The Man of the Desert (7 page)

“No, she’s at home up in New Hampshire in a quiet country town, but she’s a wonderful mother.”

“And have you no one else, no other family out here with you?”

Hazel didn’t realize how anxiously she awaited the answer to that question. Somehow she felt a jealous dislike of anyone who might belong to him, even a mother—and a sudden thought of sister or wife who might share the cabin with him made her watch his face narrowly.

But the answer was quick, with almost a shadow like deep longing on his face. “Oh no, I have no one. I’m alone. And sometimes, if it weren’t for Mother’s letters, it would seem a long way from home.”

The girl didn’t know why it was pleasant to know this and why her heart went out in instant sympathy for him.

“Oh-oo!” she said gently. “Tell me about your mother, please!”

And so he told her, as he walked beside her, of his invalid mother whose frail body and its needs bound her to a couch in her old New England home, helpless and tended by a devoted nurse she loved and who loved her. Her strong spirit had risen to the sacrifice of sending her only son out to the desert on his chosen commission.

They were climbing a long, sloping hill and, by the story’s end, reached the top where they could look abroad again over a wide expanse of country. The kingdoms of the whole world seemed to lie there before Hazel’s awed gaze. A brilliant sunset was spreading a great silver light behind the purple mountains in the west, red and blue in flaming luxury, with billows of white clouds floating above. Over that, in sharp contrast, the sky was velvet black with a storm. To the south the rain was falling in a brilliant shower like yellow gold, and to the east two more patches of rain fell rosy pink, like petals of some wondrous flowers. A half rainbow arched over them. Turning slightly toward the north, they could see the rain falling from dark blue clouds in great streaks of white light.

“Oh-oo!” breathed the girl. “How wonderful! I never saw anything like that before.”

But the missionary had no time to answer. He unstrapped the canvas quickly from behind the saddle, watching the clouds as he did so.

“We’re going to get soaked!” he exclaimed, looking anxiously at the girl.

Camp

I
t came before he was ready for it. But he managed to throw the canvas over the horse and the girl, asking her to hold it on one side while he, standing close under the improvised tent, held the other side, leaving an opening in front for air. The girl laughed as the first great splashes struck her face. Then she retreated into the shelter as she was asked and sat quietly watching and wondering over it all. Thus they managed to keep tolerably dry, while two storms met overhead and poured down a torrent upon them.

Here she was, a carefully nurtured daughter of society, until now never stepping one inch beyond the line of conventionality, sitting far away from her friends and family on a wide desert plain under canvas, with a strange missionary’s arm around her. And she was as secure and contented, even happy, as if she were in her own cushioned chair in her New York sitting room. Of course, the arm was around her to hold down the canvas and keep out the rain, but it had a wonderful security and sense of strength that filled her with a strange new joy. And it made her wish the storm would keep on raging in brilliant display about her head a little longer, if she might then continue to feel the strength of that fine presence near and about her. She was weary, so she put all other thoughts out of her mind for the time and leaned back against the strong arm, knowing she was safe in the midst of the storm.

The missionary wore his upward look. No word passed between them as the panorama of the storm swept by. Only God knew what was passing in his soul and that, from the lovely girl’s nearness, a great longing was born to have her always near him, his right to protect her from the storms of life.

But he was a man of marked self-control. He held even his thoughts in obedience to a higher power. So while his heart’s wild wish swept over him he stood calmly and handed it back to heaven, as though he knew it were a wandering wish, a testing of his true self.

At the first instant of relief from the storm he took his arm away. He didn’t presume a single second to hold the canvas after the wind subsided. She liked him better for it, and her trust in him grew deeper as he gently shook the raindrops from their temporary shelter.

The rain lasted only a few minutes, and as the clouds cleared, the earth grew lighter for a space. Gently melting into the silver, amethyst, and emerald of the sky, the rainbow faded, and now they hurried on. Brownleigh wanted to reach a certain spot where he hoped to find dry shelter for the night. He saw that the excitement of travel and the storm had spent the girl’s strength and she needed rest, so he urged the horse forward and hurried along by his side.

But suddenly he halted the horse and looked into his companion’s face in the dying light.

“You’re very tired,” he said. “You can hardly sit up any longer.”

She smiled faintly. Her whole body was slumping with weariness, and a strange sick faintness had overcome her.

“We must stop here,” he said and glanced around for a suitable spot. “Well, this will do. It’s dry here under this big rock. The rain came from the other direction, and the ground around here didn’t even get sprinkled. That group of trees will do for a private room for you. We’ll soon have a fire and some supper, and then you’ll feel better.”

With that he stripped off his coat and, spreading it on the dry ground under the rock, lifted the girl from the saddle and laid her gently on the coat.

She closed her eyes and sank back. In truth she was closer to fainting than she’d ever been.

“It’s nothing,” she murmured, opening her eyes and trying to smile. “I was just tired, and my back ached with so much riding.”

“Don’t talk!” he said gently. “I’ll give you something to strengthen you in a minute.”

He quickly gathered sticks and soon had a blazing fire not far from where she lay. Its glow played over her face and her hair, while he prepared a second cup of beef extract. He was glad he’d filled his canteen with water at the spring in the canyon, in case no water was close by. But while he was getting supper, Billy, who was hobbled but could edge about slowly, discovered a waterhole and settled that difficulty. Brownleigh sighed with relief and then smiled when he saw his patient revive under the influence of the hot drink and a few minutes’ rest.

“I can go on a little farther,” she said, sitting up with an effort, “if you think we should tonight. I really don’t feel bad at all anymore.”

“I’m so glad,” he said. “I was afraid I’d made you travel too far. No, we’ll not go farther till daylight, I think. This is as good a place to camp as any, and there’s water nearby. You’ll find your own private room just inside that group of trees, and in half an hour or so the canvas will be dry enough for your bed. I spread it out close to the fire on the other side there. And it wasn’t wet through. The blanket was protected, so it’ll be warm and dry. I think we can make you comfortable. Have you ever slept under the stars before—that is, of course, with the exception of last night? I don’t suppose you really enjoyed that experience.”

Hazel shuddered at the thought.

“I don’t remember much, only awful darkness and howling. Will those creatures come this way, do you think? I think I’ll die of fright if I have to hear them again.”

“You may hear them in the distance, but not close,” he answered reassuringly. “They don’t like the fire. They won’t come near or disturb you. Besides, I’ll be here all night. I’m used to listening and waking in the night. I’ll keep a bright fire blazing.”

“But you—you—what will you do? You’re planning to give me the canvas and blanket and stay awake keeping watch. You walked all day while I rode, and you’re nurse and cook as well, while I’ve been good for nothing. And now you want me to rest comfortably all night while you sit up.”

The ring in the young man’s voice thrilled her heart.

“Oh, I’ll be all right,” he said, and his voice was joyous. “And I’ll have the greatest night of my life taking care of you. I count it a privilege. Many nights I’ve slept alone under the stars with no one to guard, and I felt lonely. Now I’ll always have this to remember. Besides, I won’t sit up. I’m used to throwing myself down anywhere. My clothing’s warm, and my saddle’s used to acting as a pillow. I’ll sleep and rest, but I’ll still be alert to keep up the fire and hear any sound that comes close.”

He talked as if he were recounting the plan of some delightful recreation, and the girl lay there and watched his handsome face in the firelight and rejoiced. She found something very sweet in companionship alone in the vast silence with this stranger friend. She was glad of the wide desert and the still night that shut out the world and made their unusual relationship possible for a little while. She longed to know and understand better the fine personality of this man who was, she believed, a man among men.

When he sat down by the fire not far from her after attending to the few supper dishes, she suddenly burst forth with a question: “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked, turning to her.

“Come here! Be a missionary! Why did you do it? You’re suited for better things. You could fill a large city church, or—even do other things in the world. Why did you do it?”

The firelight flickered on his face and showed his features fine and strong in an expression of deep feeling. A light shone in his eyes that was more than firelight as he raised them upward in a swift glance and said quietly, as if it were the simplest matter in the universe: “Because my Father called me to this work. And—I doubt if there can be any better.”

Then he told her of his work while the fire burned cheerfully, and the dusk grew deeper, till the moon showed clear its silver orb riding high in the starry heavens. The mournful voice of the coyotes echoed in the distance, but the girl wasn’t frightened. Her thoughts were held by the story of the people for whom this man among men was giving his life.

He described the Indian hogans, round huts built of logs on end and slanting to a common center thatched with turf and straw, with an opening for a door and another in the top to let out the fire’s smoke, a dirt floor, no furniture but a few blankets, sheepskins, and some tin dishes. He carried her in imagination to one such hogan where the Indian maiden lay dying and made the picture of their barren lives so vivid that tears stood in her eyes as she listened. He told her about the medicine men, the ignorance and superstition, the snake dances and heathen rites, and the wild, poetic, conservative man of the desert with his distrust, his great loving heart, his broken hopes, and blind aspirations. At length Hazel understood he really loved them, saw the possibility of greatness in them, and longed to help develop it.

He told her about the Sabbath just past, when he and his fellow missionary went on an evangelistic tour among the tribes far away from the mission station. He described the Indians sitting on rocks and stones amid the long shadows of the cedar trees, just before sundown, listening to a sermon. He’d reminded them of their god Begochiddi and of Nilhchii, whom the Indians believe to have made all things—the same one white men call God—and showed them a book called the Bible which told the story of God and of Jesus His Son who came to save men from their sin. Not one of the Indians had ever heard the name of Jesus before or knew anything about the great story of salvation.

Hazel wondered why it made a difference whether these poor people knew all this or not; yet she saw in this man’s face that it did matter, infinitely. To him it mattered more than anything else. A passing wish that she were an Indian and could hold his interest that way flashed through her mind. But he was still speaking of his work, and his rapt look filled her with awe. She was overwhelmed with the depth of the man before her. Sitting there in the firelight, with its ruddy glow on his face, his hat off and the moon laying a silver crown upon his head, he seemed almost like an angel to her. She’d never been so filled with the joy of beholding another soul. She had no room for thoughts of anything else.

Then suddenly he remembered it was late.

“I’ve kept you awake far too long,” he said gently. “We should get on our way as soon as it’s light, and I’ve made you listen to me when you should have been sleeping. But I always like to have a word with my Father before retiring. Shall we worship together?”

Hazel, overcome with wonder and embarrassment, assented and lay still in her sheltered spot. She watched him draw a small leather book from his breast pocket and open it to the place marked by a thin satin cord. Then stirring up the fire to brightness he began to read, and the majestic words of the ninety-first psalm sounded to her unaccustomed ears like a charming page.

“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

“He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust.”

The words were uttered with a ringing tone of trust. The listener knew little of birds and their ways, but the phrasing reminded her of how she was sheltered from the storm a little while before, and her heart thrilled anew with the thought of it.

“Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror by night!”

Ah! Terror by night! She knew what that meant. That awful night of darkness, steep climbing, howling beasts, and black oblivion! She shuddered involuntarily. Not afraid! What confidence the voice had as it rang on, and all at once she knew this night was free from terror for her because of the man whose confidence was in the Unseen.

“He shall give his angels charge over thee.”

Looking at him, she almost expected to see flitting wings in the moonlit background. How strong and true the face! How tender the lines about the mouth! What a glow of inner quietness and power in the eyes as he raised them now and again to her face across the firelight! What a thing it would be to have a friend like that! Her eyes glowed softly at the thought, and once again the contrast between this man and the one from whom she had fled in horror flashed across her mind.