The Man of the Desert (6 page)

“I found them in the sand. They helped me find you,” he said, trying to speak in an ordinary tone. But his voice took on a deep significance. He looked at her shyly, half fearing she must feel it. Then, murmuring something about looking after the horses, he hurried away.

When he returned, she’d mastered the rebellious hair, and it lay shining and beautiful, braided and coiled about her shapely head. She was standing now, having smoothed out the rumpled riding habit, and looked fresh and lovely in spite of the limited grooming conveniences.

He caught his breath. The two regarded one another intensely for an instant, each aware of the other’s personality, as men and women sometimes get a glimpse beyond a mere body into the soul. Each was aware of a thrilling pleasure in the other’s presence. It was something new and wonderful that couldn’t be expressed or even shaped into thoughts as yet, but something nonetheless real that flashed along their consciousness like the song of the native bird, the scent of the violet, the breath of the morning.

The instant of soul recognition passed, and both recovered their composure. Then the woman spoke.

“I feel much more respectable,” she laughed pleasantly. “Where is my vicious little horse? Isn’t it time we were getting back?”

Anxiety clouded the man’s face.

“That’s what I was coming to tell you. That beast has eaten off his hobble and fled. There’s no sight of him at all. He must have cleared out while we were eating dinner. He was munching grass peaceably enough before you woke up. It was careless of me not to make him more secure. The hobble was old and worn, but the best I had. I came to tell you I must go after him right away. You won’t be afraid to stay alone for a little while, will you? My horse has rested so I think I can catch him.”

The Trail

T
he horror in the girl’s eyes stopped him. She glanced quickly around, and then her eyes sought him. The terror of the night alone in the wilderness returned to her. She heard the coyotes howling again and saw the long, dark shadows in the canyon. She was white to the lips with the thought of it.

“Oh, please don’t leave me alone!” she said. “I don’t think I could stand it. The wild animals”—she glanced furtively behind her as if even now one were tracking her—“it was awful—awful! Their howls! And it’s so alone here! I never was alone before!”

Something in her appealing helplessness gave him a wild desire to stoop and fold her in his arms and tell her he’d never leave her while she wanted him. The color came and went in his fine bronzed face, and his eyes grew tender.

“I won’t leave you,” he said gently, “not if you feel that way, though there’s really no danger here in the daytime. The wild creatures are shy and only show themselves at night. But if I don’t find your horse, how will you get back to your friends soon? You’ve come a long distance, and you couldn’t ride alone.”

Her face grew troubled.

“Couldn’t I walk?” she suggested. “I’m a good walker. I’ve walked five miles at once many times.”

“We’re at least forty miles from the railroad,” he smiled back at her, “and the road is rough, over a mountain by the nearest way. Your horse must have been determined, indeed, to take you so far in one day. He must be a new purchase of Shag’s and bent on returning to his native heath. Horses do that sometimes. It’s their instinct. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. He may have only gone down in the valley to the waterhole. There’s one not far away, I think. I’ll go to the edge of the mesa and get a view. If he’s not too far, you can come with me after him. Just sit here and watch me. I won’t go out of your sight or hearing, and I won’t be gone five minutes. You won’t be afraid?”

She sat down obediently where he indicated, her eyes large with fear, for she dreaded the desert’s loneliness more than any fear she’d ever known.

“I promise I won’t go beyond your sight and call,” he reassured her. Smiling, he turned toward his horse, swung himself into the saddle and galloped to the edge of the mesa.

She watched him ride away, almost forgetting her fears. Her heart beat strangely with the memory of his smile. Its protection seemed to linger behind him and quiet her anxiety.

He rode straight to the east, then turned slowly and skirted the horizon, riding north along the edge of the mesa. She saw him shade his eyes with his hand and look in all directions. At last, after a prolonged gaze due north, he wheeled his horse around and rode quickly back to her. His face was serious as he dismounted.

“I saw him, but it’s no use. He has a three- or four-mile head start, and he’s climbed a steep hill. When he reaches the top of the next mesa he has a straight course in front of him, and it’s probably downhill after that. It might take me three or four hours to catch him, and I’m not even sure I could then. We’ll have to get along with Billy. Do you feel equal to riding now? Or should you rest again?”

“Oh, I can ride, but—I can’t take your horse. What will you do?”

“I’ll do nicely,” he answered, smiling again. “Our progress will be slower than if we had both horses, of course. I wish I’d taken off his saddle! It would be more comfortable for you than this. But I was searching so anxiously for the rider that I didn’t give much attention to the horse except to hobble him quickly. And when I found you, you needed all my attention. Now it might be good for you to lie down and rest until I get packed up. It won’t take me long.”

She curled down to rest until he was ready to fold up the canvas she was lying on, watching his easy movements as he put together the few articles of the pack and arranged the saddle for her comfort. Then he strode over to her.

“With your permission,” he said and, stooping, picked her up lightly in his arms and placed her on the horse.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you’re not up to the exertion of mounting in the ordinary way. You’ll need every bit of strength for the ride. You’re weaker than you realize.”

Her laugh rippled out faintly.

“You make me feel like a baby. I didn’t know what was happening until you put me here. You must have the strength of a giant. I never felt so little before.”

“You’re not a burden,” he said, smiling. “Now are you comfortable? If so, we’ll start.”

Billy arched his neck and turned his head to survey his new rider, with a gentle look on his bay face and in his eye.

“Oh, isn’t he a beauty!” exclaimed the girl, reaching out a timid hand to pat his neck.

The horse bowed, and Brownleigh noticed the gleam of a jewel on the little hand.

“Billy’s my good friend and constant companion,” he said. “We’ve faced some long, hard days together. He wants to tell you now that he’s proud to carry you.”

Billy bowed up and down, and Hazel laughed out loud with pleasure. Then her face grew sober again.

“But you’ll have to walk,” she said. “I can’t take your horse and let you walk. I won’t do that. I’m going to walk with you.”

“And use up what strength you have so you couldn’t even ride?” he said pleasantly. “No, I couldn’t allow that, and I’m pleased to walk with a companion. A missionary’s life is pretty lonesome sometimes. Come, Billy. We must be starting, for we want to make a good ten miles before we stop to rest, if our guest can stand the journey.”

Billy started out with stately steps, and Brownleigh walked by his side, taking long, easy strides and watching the path ahead. He also kept furtive watch of the girl’s face, for he knew her strength must be limited after the previous day’s ride.

On top of the mesa, Hazel caught her breath as she looked toward the great mountains and the expanse of seemingly infinite shades and colorings.

Brownleigh called her attention to various points of interest. The slender dark line across the plain was mesquite. He told her that once they entered it, it would seem to spread out as though it filled the valley. Then, looking back, the grassy slope below them would appear to be an insignificant yellow streak. He told her it was always that way in this land, that the kind of landscape one was passing through filled the whole view and seemed the only thing in life. He said he supposed it was that way in our lives, that the immediate present filled the whole view of the future until we came to something else.

The look in his eyes as he spoke those words made her turn from the landscape and wonder about him and his life.

Then he stooped and pointed to a clump of soapweed and idly broke off a bit of another bush, handing it to her.

“The Indians call it ‘the weed that wasn’t scared,’” he said. “Isn’t it an odd name?”

“It must be a brave little weed indeed to live out here all alone under this big sky. I wouldn’t like it even if I were only a weed,” she said, looking around and shivering at the thought of her fearful ride alone in the night. But she tucked the little spray of green into the buttonhole of her riding habit where it rested proudly against the rich green cloth.

For an instant, the missionary studied the picture of the lovely girl on the horse and forgot he was only a missionary. Then with a start he came to himself. They must be getting on, for the sun had already passed its zenith, and the trail ahead was long. Then he remembered.

“By the way, is this yours?” he asked and pulled the velvet cap out of his pocket.

“Oh, where did you find it?” she cried, settling it on her head like a touch of velvet in a crown. “I dropped it in front of a tiny little cabin when I lost all hope. I called and called, but the wind threw my voice back into my throat, and no one came out to answer me.”

“It was my house,” he said. “I found it on a sagebrush a few feet from my door. How I wish I’d been home to answer your call!”

“Your house!” she exclaimed. “It couldn’t have been. It wasn’t big enough for anybody—not anybody like you—to live in. Why, it wasn’t more than a—a shed—just a little board shanty.”

“Exactly, my shack!” he said half apologetically, half comically. “You should see the inside. It’s not as bad as it looks. I wish I could take you that way, but it’s somewhat out of the way to the railroad. And we must take the shortcut if we want to keep your father from more worry. Can you go on further now?”

“Oh yes,” she said with sudden trouble in her face. “Papa will be very worried, and Aunt Maria—oh, Aunt Maria will be wild with fear. She’ll tell me this is just what she expected from my going out riding in this heathen land. She warned me not to go. She said it wasn’t ladylike.”

As they continued she told him about her people, describing even the little idiosyncrasies of her aunt, her brother, her father, her maid, and even the big cook. The young man soon had a picture of the private car with all its luxuries and the story of a journey that was one long fairy tale of pleasure. Only the man Hamar wasn’t mentioned; but the missionary hadn’t forgotten him. Somehow he’d disliked him from the first mention of his name. He blamed him fiercely for not coming after the girl, yet he blessed the fortune that had given him that honor.

They were descending into the canyon now, but not by the steep trail the horse took her on the night before. It was rough enough, however, and the descent, though it was into the heart of nature’s beauty storehouse, frightened Hazel. She started at every steep place and clutched at the saddle, pressing her teeth hard into her lower lip until it grew white. Her face was white also, and a sudden faintness seemed to come upon her.

Brownleigh noticed instantly. Walking close behind the horse and guiding his steps, he put his free arm around her to steady her. Then he asked her to lean toward him and not be afraid.

His strength steadied her and gave her confidence, and his pleasant voice pointing out the sights along the way helped her forget her fear. He made her look up and showed her the great ferns hanging over in a green fringe at the top of the bare rocks above, their delicate lacery standing out like green fretwork against the blue sky. He pointed to a cave in the rocks high up and told her about cave dwellers who had once hollowed it out for a home. He described the stone axes, clay jars, corn mills, and woven yucca sandals found there and told about other curious cave dwellings in this part of the country. And he responded to her questions with the most curious information, the likes of which she’d never heard.

When they reached the shadows of the canyon floor he brought her a cooling drink of spring water in the tin cup and lifted her unexpectedly from the horse. Then he had her sit on a mossy spot where sweet flowers clustered, so she could rest for a few minutes. He knew the ride down the steep path had tried her nerves.

Yet he performed his attentions to her, whether lifting her into or out of the saddle or putting his arm about her to support her on the ride, with such courteous grace as to remove all personality from his touch. She marveled at it while she sat and rested and watched him from the distance, watering Billy at a noisy stream that chattered through the canyon.

He put her on the horse again, and they made their way through the cool beauty of the canyon along the stream’s edge, threading among the trees and over boulders and rough places, until at last in the late afternoon they came out again upon the plain.

The missionary looked anxiously at the sun. It took longer to travel through the canyon than he’d anticipated. The day was waning. He quickened Billy into a trot and settled into a long athletic run beside him, while the girl’s cheeks flushed with the exercise and wind. And her admiration for her escort grew.

“Aren’t you tired?” she asked at last when he slowed down and made Billy walk again.

“Tired!” Brownleigh answered and laughed. “Not consciously. I’m good for several miles yet myself. I haven’t had such a good time in three years, not since I left home—and Mother,” he added softly.

His eyes held a look that made the girl long to know more.

“Oh, then you have a mother!”

“Yes, I have a mother—a wonderful mother!” He breathed the words like a blessing.

The girl looked at him in awe. She had no mother. Her own had died before she could remember. Aunt Maria was her only idea of a mother.

“Is she out here?” she asked.