TWO IN THE DESERT
How long it was I hardly knew, for I had slink into a sort of dull
apathy in which one day was much like another; but at last we gathered
our crippled party together and broke camp, our wounded men in the
wagons, and so slowly passed on westward, up the trail. We supposed,
what later proved to be true, that the Sioux had raided in the valley on
both sides of us, and that the scattered portions of the army had all
they could do, while the freight trains were held back until the road
was clear.
I wearied of the monotony of wagon travel, and without council with any,
finally, weak as I was, called for my horse and rode on slowly with the
walking teams. I had gone for some distance before I heard hoofs on the
sand behind me.
"Guess who it is," called a voice. "Don't turn your head."
"I can't turn," I answered; "but I know who it is."
She rode up alongside, where I could see her; and fair enough she was to
look upon, and glad enough I was to look. She was thinner now with this
prairie life, and browner, and the ends of her hair were still
yellowing, like that of outdoors men. She still was booted and gloved
after the fashion of civilization, and still elsewise garbed in the
aboriginal costume, which she filled and honored graciously. The metal
cylinders on her leggins rattled as she rode.
"You ought not to ride," she said. "You are pale."
"You are beautiful," said I; "and I ride because you are beautiful."
Her eyes were busy with her gloves, but I saw a sidelong glance. "I do
not understand you," she said, demurely.
"I could not sit back there in the wagon and think," said I. "I knew
that you would be riding before long, and I guessed I might, perhaps,
talk with you."
She bit her lip and half pulled up her horse as if to fall back. "That
will depend," was her comment. But we rode on, side by side, knee to
knee.
Many things I had studied before then, for certain mysteries had come to
me, as to many men, who wish logically to know the causes of great
phenomena. From boyhood I had pondered many things. I had lain on my
back and looked up at the stars and wondered how far they were, and how
far the farthest thing beyond them was. I had wondered at that
indeterminate quotient in my sums, where the same figure came, always
the same, running on and on. I used to wonder what was my soul, and I
fancied that it was a pale, blue flaming oblate, somewhere near my back
and in the middle of my body--such was my boyish guess of what they told
me was a real thing. I had pondered on that compass of the skies by
which the wild fowl guide themselves. I had wondered, as a child, how
far the mountains ran. As I had grown older I had read the law, read of
the birth of civilization, pondered on laws and customs. Declaring that
I must know their reasons, I had read of marriages in many lands, and
many times had studied into the questions of dowry and bride-price, and
consent of parents, and consent of the bride--studied marriage as a
covenant, a contract, as a human and a so-called divine thing. I had
questioned the cause of the old myth that makes Cupid blind. I had
delved deep as I might in law, and history and literature, seeking to
solve, as I might--what?
Ah, witless! it was to solve this very riddle that rode by my side now,
to answer the question of the Sphinx. What had come of all my studies?
Not so much as I was learning now, here in the open, with this sweet
savage woman whose leggins tinkled as she rode, whose tunic swelled
softly, whose jaw was clean and brown. How weak the precepts of the
social covenant seemed. How feeble and far away the old world we too had
known. And how infinitely sweet, how compellingly necessary now seemed
to me this new, sweet world that swept around us now.
We rode on, side by side, knee to knee. Her garments rustled and
tinkled.
Her voice awoke me from my brooding. "I wish, Mr. Cowles," said she,
"that if you are strong enough and can do so without discomfort, you
would ride with me each day when I ride."
"Why?" I asked. That was the wish in my own mind; but I knew her reason
was not the same as mine.
"Because," she said. She looked at me, but would not answer farther.
"You ought to tell me," I said quietly.
"Because it is prescribed for you."
"Not by my doctor." I shook my head. "Why, then?"
"Stupid--oh, very stupid officer and gentleman!" she aid, smiling
slowly. "Lieutenant Belknap has his duties to look after; and as for Mr.
Orme, I am not sure he is either officer or gentleman."
She spoke quietly but positively. I looked on straight up the valley and
pondered. Then I put out a hand and touched the fringe of her sleeve.
"I am going to try to be a gentleman," said I. "But I wish some fate
would tell me why it is a gentleman can be made from nothing but a man."