Desert Devil (14 page)

He shook his head negatively. "Not if you use common sense and stay on the trail. Lots of people hike as far as we're going today. Actually, we're just on the edge of the wilderness area. And it definitely can be dangerous back in the interior, off the beaten trails, especially in the hotter, dryer months."

The edge of the Superstitions was wild enough for her, Juli thought as they started up the well-worn trail, and the view grew more awesome the farther they went. The rocks above the canyon trail were an incredible mixture of the graceful and grotesque. There were spires and turrets, columns and knobs and domes that to her imagination were fairy castles one moment, medieval fortresses the next. Some rocks had the shape of Impressionistic, elongated human figures, forever trapped in stone; others were grotesque distortions of some demon animal world, nightmare figures of a tortured dream. In places one immense boulder balanced atop another, as if some giant had marked his trail with piled rocks.

Thorne let Juli scramble along by herself, seldom offering a helping hand, though they paused often to rest. The trail crossed and re-crossed the creek, plentiful with running water at this time of year, though Thorne said it dwindled to stagnant pools later on.

Thorne seemed relaxed, almost jovial, full of interesting little bits of information. He showed Juli a tiny cactus wren's nest tucked right in among the needle-sharp cholla spines, at first glance a dangerously unlikely spot for a nest, but a safe refuge from the tiny bird's enemies. He pointed out how the tall saguaro cactuses, with their twisted arms, looked fat and healthy now because rain had been plentiful this season. In dry times the leathery, pleated skin folded up like an accordion as water was used up.

"Somewhere I read that you can cut the top off some cactuses and find water inside," Juli said.

"The barrel cactus," he agreed, pointing out one of the round, stubby plants that fit its name. He laughed.

"However, some writers make it sound as if all you have to do is cut off the top and dip out buckets of fresh water. Actually, what is inside is just a wet pulp and tastes terrible. But I suppose it could save your life if you were dying of thirst."

"I'm not dying of thirst, but I certainly could use a drink," Juli admitted.

Thorne slipped the pack from his back and offered her the canteen. She found drinking from the container awkward, but managed a few sips. Thorne took a long, experienced gulp. He sat on a flat-topped rock and made room for her beside him. "What do you think now about finding a lost gold mine here?" he inquired.

Juli laughed and shook her head ruefully. "It would be easier to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. Such strange rocks," she murmured. "Almost like strange, sad beings standing there waiting for release."

Thorne's gaze followed hers to the vertical stones clustered together on the far side of the canyon. "One old Indian legend says that once there was a great flood and the people came to the mountains to escape it. Their god said they would be saved if not a word was spoken until the floodwaters receded. But one person did speak—a squaw, no doubt," he interjected with a teasing smile, "and the entire tribe was turned to stone and you see them there now."

"I halfway believe it," Juli said tremulously. "It seems like a place where anything could happen. Was it around here that Jason…" Her voice trailed off awkwardly.

"It was some distance from here where he fell, on the other side of Weaver's Needle," Thorne said quietly.

"Do you think there is gold here?" Juli asked slowly.

"In general, most geologists say no, it isn't here. But others say volcanic action could have pushed up a vertical vein of gold-bearing rose quartz, usually called a chimney lode, from deep in the earth. Some big mining companies are supposed to have investigated in the past and decided the area was worthless. I think the theory of most of those who search here is simply that gold is where you find it."

"But what do
you
think?" Juli persisted, eyeing his strong, lean profile.

"I'm no geologist or treasure hunter." He looked at her and grinned, then gazed off toward the mouth of the canyon where desert and barren mountains rolled endlessly to the horizon. His voice was a little husky when he spoke, revealing how much he loved this brutal, yet beautiful, land. "I think the real treasure here is just what you see—the rocks and cactuses and desert and sky and freedom."

Juli drew her knees up and rested her arms and chin on them. "What is the story of the lost mine? What makes so many people believe so strongly that it is here that they risk their lives searching for it?"

He leaned back against another rock. "There are so many stories that they become confusing. Some say that the Apaches had gold here—a sacred, hidden cache. A Spanish family from Mexico, the Peraltas, for whom this canyon is named, is reputed to have taken out a fortune in gold in the early 1800s. The Lost Dutchman tale started later on when a man named Jacob Waltz showed up in Phoenix with gold and was thought to come back here to get more whenever his supply ran out. On his deathbed he gave a woman friend and her son instructions on how to find his mine and they spent years searching but never found anything. And a lot of others have searched ever since. There's something about the Superstitions that seems to capture the imagination."

"But it seems, with all who have looked, that something would have been found if it were really here," Juli mused.

"There are various theories on that, too. One is that the Indians didn't like whites prowling around their sacred mountains and filled in the pit of the mine. Another is that an earthquake in the late 1800s changed and concealed everything. And another is that if anyone gets too close to finding the treasure, the Dutchman's Curse does him in, of course."

Juli glanced around, her uneasiness only half-pretended. "I hope the Lost Dutchman doesn't think we're after his gold!"

"Do you remember that in David's papers there was a schedule showing sunrise times?" Thorne asked suddenly, and Juli nodded. "One of the stories says old Waltz said that on a particular day of the year the first rays of the rising sun shone through a 'window' in a rock and struck his mine."

"Poor David," Juli murmured. Had he really believed that somewhere in this wild and desolate land he could pinpoint one small area of gold?

Thorne nodded. "I guess he never heard the other story that says the afternoon sun shines into the mine."

"You don't believe any of the stories?"

Thorne hesitated. "No, not really. And yet…" His voice trailed off and he looked toward the saddle at the head of the canyon toward which they were climbing. He stood up and reached for the pack. "I can vouch for the fact that years ago someone took a shot at me when I was poking around La Barge Canyon. As I've said, gold fever does strange things to otherwise sensible people."

They started off again, passing an older couple with walking sticks gamely plodding up the trail. They met an exuberant group of Boy Scouts returning from an overnight camping outing. As they neared the rim of Fremont Saddle, Juli felt a tingle of excited anticipation. What lay on the other side? She could understand how the frontier explorers kept pushing on, that one more ridge always beckoned with an irresistible pull.

A surprisingly cool, brisk breeze picked up as they neared the top, and Thorne slipped his arm around Juli's shoulders. They climbed the last few steps together and Juli's breath caught at the vista that lay sprawled before them. It was almost frightening in its desolation, and yet strangely beautiful, too. Dry mountains, craggy rocks, distant walls, and dominating it all the sheer, massive monolith called Weaver's Needle. It rose dark and somber out of the desert valley, rounded at the tip, too thick and bulky really to resemble a needle, but magnificent against the sky. It looked as if it had stood there forever and would stand there into eternity, aloof and impregnable. Juli suddenly felt very small and insignificant.

"It's supposed to be named for Pauline Weaver, the frontier explorer," Thorne explained.

"A woman?" Juli gasped.

"No. But it makes you wonder if perhaps he became a he-man explorer to escape the curse of that name, doesn't it?" He laughed. His arm was still draped companionably around her shoulders.

Juli looked up at him while he went on talking about eating their lunch here or hiking on down into the valley, but she wasn't really hearing. She was studying the strong lines of his face, seeing the character behind the tanned, handsome features, recognizing a warm, companionable side to his nature that had been hidden before. Today he seemed so much less remote than before, so much more reachable, as if the wall that usually surrounded him had crumbled away. Was it just because of her apology—or was there some deeper reason? He turned her to face him and she was conscious again of his powerful maleness, the hard length of his body, the primitively physical feelings, both tantalizing and frightening, that he aroused in her. But now there was something more, something that she was almost more afraid to face.

Unexpectedly, he tipped her chin up. "You look as if your mind is a million miles away," he chided.

"No, no I'm listening." Her voice was husky. Perhaps, she thought tremulously, it would be safer if her thoughts were a million miles away, away from what she knew was happening to her. It seemed incredible after the way they had fought and argued and accused each other, and yet she knew it had started from the very first moment she met him. Now she was no longer poised on the precipitous edge of being in love. She had fallen, tumbled with reckless abandon like one of those balancing rocks careening headlong into the canyon. She wondered if he could feel the wild throbbing of her heart, a pounding that had nothing to do with the exertion of the climb.

"Do you want to hike into the valley?" he repeated. His fingers caressed her chin while his eyes roamed her face.

Was that all he was asking?

"Yes," she whispered. And then, more fiercely to herself: Yes,
yes
to whatever he asked!

"We should get started, then," he said.

But neither of them made a move toward the trail sloping steeply into the valley. His hand slid behind her neck, and then almost roughly his fingers tangled in her soft hair, forcing her head back while his other arm molded her body against his. His demanding mouth conquered hers without resistance, the pressure almost painful until a matching passion surged within her and swept away all else. Her arms, seeking to hold him as he was holding her, met the awkward bulk of the backpack and crept instead to caress his thick hair. His mouth moved against hers, commanding, exploring, possessing, dominating her with his strength and virility.

The piercing cry of some hunting bird shrieked overhead as it searched for prey, and some vague thought in the back of Juli's mind warned her that she might also be prey to a powerful predator. But she ignored the warning and recklessly returned his kiss, a willing victim whose arms and lips demanded more.

Juli's head rested against Thorne's shoulder as they drove back toward Cholla. Her muscles felt sore and tired, but her mind soared with the joy of the day. They had descended into the valley and eaten their lunch near the base of Weaver's Needle. From beneath, it seemed even more towering and massive, a monumental, indestructible work of nature. They had taken off their shoes, rolled up their pantlegs, and romped in the creek like a couple of children. They splashed each other with water, laughed, and wound up kissing again while the water swirled around their bare legs, its surprising chill unnoticed while the fire of the kiss raged through them. They had stayed as late as they dared, and the sun was a sinking red ball in the west when they finally returned hand in hand to the pickup.