side, very like an umbrella: a bungalow with two birthdays--1866
: 1896.
Miss Ellinor Hoffman had deserted veranda, rocking-chair and hammock.
With a sewing basket beside her, she sat on a pine bench under a
cottonwood of 1867, ostensibly basting together a kimono tinted like a
dripping sea shell, and faced with peach-blossom.
The work went slowly. Her seat was at the desert corner of the homestead
which was itself the desert outpost of a desert town: and her blood
stirred to these splendid horizons. The mysterious desert scoffed and
questioned, drew her with promise of strange joys and strange griefs.
The iron-hard mountains beckoned and challenged from afar, wove her
their spells of wavering lights and shadows; the misty warp and woof of
them shifting to swift fantastic hues of trembling rose and blue and
violet, half-veiling, half-revealing, steeps unguessed and dreamed-of
sheltered valleys--and all the myriad-voice of moaning waste and
world-rimming hill cried "Come!"
Faint, fitful undertone of drowsy chords, far pealing of elfin bells;
that was pulsing of busy _acequias_, tinkling of mimic waterfalls. The
clean breath of the desert crooned by, bearing a grateful fragrance of
apple-blossoms near; it rippled the deepest green of alfalfa to
undulating sheen of purple and flashing gold.
The broad fields were dwarfed to play-garden prettiness by the vastness
of overwhelming desert, to right, to left, before; whose nearer
blotches of black and gray and brown faded, far off, to a nameless
shimmer, its silent leagues dwindling to immeasurable blur, merging
indistinguishable in the burning sunset.
"East by up," overguarding the oasis, the colossal bulk of Rainbow
walled out the world with grim-tiered cliffs, cleft only by the
deep-gashed gates of Rainbow Pass, where the swift river broke through
to the rich fields of Rainbow's End, bringing fulfilment of the fabled
pot of gold--or, unused, to shrink and fail and die in the thirsty sand.
Below, the whilom channel wandered forlorn--Rainbow no longer, but Lost
River--to a disconsolate delta, waterless save as infrequent floods
found turbulent way to the Sink, when wild horse and antelope revisited
their old haunts for the tender green luxury of these brief, belated
springs.
Incidentally, Miss Hoffman's outpost commanded a good view of Arcadia
road, winding white through the black tar-brush. Had she looked, she
might have seen a slow horseman, tiny on the bare plain below the
tar-brush, larger as he climbed the gentle slope along that
white-winding road.
But she bent industrious to her work, smiling to herself, half-singing,
half-humming a foolish and lilty little tune:
"A tisket, a tasket--a green and yellow basket;
I wrote a letter to my love and on the road I lost it--
I crissed it, I crossed it--I locked it in a casket;
I missed it, I lost it----"
And here Miss Hoffman did an unaccountable thing. Wise Penelope
unraveled by night the work she wove by day. Like her in this, Miss
Ellinor Hoffman now placidly snipped and ripped the basting threads,
unraveled them patiently, and set to work afresh.
"Now, there's no such thing as a Ginko tree;
There never was--though there ought to be.
And 'tis also true, though most absurd,
There's no such thing as a Wallabye bird!"
Miss Hoffman was all in white, with a white middy blouse trimmed in
scarlet, a scarlet ribbon in her dark hair: a fine-linked gold chain
showed at her neck. A very pretty picture she made, cool and fresh
against the deep shade and the green--but of course she did not know it.
She held the shaping kimono at arm's length, admiring the delicate
color, and fell to work again.
"Oh, the jolly miller, he lives by himself!
As the wheel rolls around he gathers in his pelf,
A hand in the hopper and another in the bag--
As the wheel rolls around he calls out, '_Grab!_'"
So intent and preoccupied was she, that she did not hear the approaching
horse.
"Good evening!"
"Oh!" Miss Hoffman jumped, dropping the long-suffering kimono. A
horseman, with bared head, had reined up in the shaded road alongside.
"How silly of me not to hear you coming! If you're looking for Mr.
Sutherland, he's not here--Mr. David Sutherland, that is. But Mr. Henry
Sutherland is here--or was awhile ago--maybe half an hour since. He was
trying to get up a set of tennis. Perhaps they're playing--over there on
the other side of the house. And yet, if they were there, we'd hear them
laughing--don't you think?"
Mr. Bransford--for it was Mr. Bransford, and he was all dressed in
clothes--waited with extreme patience for the conclusion of these
feverish and hurried remarks.
"But I'm not looking for Sutherland. I'm looking for you!"
"Oh!" said Ellinor again. Then, after a long and deliberate survey, the
light of recognition dawned slowly in her eyes. "Oh, I _do_ know you,
don't I? To be sure I do! You're Mr.----the gentleman I met on Rainbow
Mountain, near Mayhill,--Mr.--ah yes--Bransford!"
"Why, so I am!" said Jeff, leaning on the saddle-horn. One half of Mr.
Bransford wondered if he had not been making a fool of himself and
taking a great deal for granted: the other half, though considerably
alarmed, was not at all deceived.
Miss Ellinor did not actually put her finger in the corner of her
mouth--she merely looked as if she had. "Ah!--Won't you ... get down?"
she said helplessly. "What a beautiful horse!"
"Why, yes--thank you--I believe I will."
He left the beautiful horse to stand with dangling reins, and came over
to the bench, silent and rather grim.
"Won't you sit down?" said Ellinor politely. "Fine day, isn't it?"
"It's a wonderful day--a marvelous day--a stupendous day!" said this
exasperated young man. "No, I guess it's not worth while to sit down. I
just wanted to find out where you lived. I asked you once before, you
know, and you didn't tell me."
"Didn't I? Oh, do sit down! You look so grumpy--tired, I mean." Rather
grudgingly, she swept the sewing basket from the bench to the grass.
Jeff's eyes followed the action. He saw--if you call it seeing--the
snipped threads on the grass, the yet unpicked bastings, white against
the peach-pink facing; but he was a mere man, hardly-circumstanced, and
these eloquent tidings were wasted upon his clumsy intellect: as had
been the surprising good fortune of finding Miss Ellinor exactly where
she was.
Nerving himself with memory of the Quaker Lady at the masquerade--if,
indeed, that had ever really happened--Jeff took the offered seat.
The young lady matched two edges together, smoothed them, eyed the
result critically, and plied a nimble needle. Then she turned clear and
guileless eyes on her glooming seatmate.
"You look older, somehow, than I thought you were, now that I remember,"
she observed, biting the thread. "You've been away, haven't you?"
"Thought you were going away, yourself, so wild and fierce?" said Jeff,
evading.--_Been away, indeed!_
Ellinor threaded her needle.
"Mamma _was_ talking of going for a while," she said tranquilly. "But
I'm rather glad we didn't. We're having a splendid time here--and Mr.
White's going to take us to the White Sands next week. He'll be down
to-morrow--at least I think so. He's fine! He took us to Mescalero early
in the spring. And the young people here at Rainbow's End are simply
delightful. You must meet some of them. Listen! There they are now--I
hear them. They _are_ playing tennis. Come on up and I'll introduce you.
I can finish this thing any time." She tossed the poor kimono into the
basket.
"No," said this unhappy young man, rising. "I believe I'll go on back.
Good-by, Miss Ell--Miss Hoffman. I wish you much happiness!"
"Why--surely you're not going now? There are some nice girls here--they
have heard so much of you, but they say they've never met you. Don't
you want----"
Jeff groaned, fumbling blindly at the bridle. "No, I wish I'd never seen
a girl!"
"Why-y! That's not very polite, is it?----Are--are you--mad to me?" said
Ellinor in a meek little voice.
"Mad? No," said Jeff bitterly. "I'm just coming to my senses. I've been
dreaming. Now I've woke up!"
"Angry, I mean, of course. I just say it that way--'are you mad to
me'--sometimes--to be--to be--nice, Mr. Bransford!"
"You needn't bother! Good-by!"
"But I'll see you again----"
"_Never!_"
"----when you're not so--cross?"
Jeff reached for his stirrup.
"Oh, well! If you're going to be huffy! Never it is, then, by all means!
No--wait! I must give you back your present."
"I have never given you a present. Some other man, doubtless. You should
keep a list!" said Jeff, with bitter and cutting scorn.
The girl turned half away from him and hid her face with trembling
hands; her shoulders shook with emotion.
"Look the other way, sir! Turn your head! You shall have your present
back and then if you're so anxious to go--Go!"
"Miss Hoffman, I never gave you a present in my life," Jeff protested.
"You did!" sobbed Ellinor. She turned upon him, stamping her foot. "You
said, when you gave it to me, that you hoped it would bring me good
luck. And you've forgotten! _You'd_ better keep a list! Turn your head
away, I tell you!" She sank down on the bench.
Confused, mazed, bewildered, Jeff obeyed her.
She sprang to her feet. She was laughing, blushing, glowing. In her hand
was the little gold chain.
"Now, you may look. Hold out your hand, sir!"
Jeff's mind was whirling; he held out his hand. She laid a little gold
locket in his palm. It was warm, that little locket.
"I have never seen this locket before in my life!" gasped Jeff.
"Open it!"
He opened it. The little eohippus glared up at him.
"Ellinor!--_Charley Gibson!_"
"Tobe! Jeff!--_Jamie!_"
The little eohippus stared unwinking from the grass.
THE BEGINNING
_"The Books You Like to Read
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May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
=THE COVERED WAGON=
An epic story of the Great West from which the famous picture was made.
=THE WAY OF A MAN=
A colorful romance of the pioneer West before the Civil War.
=THE SAGEBRUSHER=
An Eastern girl answers a matrimonial ad. and goes out West in the hills
of Montana to find her mate.
=THE WAY OUT=
A romance of the feud district of the Cumberland country.
=THE BROKEN GATE=
A story of broken social conventions and of a woman's determination to
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=THE WAY TO THE WEST=
Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett and Kit Carson figure in this story of the
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=HEART'S DESIRE=
The story of what happens when the railroad came to a little settlement
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GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
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The Elk Mountain Cattle Co. had not paid a dividend in years; so Edgar
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=THE BONDBOY=
Joe Newbolt, bound out by force of family conditions to work for a
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His mouth is sealed; he cannot, as a gentleman, utter the words that
would clear him. A dramatic, romantic tale of intense interest.
=CLAIM NUMBER ONE=
Dr. Warren Slavens drew claim number one, which entitled him to first
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=THE DUKE OF CHIMNEY BUTTE=
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=THE FLOCKMASTER OF POISON CREEK=
John Mackenzie trod the trail from Jasper to the great sheep country
where fortunes were being made by the flock-masters. Shepherding was not
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=THE LAND OF LAST CHANCE=
Jim Timberlake and Capt. David Scott waited with restless thousands on
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=TRAIL'S END=
Ascalon was the end of the trail for thirsty cowboys who gave vent to
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=THE EVERLASTING WHISPER=
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=DESERT VALLEY=
A college professor sets out with his daughter to find gold. They meet a
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=MAN TO MAN=
Encircled with enemies, distrusted, Steve defends his rights. How he won
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=THE BELLS OF SAN JUAN=
Dr. Virginia Page is forced to go with the sheriff on a night journey
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=JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH=
Judith Sanford, part owner of a cattle ranch, realizes she is being
robbed by her foreman. How, with the help of Bud Lee, she checkmates
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=THE SHORT CUT=
Wayne is suspected of killing his brother after a violent quarrel.
Financial complications, villains, a horse-race and beautiful Wanda, all
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=THE JOYOUS TROUBLE MAKER=
A reporter sets up housekeeping close to Beatrice's Ranch much to her
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out as it should in this tale of romance and adventure.
=SIX FEET FOUR=
Beatrice Waverly is robbed of $5,000 and suspicion fastens upon Buck
Thornton, but she soon realizes he is not guilty. Intensely exciting,
here is a real story of the Great Far West.
=WOLF BREED=
No Luck Drennan had grown hard through loss of faith in men he had
trusted. A woman hater and sharp of tongue, he finds a match in Ygerne
whose clever fencing wins the admiration and love of the "Lone Wolf."
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
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=THE PRIDE OF PALOMAR=
When two strong men clash and the under-dog has Irish blood in his
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=KINDRED OF THE DUST=
Donald McKay, son of Hector McKay, millionaire lumber king, falls in
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=THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS=
The fight of the Cardigans, father and son, to hold the Valley of the
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=CAPPY RICKS=
The story of old Cappy Ricks and of Matt Peasley, the boy he tried to
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=WEBSTER: MAN'S MAN=
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hailing from the "States," met up with a revolution and for a while
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=CAPTAIN SCRAGGS=
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=THE LONG CHANCE=
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Further thrilling adventures of Tarzan while seeking his wife in Africa.
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=AT THE EARTH'S CORE=
An astonishing series of adventures in a world located inside of the
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=THE MUCKER=
The story of Billy Byrne--as extraordinary a character as the famous
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=A PRINCESS OF MARS=
Forty-three million miles from the earth--a succession of the weirdest
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=THE GODS OF MARS=
John Carter's adventures on Mars, where he fights the ferocious "plant
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=THE WARLORD OF MARS=
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=TO THE LAST MAN=
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=BETTY ZANE=
* * * * *
=LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS=
The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore, with
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ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYS
=KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE=
=THE YOUNG LION HUNTER=
=THE YOUNG FORESTER=
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=THE SHORT STOP=
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=NOMADS OF THE NORTH=
=KAZAN=
=BAREE, SON OF KAZAN=
=THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM=
=THE DANGER TRAIL=
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=THE GRIZZLY KING=
=ISOBEL=
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=THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE=
=BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY=
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WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE
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=BIG-TOWN ROUND-UP, THE=
=BRAND BLOTTERS=
=BUCKY O'CONNOR=
=CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT=
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=GUNSIGHT PASS=
=HIGHGRADER, THE=
=MAN FOUR-SQUARE, A=
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=MAVERICKS=
=OH, YOU TEX!=
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=RIDGWAY OF MONTANA=
=SHERIFF'S SON, THE=
=STEVE YEAGER=
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=YUKON TRAIL, THE=
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=WHITE FANG=
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=CASEY RYAN=
=CHIP OF THE FLYING U=
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=RIM O' THE WORLD=
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BOOTH TARKINGTON'S
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=SEVENTEEN.= Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.
No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young
people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the
time when the reader was Seventeen.
=PENROD.= Illustrated by Gordon Grant.
This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous,
tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a
finished, exquisite work.
=PENROD AND SAM.= Illustrated by Worth Brehm.
Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phases
of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness
that have ever been written.
=THE TURMOIL.= Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.
Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his
father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a
fine girl turns Bibbs' life from failure to success.
=THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA.= Frontispiece.
A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country
editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love
interest.
=THE FLIRT.= Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.
The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement,
drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another
to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising
suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister.
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